Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove #1) - Shelby Mahurin Page 0,31

Reid. I should like to get this whole sordid affair behind us.”

Gladly.

To my surprise—and disappointment—she didn’t flee when I let her go. She merely crossed her arms and planted her feet, staring at each of us in turn. Obstinately. Sullenly. A silent challenge.

We kept our distance.

“Make this quick,” she grumbled.

The Archbishop inclined his head. “Step forward, both of you, and join hands.”

We stared at each other. Neither moved. “Oh, hurry up.” Jean Luc shoved me roughly from behind, and I surrendered a step. Watched in silent fury as she refused to bridge the remaining distance. Waited.

After several long seconds, she rolled her eyes and stepped forward. When I extended my hands, she stared at them as if they were spotted with leprosy.

One.

I forced myself to breathe. In through my nose. Out through my mouth.

Two.

Her brows furrowed. She watched me with a bemused expression—obviously questioning my mental capacity.

Three.

Four.

She took my hands. Grimaced as if in pain.

Five.

I realized a second too late she was in physical pain. I immediately loosened my grip on her broken fingers.

Six.

The Archbishop cleared his throat. “Let us begin.” He turned to me. “Will thou, Reid Florin Diggory, have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”

My vision narrowed to a speck of white amidst the pigeons—a dove. My head spun. They all stared at me, waiting for me to speak, but my throat constricted. Choking me.

I couldn’t marry this woman. I couldn’t. Once acknowledged, the thought latched deep, sinking its claws into every fiber of my being. There had to be another way—any other way—

Small, warm fingers squeezed my own. My eyes darted up and met piercing blue-green. No—more blue than green now. Steely. Reflecting the iron water of the Doleur behind her. She swallowed and nodded almost imperceptibly.

In that brief movement, I understood. The doubt, the hesitation, the mourning of a future I’d never have—it belonged to her as well. Gone was the spitting hellcat. Now, there was only a woman. And she was small. And she was frightened. And she was strong.

And she was asking me to be the same.

I didn’t know why I did it. She was a thief, a criminal, and I owed her nothing. She’d ruined my life when she dragged me on that stage. If I agreed, I was certain she’d do her best to continue doing so.

But I returned the pressure anyway. Felt the two small words rise to my lips, unbidden. “I will.”

The Archbishop turned to her. I maintained the pressure between our hands, careful of her broken fingers. “What’s your name?” he asked abruptly. “Your full name?”

“Louise Margaux Larue.”

I frowned. Larue. It was a common enough surname among the criminals in East End, but usually a pseudonym. It literally meant the streets.

“Larue?” The Archbishop eyed her suspiciously, echoing my own doubts. “You should know if this name proves false, your marriage to Captain Diggory will be annulled. I need not remind you of your fate should this happen.”

“I know the law.”

“Fine.” He waved a hand. “Will thou, Louise Margaux Larue, have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”

I could see the snort rising to her face, but she resisted, kicking a clump of sand at the birds instead. They scattered with cries of alarm. A lump rose in my throat as the dove took flight.

“I will.”

The Archbishop continued without pausing. “By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” He paused, and every muscle in my body tensed, waiting for the next line. As if reading my thoughts, he cast me a scathing look. My cheeks flamed once more.

“For as the Lord God says”—he clasped his hands and bowed his head—“‘two are better than one . . . For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falleth, for he hath not another to help him up. And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him.