A week ago, he’d proposed marriage. “Let’s elope today,” he’d begged. “I can’t wait to have you as my wife.” After she’d accepted, he’d only grudgingly agreed to wait a week, long enough for her family to be able to attend. When she’d asked for a small wedding in her hometown, he’d arranged instead for her entire family—her grandmother, parents and her five siblings and their families—to fly to northern Sweden.
They’d had a magical wedding. And tonight, they’d make love for the first time.
Was that why Rose felt this sinking feeling inside, like the cratering of her soul? She was nervous. That had to be the reason she felt so ill. She had nothing to be scared about, she told herself fiercely. Nothing.
Still, the enormity of what she’d promised—pledging her life to Lars forever—made her skin feel cold in a way that had nothing to do with the ice and frost. She’d just married the man of her dreams, so why was her body still shaking as if preparing to flee? What was wrong with her?
Pushing away from the medieval door of the castle, she crossed the bridge over the frozen moat and walked into the silent, decorative garden with its ghostly cover of snow. Her white tulle skirts trailed lightly behind her, scattering powdery flakes that sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.
The night was dark and clear. Looking up, she nearly gasped when she saw violent streaks of pale green light suddenly whip across the sky. Northern lights. She’d never seen anything so beautiful or so strange. Their magic caught at her soul. She closed her eyes.
“Please,” she prayed softly, “let me have a happy marriage.”
But when she opened her eyes, the northern lights were gone, leaving only a dark, empty sky behind.
“So,” a deep voice said behind her, “you are the bride.”
Rose whirled to face him, her skirts sweeping the snow.
A man, dark as shadow, stood in front of three black SUVs on the edge of the graveled courtyard. His black hair and long, black coat were illuminated in the moonlight, where he stood beside a pale, solitary rowan tree that was thick with frost and half-strangled in mistletoe.
Rose trembled as if she’d seen a ghost. She whispered, “Who are you?”
Without a word, he started walking toward her.
Something about his malevolent stare and the shadows of his face frightened her. Rose suddenly realized how far she’d wandered from the castle, and how alone she was. In the warm, glowing castle, she knew the ballroom was full of noise, with a chamber string orchestra and hundreds of laughing, tipsy guests. Would anyone even hear her if she screamed?
Oh, she was being silly. She was in Sweden, for heaven’s sake! There was no safer, friendlier place than this!
Ignoring the instincts that told her to turn and run, Rose folded her arms over her white, corseted bodice. Lifting her chin, she waited for his answer.
The stranger stopped directly in front of her, his body inches away from hers. He was so muscular and broad-shouldered he had to be almost twice her weight. He was so tall that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
His black eyes gleamed down at her. “Are you alone out here, little one?”
A chill crept across the skin of her arms, bare beneath the white lace sleeves. She shook her head. “There are hundreds of people inside the ballroom.”
His cruel, sensual lips curved upward.
“Ah, but you’re not in the ballroom. You’re alone. And do you not know,” he said softly, “how cold a winter night can be?”
Cold. A shiver went through her. No matter how high the thermostat was set in the aging castle or how many sweaters she’d worn, no matter how many times Lars had assured her that she was perfect—that she could be nothing but perfect—she’d never once felt warm in the sparkling, exquisite beauty of his northern palace surrounded by ice. But she wasn’t going to say that to a stranger. “I’m not afraid of a little snow.”
“Such bravery.” The stranger’s black eyes traced over her body, burning her wherever they touched. “And yet you know why I’ve come.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, bewildered.
“But you do not run away?”
She blinked, even as her feet inched backward of their own volition, and said, “Why would I run?”
His black eyes searched hers as if sifting through her soul. “You actually take responsibility for your crime?”
His face was too brutal, his body too muscular to be handsome. But it was hard to get a good look at his face. In the shadows of the moonlit night, he was like a vampire sucking up every bit of light despite the illumination from the snow. And his darkness was more than the black of his hair, his eyes and his long coat. There was something in his posture that frightened her. A danger. A threat.
And yet she forced herself to hold still. She glanced back at the castle to reassure herself. Her husband and family were near. She had no reason to be afraid. She was so overwrought she was imagining things!
“By ‘crime’ do you mean the wedding?” she replied lightly. “It was perhaps a bit overdone but that’s hardly a crime.”
But the man didn’t even smile. She cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t joke. You must have traveled a long distance for our wedding, only to arrive an hour too late. That would make anyone upset.”
“Upset?” he ground out.
“I’ll get you some champagne inside,” she urged. Her feet started inching back again toward the castle. “Lars will be so happy to see you.”
The man barked a sudden laugh. “Is that another joke?”
Rose stopped. “Aren’t you one of his friends?”
The man drew closer to her.
“No,” he said. “I am not a friend.”
His body towered over hers without touching her, leaving her in shadow. She felt his physical strength like a threat.
And suddenly, she knew that her instincts had been right all along.
She had to flee for safety—now.
“Excuse me,” she choked out, stumbling back. “My husband’s waiting for me. Hundreds of people—security guards, policemen—are waiting for our first dance as a married couple…”
The man’s hand flew out to grab her upper arm over her translucent lace sleeve, gripping her tight, preventing her escape.
“Married?” he repeated in cold fury.
Why was he looking as if he might kill her for saying something so innocent and so obvious? “Yes, it’s our—You’re hurting me!”
His hand had tightened, gripping
