Mistaken Bride. Renee Ryan

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      Chapter Three

      Will caught sight of Bridget Murphy hurrying toward him at an alarming speed. Still reeling from his earlier encounter with the young woman, he noted two things about her as she approached. She no longer held a baby in her arms and she had a very determined look on her face.

       Oddly enough, the fierce expression made her more appealing, not less. For a brief moment he experienced a wave of regret that she wasn’t his Bridget. She was truly beautiful, if he looked past the unruliness of her hair. She had a smooth, oval face, a gently bowed mouth and hazel eyes, more green than brown, a color so rich and intricate he could stare at them for hours and still come away fascinated.

       But her hair gave him pause, that glorious, untamed hair that refused to obey its pins. The silky strands snapping in the wind gave her a spirited look that Will found dangerously appealing. He hadn’t been this attracted to a woman in—never. He’d never met a woman that made his blood rush and his brain spin out of control. Not even Fanny.

       It was a very good thing this particular Bridget was not his bride after all.

       Swerving around a group of her fellow passengers, the woman skidded to a stop directly in front of him.

       She was breathing hard and blinking rapidly.

       Something had upset her greatly.

       “I have news for you, sir, I…” She let her words trail off and her brows pulled together in a frown.

       No woman should look that attractive while frowning.

       “I just realized,” she said in that soft Irish lilt that left him feeling warm and comforted, like the melted chocolate his mill workers turned into hard cakes. “I don’t know your full name.”

       He blinked again. “It’s William. William Black.” He paused. “But, please, call me Will. Considering the circumstances of our first meeting anything else would seem too formal.”

       She digested his words a moment, watching him closely as she did, and then gave him one firm nod. “And you may call me Bridget.”

       He smiled his agreement.

       After another moment passed, she took a deep, shuddering breath, opened her mouth to speak again but stopped herself just as quickly.

       Will continued looking into her eyes, those beautiful, gut-wrenching eyes that were fully green in the sunlight with only a few flecks of gold woven throughout. There was no subterfuge in her gaze, no secretive games being played. Or rather, none that he could decipher.

       Despite knowing he should keep up his guard, despite her beauty, he sensed this was a woman he could trust. An illusion he didn’t dare give in to, for the sake of his children if not for himself. They needed stability and a mother. No matter what his personal feelings were on the matter the job was already filled. Will was firmly committed to following through with his promise.

       He cleared his throat. “You said you have news for me?”

       “Yes.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m afraid it concerns your bride.”

       By her manner alone he knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “Go on.”

       “There was a young woman on board who bore my same description, one I had forgotten about until my sister reminded me. Her name was Bridget, and she had dark hair and eyes and…” Her words trailed off again. He could feel the misery rolling off her in waves.

       Now he knew for certain he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. Nevertheless he pressed her to continue. “And?”

      “And…” She sighed. “The Bridget I’m speaking of died on the crossing over.”

       Dead? His future bride was dead?

       His gut rolled at the news.

      No. Not dead. Not possible. The words refused to register in his brain. And yet he found himself asking, “How did she die?”

       “From what I remember, although I didn’t see the accident myself, she lost her footing and fell from the forecastle to the deck.” She touched his arm with tentative fingers then quickly pulled back when he lowered his gaze. “She did not survive the fall.”

       Will shook his head, the news sinking in slowly, painfully, but far too clearly. “When did this happen?”

       She cocked her head at a curious angle, as though unsure why he’d asked the question. “It was a few days into the journey.”

       His worst fear confirmed. His bride had fallen to her death on board the ship, after she’d left the safety of her homeland.

       All his careful planning, all the research he’d done to avoid making another mistake, and for what? Another woman was dead because of him.

      * * *

       Bridget watched a complicated array of emotions cross Will’s face. He was no longer stoic, or unreadable. He was distressed. Visibly so.

       That terrible look of despair, that awful pain in his eyes. She’d done that to him.

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