Читать онлайн книгу «Second-Best Bride» автора SARA WOOD
Second-Best Bride
SARA WOOD
Wedlocked!"Marry me now. Or I'll walk out of your life forever." Claire Jardine's wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, but her whirlwind courtship had her reeling: who was the real Trader Benedict? Her perfect partner or a ruthless blackmailer? And why had he chosen Claire to be his bride?His glamorous companion Phoenix seemed a far more suitable candidate. As she stood at the altar with Trader, the time had come to answer the most important question of her life: did she dare take this man?
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ud4b4888c-92d5-5217-b3f2-efa9ebe91b56)
Excerpt (#uc601424e-c689-57df-bca7-5753654712ed)
About the Author (#ue7491224-aa24-5c47-b33f-b62df606e227)
Title Page (#u4fa52df5-ba44-5665-846c-946acd732b6e)
Chapter One (#u6f541218-8645-54a1-88d9-ae9d418f7261)
Chapter Two (#u5bbe319f-6e31-56d1-874d-ef7d4bb253c5)
Chapter Three (#ud4b0d8c3-2c26-5f96-9767-a2fa3a01f1b4)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Say you’ll marry me now. Or I’ll have to walk out of your life forever. “
“That sounds like an ultimatum.”
“It is. I’m not going through this again,” Trader replied. “You’re in a unique position to change my life.”
The money would change his life, Claire thought sadly. “Trader——” she began, but his finger stopped her lips.
“If you doubt me, if you reject me now, I’m not hanging around for an encore… Yes, or no?”
Childhood in Portsmouth meant grubby knees, flying pigtails and happiness for SARA WOOD. Poverty drove her from typist and seaside landlady to teacher till writing finally gave her the freedom her Romany blood craved. Sara is happily married and has two handsome adult sons, Richard and Simon. She lives in the Cornish countryside. Sara’s glamorous writing life alternates with her passion for gardening, which allows her to be carefree and grubby again.
Second-Best Bride
Sara Wood
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_911a5a13-cfc1-54f2-bd0f-54c49cbb796a)
IT SHOULD have been the happiest day of her life, not the worst. Weren’t weddings supposed to make people cry with joy? Claire felt closer to howling, and joy didn’t come into it. Misery, yes. Disillusionment. Selfpity and embarrassment. Not much cause to laugh there.
She huddled deeper into the corner of the limousine, staring at the billows of ivory taffeta where her voluminous skirt had been spread carefully over the cream leather seat. And she wondered how on earth she could bring herself to speak. The words were quite simple. No long syllables to tangle a tongue. ‘I can’t marry Trader’. So why did they ball up together and stick in her throat?
A sour-tasting sickness heaved and rolled in her stomach. She closed her soft-green eyes tightly and counted slowly to ten till the nausea went away. After her hen party, she should have gone home. Disastrously for her peace of mind, she’d let Phoenix persuade her to stay on for a couple of brandies and an intimate chat.
Big mistake. Better to have remained ignorant. Her tongue slicked nervously over her dry lips, removing the final traces of peach lipstick. All night she’d dwelt on the things Phoenix had said till she’d been half tearing her hair out with despair.
She stole a look in her father’s direction. He was a picture of contentment: a handsome man, his unfamiliar face glowing with anticipation. Daunted by his delight, Claire couldn’t quite pluck up the courage to tell him the bad news.
Her heart thudded away while the smooth, ostentatious limousine purred along with its mockery of fluttering satin ribbons on the endless bonnet. They were alarmingly near to the grey stone church. And Trader. And the hundreds of guests. A hot wave swept over her.
‘We’re late,’ commented her father crossly. ‘Your fault. Good crowd, mind.’ His hand crossed her vision in a flash of gold and ruby rings, waving royally. ‘It’s their entertainment, I suppose,’ he grunted, with all the contempt of a Channel Islander for the unsophisticated people of remote Ballymare. ‘I suppose weddings and funerals add drama to their drab, small lives.’
