Weddings From Hell

Chapter One

London, 1879

"And of course you know that Violet is to be married next week."

Payen Carr froze, a large bite of rare steak halfway to his mouth. He raised his head to smile pleasantly—falsely so—at the elderly woman across the table. "Who?"

Lady Verge fixed him with a vaguely chiding expression, as though she thought him deliberately obtuse—which, of course, he was. "Violet Wynston-Jones, the Earl of Wolfram's ward. You do remember dear Violet, do you not?"

Payen shoved the steak into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, savoring the rich juices as they embraced his tongue. Remember "dear" Violet? Damn it all, he couldn't seem to forget her. She was the reason he had left England five years ago, and now on his first night back in the city, she was the first subject he heard spoken of. He began to cut another slice of meat.

Married. Good. At least she hadn't been sitting around pining for him as he'd feared. Not pining at all if she had met someone she liked the look of enough to marry. Enough to share a bed with.