I was twelve when I married Duncan and he but fifteen. We stood in the parlor of my father's country house as the minister pronounced the words:
"Those whom God has joined let no man put asunder."
I slid a sideways peek at my new husband, Duncan Blakely. I had never seen him before today and found him devilish handsome.
He had his full growth, towering over me, and the long, lean slimness of youth. His face, too, was boyishly beautiful, square-jawed and high-cheeked. His rich ebony curls were unpowdered and caught up at his nape.
No more had I taken my first sip of his heavenly beauty than to my complete horror, the small party gathered for our nuptials took us by the arms and pulled us to the bedchamber.
This was completely according to custom, but totally unexpected on my part. After all, it was midday and the bright June sun streamed through the bedroom windows. I had thought we would at least wait until evening.
But that was not to be.