They’d get drama, thought Claire. This would be a wedding and a funeral rolled up in one! And oh, the shame of it! She shuddered. Faint from skittering nerves, she placed her hand on her father’s arm, flinching at the ragged, good-natured cheer that arose outside when the car slowly drew up to the kerb.
Deep breath. Calm voice. Firm, decisive. ‘Don’t get out! I can’t go through with the wedding!’ she cried shakily, forcing the words through her pale, dry lips in a sudden, gabbling rush.
‘Whaaat? Sweetie——!’ Her father reached to grab her trembling hand and she withdrew it, backing away warily.
‘No!’ she said huskily. ‘I won’t budge! I won’t change my mind!’
‘The woman’s mad!’ Her father took one close look at her set face and his mouth went grim. ‘Driver! Go round the block again! Claire, what are you trying to do, give me a coronary? I’ll make you marry Trader if I have to carry you——’
‘I think the guests might notice if the bride arrives struggling and screaming over your shoulder,’ she retorted defiantly, finding his idea ridiculous. She was close to laughing hysterically—or was she nearer to tears? Whatever. Far too many emotions were thrashing around in her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she went on sympathetically. ‘I really am. But my mind’s made up.’
‘Well, unmake it. Are you nuts?’ asked her father aggressively.
‘No,’ she said forlornly. ‘Sane at last.’
‘But it’s been “Trader, Trader, Trader” ever since I arrived in Ireland five days ago! You’re nervous, that’s all. Snap out of it, sweetie!’ Seeing her set mouth, her father changed tack, holding back his temper and turning on the charm that had coaxed a lifetime of women into his arms, hissing the words through perfectly capped teeth. ‘Of course you’ll go through with it! Honeymoon in the Seychelles, palm trees, blue skies, hot sun…The expense! The marquee alone cost——’
‘I know. A fortune. You told me.’ She gave a faint, sad smile. His materialistic nature always surfaced. ‘I’m terribly sorry to do this to you!’ Her huge eyes pleaded with him in vain for comfort. ‘Dad——’
He scowled. ‘Jack. I told you! I don’t like being reminded that I’m old enough to be the father of a twenty-two-year-old woman. Now shape up,’ he snapped. ‘Fast.’
‘That’s the trouble. I’ve shaped,’ she muttered.
And felt very alone. A cuddle and some understanding would be nice. But Jack only played the one role: that of a macho charmer. Sadly she took in the dyed black waves and incongruously unlined face. Plastic surgery had meant that her father bore little resemblance to the photograph by her mother’s bedside. It was the face of a stranger.
And Trader was a stranger too, she realised with an awful jolt, twisting her long, slender fingers in alarm. Sunlight shafted in through the window, lighting her pale face and lowered golden lashes, glancing off the facets of the diamonds and emeralds of her engagement ring. It had been hers for barely a week; dreams discovered, dreams realised…Dreams lost? Her breath caught in her throat and she had to fight not to break down.
‘Jack. Please understand,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t marry Trader. I know it’s the eleventh hour. I know it’s embarrassing and annoying and it’ll cause a lot of trouble if I back out—but I’d rather cope with the flak than marry and have regrets for the rest of my life, or be driven to divorce. I never once stopped to think things through,’ she explained. ‘It’s been such a whirl. He never let up once, never left me alone,’ she added helplessly. ‘Trader bulldozed me.’
And she’d allowed it! Secretly, she was appalled. Always thoughtful, always reticent to the point of silence, she’d never let her feelings run away with her so drastically. How could she be marrying someone she’d only known for three weeks?
‘Trader’s like that. Single-minded. Beats you over the head till he gets what he wants,’ grunted Jack.
‘How do you know?’ Claire frowned. ‘You only met him a few days ago.’
‘We talked business a few times,’ said her father curtly.
‘Business?’ she queried. ‘I thought you disliked one another. Did you chat together while I was working at the hotel?’
‘We do loathe the sight of each other,’ Jack acknowledged. ‘But that’s got nothing to do with it. It’s too late to change your mind. You’ve got to be nice to him——’
‘I’ve what?’ she said sharply, unsure she’d heard correctly.
