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Authors: Sandra Marton

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BOOK: The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée
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She didn't
look
like a woman who'd just made a damn fool of herself. That, at least, was something to be grateful for.
She took a deep breath, then let it out.
How much longer until she could make a polite exit?
Long enough, she thought, answering her own question. You couldn't sit through a wedding ceremony, hide in the powder room during the cocktail hour, then bolt before the reception without raising a few eyebrows. And that was the last thing she wanted to do because raised eyebrows meant questions, and questions required answers, and she had none.
Absolutely none.
The way that man, the one in the church, had looked at her had been bad enough. Those cool blue eyes of his, stripping her naked….
Stephanie's chin lifted. Despicable, was the only word for it.
But her reaction had been worse. Her realization that he was looking at her, that she knew exactly what was going on inside his head…that was one thing, but there was no way to explain or excuse what had happened when a rush of heat had raged through her blood.
Color flooded her cheeks at the memory.
“What is the matter with you, Stephanie?” she said to her mirrored image.
The man had been good-looking. Handsome, she supposed, in a hard sort of way—if you liked the type. Expensively put together, but almost aggressively masculine. The hair, drawn back in a ponytail. The leanly muscled body, so well-defined within the Western-cut suit. The boots. Boots, for goodness' sake.
Clint Eastwood riding through Connecticut, she'd thought, and she should have laughed, but she hadn't. Instead, she'd felt as if someone had lit a flame deep inside her, a flame that had threatened to consume her with its heat, and that was just plain nonsense.
She didn't like men, didn't want anything to do with them ever again. Why on earth she should have reacted to the man was beyond her, especially when the look on his face had made clear what he was thinking.
Exhaustion, that had to be the answer. Flying in from Atlanta late last night, getting up so early this morning—and she'd had a bad week to begin with. First the run-in with Clare, then the meeting with Judge Parker, and finally the disappointing consultation with her own attorney. And all the while, doing what she could not to show her panic because that would only spur Clare on.
Stephanie sighed. She should never have let Annie talk her into coming to this wedding. Weddings weren't her thing to begin with. She had no illusions about them, she never had, not even before she'd married Avery, though heaven knew she wished only the best for Dawn and Nicholas. She'd certainly tried to get out of coming north, to attend this affair. As soon as the invitation had arrived, she'd phoned Annie, expressed her delight for the engaged couple, followed by her regrets, but Annie had cut her short.
“Don't give me any of that Southern compone,” Annie had said firmly, and then her voice had softened. “You have to come to the wedding, Steffie,” she'd said. “After all, you introduced Dawn and Nicholas. The kids and I will be heartbroken if you don't attend.”
Stephanie smiled, put her hands to her hair and smoothed back a couple of errant strands. It had been a generous thing to say, even if it was an overstatement. She hadn't really introduced the bride and groom, she'd just happened to be driving through Connecticut on her way home after a week on Cape Cod—a week when she'd walked the lonely, out-of-season beach and tried to sort out her life. A drenching rain was falling as she'd crossed the state line from Massachusetts to Connecticut and, in the middle of it, she'd gotten a flat. She'd been standing on the side of the road, miserable and wet and cold, staring glumly at the tire, when Dawn pulled over to offer assistance. Nick had come by next. He'd shooed Dawn away from the tire and knelt down in the mud to do the job, but his eyes had been all for Dawn. As luck would have it, Annie had driven by just as Nick finished. She'd stopped, they'd all ended up introducing themselves and laughing in the downpour, and Annie had invited everyone for an impromptu cup of hot cocoa.
Stephanie's smile faded. Avery would never have understood that a friendship could be forged out of such a tenuous series of coincidences, but then, he'd never understood anything about her, not from the day they'd married until the day he'd died….
“Mrs. Willingham?”
Stephanie blinked and stared into the mirror. Dawn Cooper—the former Dawn Cooper—radiant in her white lace and satin gown, smiled at her from the doorway.
“Dawn.” Stephanie swung toward the girl and embraced her. “Congratulations, darlin'. Or is it good luck?” She smiled. “I never can remember.”
“It's luck, I think.” The door swung shut as Dawn moved toward the mirror. “I hope it is, anyway, because I think I'm going to need it.”
“You've already got all the luck you'll need,” Stephanie said. “That handsome young man of yours looks as if he—Dawn? Are you all right?”
Dawn nodded. “Fine,” she said brightly. “It's just, I don't know…it's just, I've been waiting and waiting for this day and now it's here, and—and—” She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Willingham?”
“Stephanie, please. Otherwise, you'll make me feel even older than I already am.”
“Stephanie. I know I shouldn't ask, but—but… Did you feel, well, a little bit nervous on your wedding day?”
Stephanie stared at the girl. “Nervous?”
“Yes. You know. Sort of edgy.”
“Nervous,” Stephanie repeated, fixing a smile to her lips. “Well, I don't—I can't recall…”
“Not scared. I don't mean it that way. I just mean… Worried.”
“Worried,” Stephanie said, working hard to maintain the smile.
“Uh-huh.” Dawn licked her lips. “That you might not always be as happy as you were that day, you know?”
Stephanie leaned back against the vanity table. “Well,” she said, “well…”
“Oh, wow!” Dawn's eyes widened. “Oh, Mrs….oh, Stephanie. Gosh, I'm so sorry. That was such a dumb thing to ask you.”
“No. Not at all. I'm just trying to think of…”
Of what lie will sound best.
“Of what to tell you.”