Grim and suddenly old behind the unnaturally youthful face, Jack said testily, ‘Be a good girl and treat him well! Do whatever he wants! Don’t cross him, Claire. There’ll be trouble.’
‘Trouble? Isn’t that being a bit melodramatic?’ she asked in astonishment.
‘I wish!’ said her father gloomily. ‘Take it from one who knows. Handle him with kid gloves. The man’s dynamite on legs. He’ll detonate just for spite. Marry him. For my sake. For your own.’
Fear drained even the effects of blusher on her pale, fine-boned face. Behind the hazy silk of her veil, her eyes looked like two huge mossy smudges as she stared back at her father. ‘I knew Trader was holding something back! I knew he wasn’t telling me everything, that he had a secret!’ she said tremulously. ‘Tell me what’s going on! I’m sitting in this car till you do!’
‘Oh God!’ he groaned. He was silent for a while and she felt like screaming when he hesitated for interminable seconds. ‘OK,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m in trouble. We’ve both got to crawl in whichever direction he orders. He’s calling the tune and I’m dancing. You’re part of the package. Let him have you!’
‘A package!’ Taut in every muscle, Claire leaned forward and let her father’s words roll around her head till they sank in fully. Her lips tightened into a searingly thin line.
‘Yeah. Bastard’s got a hold on me as tight as a ferret.’
‘You do mean Trader?’ she asked faintly. Her stomach gave a lurch again and her small hand flew to the tightly fitting bodice as if it could hold back the swelling misery inside.
‘Trader,’ confirmed her father bitterly. ‘Trader-blasted-Benedict! Terminator bloody III!’
‘She’s late.’
Trader scowled at his best man’s obvious remark. ‘Bride’s privilege,’ he said curtly.
‘Ye-e-es. Sure this is right for you?’ asked Charles with a wise caution. Trader had been edgy all morning. ‘You could walk out now——’
‘And miss out on the chance of a lifetime?’ growled Trader. His head turned with an angry jerk and his eyes raked the aisle grimly. If she didn’t turn up, he’d crucify that father of hers and spread his entrails across their agreement.
An elegant, gloved hand fluttered, attracting his attention. Phoenix. He smiled faintly at her beautiful face, admiring the perfect make-up, noting with approval her air of sophistication and grooming. Phoenix blew him a kiss and he grinned, his black eyes dancing with the love he felt for her. Fee’s features softened as they always did.
He raised a sardonic eyebrow and his broad shoulders, as if to say, ‘Will she, won’t she?’ and Fee gave him a secretive smile. Because they sure shared one hell of a secret. And as he turned back, he hoped to God no one found out before he was well and truly married to Claire.
The bottomless pit of anger inside him surged up and quickened his breathing, the bitterness of twenty or more years ripping through him till he saw nothing but a red haze before his eyes.
It had gone on long enough. It had begun to cripple his life, threatening to taint the woman he loved. Trader forced himself to focus clearly on the altar rail and make a decision. Ten more minutes. After that he’d leave. And blow the whistle on Jack Jardine.
The cruel smile hardened his granite profile and his long-time friend, Charles Fairchild, shifted uncomfortably. Trader had always been complex, with a dark side he’d never dared to investigate. ‘Bear up. She’s worth the wait,’ he said brightly.
Trader shot a quick look at the aisle and met Fee’s affectionate eyes again. He relaxed and turned back to Charles. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘She is.’
‘Driver! Go round again,’ said Jack tensely as Claire slumped back into the seat and the crushed taffeta sighed all around her. ‘Claire, you’ve got to help me!’ he muttered. ‘My whole business is on the line. Hundreds of my employees all over the world could be out of a job—and it would be your fault! I’m facing ruin!’
‘From Trader? How? He’s only known you a few days!’ she exclaimed, bewildered by what was happening.
‘We’ve just met. But he’s been after me for years. Me and everything I have. Coveting it all! He doesn’t care how he gets it.’
Claire gasped. ‘But…what would he get from marrying me?’
‘Half of everything I own,’ Jack muttered, sounding utterly defeated.
‘He gets money if I go through with this?’ she asked with horror.
‘Money. Property. Control. Half my wealth and possessions go to him as your dowry, I keep the rest.’ Her father’s mouth twisted bitterly. ‘And in return he’ll keep his mouth shut about my tax evasion and a couple of questionable deals. I owe several million dollars. That’s a maximum three-hundred-year gaol sentence in America.’
‘Three hundred…! Oh, Dad!’ she moaned faintly. Now she understood! And Phoenix had been trying to warn her last night. Claire felt weak from shock. It was unbelievable that Trader could have betrayed her and lied so convincingly. A package! The idea rocked her to the core.
Her nagging doubts about the wisdom of their hasty marriage had turned into something really serious. Granted, she’d wanted to delay the marriage to straighten a few things out, but she hadn’t bargained on being faced with an insurmountable obstacle like…like being betrothed to a man she couldn’t respect. One who might not even love her.
‘He—he said he loved me!’ she ventured, a desperately hopeful note in her voice.
‘Oh, sure he does!’ affirmed her father, rather too painfully eager to convince her.
And she remarked with unusual cynicism, ‘I suppose it can’t be hard to love a blindly adoring woman with a tempting dowry.’
Her father shrugged. ‘You get a lot out of this too. You share his half of the so-called dowry, after all. And I’m leaving you the other half when I die. You’re an heiress, you know.’
Claire noted with sadness that he wasn’t intending to leave anything to her mother. ‘I hope you’re not trying to buy my co-operation in this disgusting arrangement,’ she said unhappily.
‘You’d like to be rich,’ he said sullenly. ‘Everyone would.’
‘I want enough money so that Mother doesn’t have to work, that’s all.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Does Trader know that, in addition to the dowry, I will eventually inherit your portion as well?’ she asked slowly.
Her father nodded. ‘He gets the lot eventually, one way or another. The whole Trebisonne empire. So what? He loves you, you love him. That’s not so bad, is it?’
Claire groaned. ‘Yes, it is! How can I marry a scheming rat?’
‘Plenty of women do,’ grunted her father. ‘Why should you be so special?’
Because she wanted to fall in love and marry and be happy forever after. Because she wanted a husband who would walk over hot coals for her, cherish her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others till death them did part.
Not someone who’d put the screws on her father because he’d been fiddling his tax on a grand scale! Her father must be really desperate to give up half his wealth. He needed a lot of money for his extravagant lifestyle in Florida. The rejuvenating surgery alone must have cost thousands. And he’d let slip in a boast one day that he’d lost a million in Vegas. Expensive tastes.
‘Trader didn’t arrive in Ballymare by chance, did he?’ she said harshly. ‘It was no coincidence!’
‘Coincidence? Are you joking?’ scoffed her father incredulously.
Claire gave a little moan. She’d been set up. That meeting on the beach had been carefully planned. Trader was poor and he’d long coveted her father’s money—so badly that he’d sink to blackmail to marry it. She’d known from the first that he’d needed to count the pennies. He wore nothing but comfortable old clothes and their time had been spent walking, talking, eating simple picnic food.
She gave a bitter smile. Because according to her aunts, her father had acquired the vast Le Trebisonne fitness centres by a cold-blooded and calculating second marriage to the widow of Philippe Le Trebisonne. And now the empire was being wrested from him by a man of equal cunning—ironically, also by marriage.
Trader and her father were unnervingly alike. And that horrified her. Two irresistible charmers. Both liars.
She winced. So much for being swept off her feet. Next time she’d apply Superglue.
‘Marry him!’ pleaded her father.
‘You’re asking me to sacrifice my future for you?’ she asked with quiet dignity. ‘You’ve only seen me twice in my life before this week. It’s been fourteen years since you last came to Ballymare for a brief visit—and yet you’re expecting my unquestioning loyalty!’