She hadn't been nervous the day she'd married Avery, or even scared. Terrified was more accurate, terrified and desperate and almost frantic with fear…but, of course, she could never tell that to this innocent child, never tell it to anyone, and the fact she was even thinking about the possibility only proved how frazzled her nerves really were.
Stephanie smiled brightly. “Because, you understand, it was such a long time ago. Seven years, you know? Seven—”
Dawn grasped Stephanie's hands. “Forgive me, please. I'm so wrapped up in myself today that I forgot that Mr. Willingham‘s—that he's—that you're a widow. I didn't mean to remind you of your loss.”
“No. No, really, that's all right. I'm not—”
“I am such an idiot! Talking without thinking, I mean. It's my absolutely worst trait. Even Nicky says so. Sometimes, I just babble something before I've thought it through and I get myself,
everybody
, in all kinds of trouble! Oh, I am so sorry, Stephanie! Can you forgive me?”
“There's nothing to forgive,” Stephanie said gently, smiling at the girl.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“No wonder you looked so sad when I came into the room. It must be so awful, losing the man you love.”
Stephanie hesitated. “I suppose it is,” she said after a minute.
“I can just imagine. Why, if anything ever happened to Nicky…if anything were to separate us…” Dawn's eyes grew suspiciously bright. She laughed, swung toward the mirror, yanked a tissue from the container on top of the vanity table and dabbed at her lashes. “Just listen to me! I am turning into the most maudlin creature in the whole wide world!”
“It's understandable,” Stephanie said. “Today's a very special one for you.”
“Yes.” Dawn blew her nose. “I feel like I'm on a roller coaster. Up one minute, down the next.” She smiled. “Thanks, Stephanie.”
“For what?”
“For putting up with me. I suppose all brides are basket cases on their wedding days.”
“Indeed,” Stephanie said with another bright, artificial smile. “Well, if you're sure you're okay…”
“I'm fine.”
“Would you like me to look for your mother and send her in?”
“No, don't do that. Mom's got enough to deal with today. You go on and have fun. Did you pick up your table card yet?”
Stephanie paused at the door and shook her head. “No. No, I didn't.”
“Ah.” Dawn grinned. “Well, if I remember right, Mom and I put you at a terrific table.”
“Did you?” Stephanie said with what she hoped sounded like interest.
“Uh-huh. You're sitting with a couple from New York, old friends of Mom's and Dad's. You know, from when they were still married.”
“That sounds nice.”
“And my cousin and her husband. Nice guys, both of them. He's an engineer, she's a teacher.”
“Well,” Stephanie said, still smiling, “they all sound—”
“And with my uncle David. Well, he's not really my uncle. I mean, he's Mr. Chambers, but I've known him forever. He's a friend of my parents'. He's this really cool guy. Really cool. And handsome.” Dawn giggled. “He's a bachelor, and very sexy for an older man, you know?”
“Yes. Well, he sounds—”
The door swung open and two of Dawn's bridesmaids sailed into the room on a strain of music and a gust of laughter. Stephanie saw her opportunity and took it. She blew a kiss at Dawn, smoothed down the skirt of her suit, and stepped into the corridor.
Her smile faded.
Terrific. Annie had put her at a table with an eligible bachelor. Stephanie sighed. She should have expected as much. Even though her own marriage had failed. Annie had all the signs of being an inveterate matchmaker.
“Oh,” she'd said softly when she'd learned Stephanie was widowed, “that's so sad.”
Stephanie hadn't tried to correct her. They didn't know each other well enough for that. The truth was, she didn't know
anyone
well enough for that. Not that anyone back home thought of her as a grieving widow. The good people of Willingham Corners had long-ago decided what she was and Avery's death hadn't changed that. At least, nobody tried to introduce her to eligible men…but that seemed to be Annie's plan today.
Stephanie gave a mental sigh as she made her way to the table where the seating cards were laid out. She could survive an afternoon with Dawn's Uncle David. He'd surely be harmless enough. Annie was clever. She'd never met Avery but she knew he'd been in his late fifties, so she'd matched Stephanie with an older man. A sexy older man, Stephanie thought with a little smile, meaning he was fiftyor sixty-something but he still had his own teeth.
She peered at the little white vellum cards, found hers and picked it up. Table seven. Well, that was something, she thought as she stepped into the ballroom. The table would be far enough from the bandstand so the music wouldn't fry her eardrums.
Stephanie wove her way between the tables, checking numbers as she went. Four, five… Yes, table seven would definitely be away from the bandstand out of deference to Uncle David, who'd probably think that the dance of the minute was the merengue. Not that it mattered. She hadn't danced in years, and she didn't miss it. She just hoped Uncle David wouldn't take it personally when she turned out to be a dud as a table partner.
Table seven. There it was, tucked almost into a corner. Most of its occupants were already seated. The trendylooking twosome had to be the New Yorkers; the plump, sweet-faced woman with the tall, bespectacled man were sure to be the teacher and the engineer. Only Uncle David was missing, but he was certain to turn up at any second.
The little group at table seven looked up as she dropped her place card beside her plate.
“Hi,” the plump woman said—and then her gaze skittered past Stephanie's shoulder, her eyes rounded and she smiled the way a woman does when she's just seen something wonderful. “And hi to you, too,” she purred.
“What a small world.”
Stephanie froze. The voice came from just behind her. It was male, low, and touched with satirical amusement.
She turned slowly. He was standing inches from her, the man who'd sent her pulse racing. He was every bit as tall as he'd seemed at a distance, six-one, six-two, easily. His face was a series of hard angles; his eyes were so blue they seemed to be pieces of sky. Clint Eastwood, indeed, she thought wildly, and she almost laughed.
BOOK: The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée
6.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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