Her father’s hand closed around her shoulder like a vice. ‘If you don’t marry him, Trader will bring the Revenue men down on me and the police and I’ll lose everything. I want to be reconciled with your mother. She loves me——’
‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘Even though you walked out when she was pregnant with me, twenty-three years ago!’ Her mother had loved her father through thick and thin, through infidelity, deceit, callousness. Inexplicable. But she knew that a reunion would make her mother overjoyed. Unfortunately, her father held the key to her mother’s happiness.
More blackmail. And she was being drawn into it whether she liked it or not.
‘We’re here. Again,’ grunted her father, leaping out. ‘Get ready. Remember how ill your mother is.’
Pain sliced through her like a knife through butter. The door opened and the chauffeur’s gloved hand stretched towards her. She stared at it blankly. But her father came around the car, pushed the concerned driver aside and grabbed Claire’s slender wrist with a flash of chunky gold rings, hauling her out with an impatient, ‘Too many people need this marriage. Get a hold on yourself and do your duty!’
Stunned by his lack of compassion, by his cruelty, she stumbled numbly a few yards down the church path through the crowds of friends and well-wishers. Words like ‘fragile’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘ethereal’ came to her ears. For ethereal read shocked, she thought weakly.
Someone turned her around to pose for photographs. Hating to create a scene in public, she let herself be manhandled into position, silently enduring the embarrassment of the friendly compliments from everyone. Everyone loved a bride, she thought soberly. But…did the groom?
Trader was corrupt and grasping and he would change into a monster—as her father had—the minute she became his wife. Her mother had been fooled by Jack Jardine’s easy charm. Why shouldn’t she have inherited that blindness?
‘Smile!’ urged the photographer.
She did her best but her lips kept quivering. This was a farce! But it gave her time to think. ‘A few more,’ she suggested huskily.
Her hand fretted with a hairpin in her marmalade hair. Trader had likened it to a sheet of flamed water at sunset and said he loved it straight and hanging loose. But that morning Phoenix had organised it into alien curls heaped on her head and fixed with an arc of brutal grips. Claire felt like a prisoner, starting a gaol sentence. If only she’d waited and got to know Trader properly! But he could coax a polar bear to part with its fur…
‘OK, that’ll do.’ Jack took her arm and squeezed it. ‘This is it, sweetie,’ he said shakily. ‘Remember, I’d be no good to your mother in prison!’
Her face paled and she swallowed hard. Jack was her father, whatever his faults, and she couldn’t blithely ignore his distress. All her life she’d longed to win her father’s love. She’d tried, heaven knew, but he’d always found her irritating and she’d got in the way. Yet he needed her now and she couldn’t let him down. And she did love Trader. Life without him was unthinkable.
Claire walked from the sun into the shade of the porch. She shivered apprehensively. Butterflies and gremlins were scurrying around her body, making her feel faint. She was afraid to go ahead with the wedding—and horror-struck at the idea of stopping it.
Silent and nervous, trying to find the right thing to do, she waited while her friend Sue adjusted the Southern-belle neckline and fussed with the huge puff sleeves so that the material lay in beguiling folds off the shoulder. Suddenly feeling very naked with so much creamy skin gleaming in the half-light, Claire twitched them up. They slid down again.
‘Leave them!’ teased Sue fondly. ‘You’re marrying a passionate man, you idiot, not a monk!’
‘Passionate!’ she repeated faintly.
Yes, he was. It lay in the darkness of his eyes, the intensity of his words and the hunger in his mouth. Violent emotions lay behind that courteous exterior. Phoenix had said, ‘You’ll have great sex, darling!’ and had made her blush. It had been something she’d blocked out of her mind.
Claire shivered as terror gripped her slim body with its iron hand. Passion meant male lust, passion meant anger: the two things she was scared of facing. And she recoiled from the thought of animal lust and anger entering her life, because she’d seen her mother destroyed by both.
Yet Trader had controlled himself, for her sake. Her chin lifted decisively. She would marry Trader without protest and make it all come out well. Love conquered all. ‘Love reforms Blackmailer’. Her hopes rose again. She could show him what love could do; how it could heal and soften even the most desperate of men, the most power-hungry person who walked God’s earth. She winced. It was a tall order. Her mother hadn’t had much success with her father to date.
But if she could succeed, she’d save her mother the inevitable shock. Claire grimly shut her mind to the memory of her mother’s last angina attack. It had been frightening, terribly harrowing. If anything should happen to the woman who’d devoted her life to her…
‘I’m ready, Jack,’ she said to her father, and was proud of the way her voice remained steady despite her nerves.
‘About time!’ he grumbled, jerking her into motion.
The ‘Bridal March’ began, silencing her giggling bridesmaids. Claire glided into the body of the church in a soft, rich rustle of her huge skirts. At the top of the aisle, she paused, deathly white beneath the softly falling veil, her fingers digging hard into her father’s sleeve.
Curious faces turned towards her. To her left, the lovely, homely faces of many of her Ballymare friends who were chattering excitedly, their affection reaching out and wrapping her in a welcome warmth. Many were from the hotel where she and her mother worked—and where she and Trader had met when he’d come to stay.
But to the right swirled an alien clutch of salon-smooth complexions, exclusive clothes, designer hats and discreetly wafting perfumes that denoted Trader’s few guests. Her solemn eyes swept over them in astonishment because she’d never expected such affluence. But Phoenix had said Trader courted the rich, like her father used to. Did Trader also live beyond his means, toadying to the wealthy? She didn’t know. God help her, she didn’t know.
‘By Jiminy, there’s a few million pounds represented there!’ gloated her father triumphantly in her ear. ‘Clever girl!’
‘Jack!’ Claire’s cheeks burned with mortification. One of Trader’s guests had flinched at her father’s remark.
Miserably she walked at a funeral pace down the long aisle, between the stunning displays of blue and cream flowers that adorned each pew and which drowned her in heavy perfume.
And finally she found the courage to look at Trader. Seeing the heart-stopping spread of his broad back in the beautifully tailored morning coat, she felt the tension in her fingers miraculously ease. Slowly her hand uncurled, longing to touch that neat, dark curve of hair above his tanned neck and to relax the unnatural stiffness of his head.
Oh, God, how she loved him! Her anguished eyes burned into his back. If he’d turn round, she reasoned, everything would be all right. Even at this eleventh hour it would be a joy to find her worries wiped away. She didn’t want to hurt anyone today; not her mother, her father, her friends, Trader…herself.
Turn, Trader! she pleaded. He must know she was there! Her satin-clad feet were tapping on the grating, her many petticoats were rustling. Everyone else was looking! Didn’t he care?
‘Oh, Trader!’ she breathed plaintively.
‘Claire, darling!’ whispered someone close by. With a start, Claire recognised the warm tones of the woman Trader had lived with for most of his life. Phoenix’s beautiful, exotic face swam into focus. ‘You look ill! Should you be here?’
Claire went limp with gratitude. Someone cared. ‘No,’ she husked. Her tongue flickered nervously over pale, dry lips and she gazed at the raven-haired Phoenix, pleading to be saved from her nightmare.
Before that could happen, her father’s strong, expensively tanned hand reached out and patted hers and even he—insensitive to the condition of other people—could see that it was pale and trembling where it lay against the cascades of cream and pastel blue flowers that were appliquéd on to the fabric.
‘Pull yourself together, sweetie!’ he growled.
She was together. That was the trouble. Her rational mind had woken up and it was discovering all the flaws in her dream. Her love had been too unconditional, too trusting. She was an unsophisticated chambermaid. Trader was handsome and desirable.
Like her father! And he’d never been faithful…
Quite suddenly, Trader turned, jerking around with a sharp, impatient movement. She gave a small gasp of hope and her heart quickened its beat. But there was a frown instead of the usual look of adoration on his dark and handsome face; a frown that was replaced by a chilling stare as his eyes swung between her and her tense father. And the hatred between the two men blasted down the aisle with a shockingly tangible force.
‘Oh, no!’ she moaned, panicking.
Blindly, consumed by an unspeakable dismay, Claire tugged her hand from her father’s arm and half-whirled around, hampered by the trailing material and the weight of the long, flower-strewn train. She would run! She’d get into her car, leave Ballymare and never come back!
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_25ce51d1-dc1c-5029-9ffa-198ae5269230)
CLAIRE heard murmurs of consternation from all around her as she gathered her skirts up for the dash to the door. Then her father caught her hand and jerked her roughly back to his side.
‘You want to humiliate both your parents?’ he hissed furiously.
‘I want to be happy!’ she whispered.
She rocked on her feet but managed to hold her ground. The murmurings grew louder while she stared in confusion at Trader, who looked equally alarmed, small beads of sweat glistening on his brow. Hopelessly muddled, she gripped her skirt convulsively, causing some of the petals from the flower swags to float to the floor.
‘He loves me, he loves me not,’ she intoned inaudibly to herself, superstitiously counting each petal as it fell. ‘He loves me, he loves me not…’ Her breath stopped. ‘He loves me!’
Her lashes fluttered up in the unlikely hope that the childish game had some foundation. Incredibly, Trader was smiling gently and the love in his eyes made her give an involuntary sigh of bemused pleasure. She was totally oblivious to the chorus of sentimental sniffs to her left and the amused smiles to her right. Her father tugged in vain. She was transfixed. Immobile.
I love you! Trader mouthed, tenderly, adoringly. And she melted. Stupid she might be to go against every ounce of rational thought in her brain, but with that affirmation, all her worries vanished in a rush of relief and a shy delight.
I love you! she mouthed back in soft, heart-aching delight, seeing his whole body relax as though he’d been tense and uncertain too.
He loved her. She’d put her life on the line that he did. That heart-stopping worship in his soul-searching eyes couldn’t possibly be faked!
Her slender body still trembled but now she glowed and her smile broke out, filling her face with radiance. She sighed in sheer relief at the narrowness of her escape from a life of misery without him. Seeing Trader’s loving face, she knew there was more to the blackmail and Trader’s strange behaviour than her father had let on. There must be another side to the story, and between them they’d work out a solution to living their lives decently.
Courage and confidence lifted her head on its slender neck. Like a graceful swan, released from its ugly duckling stage, she floated towards Trader, the man she loved, an incandescent joy on her face. And to her great delight he came slowly towards her as if he couldn’t bear to wait any longer to be near her, to touch her. That was how she felt. They’d been apart for too long. Hours!
She was aware, briefly, of her mother’s moist eyes and hugely happy smile beneath the ridiculous little hat Trader had helped her choose. It made her look young and beautiful, thought Claire fondly. And saw how quickly her mother transferred her gaze to her father, and ached at the intense longing in her mother’s sweet face. Dear Ma! It took all sorts!
And Claire vowed to forget her father’s jarring behaviour and questionable ethics and to concentrate on the fact that he had the power to make her mother content, after years of unhappiness. If they got together, her mother could give up work at last and her angina would be more manageable and less life-threatening. Claire smiled with joy.
‘I hope she knows what she’s doing!’
Claire flinched, but she didn’t let Phoenix’s anxious aside dim her smile at all. She did know. Trader was stretching out his hand to her and she had eyes only for him.
‘My beautiful madonna,’ he said softly.
Shivers chased down her spine at the way he looked at her. Nice shivers. They made her feel special. Cherished.
‘Trader!’ she husked.
Filled with a wonderful lightness of heart, she reached out and took his hand, watched him half disintegrate, saw the strong jaw working, the swallowing of a lump in his throat that echoed hers—and, unknown to her, almost everyone’s in the church.
‘Trader,’ she sighed happily.
He loved her!
Firmly he drew her to his side and his fierce, possessive look told her that he never wanted to let her go again. Lovingly he guided her the last few yards down the aisle. And, elated beyond belief, she shyly lowered her eyes to quietly savour the wonderful moment of certainty. Her dreams were safe and love would conquer all their difficulties. Feeling the acuteness of his relief, she felt privileged and humble that she should have prompted such a profound love in a man’s heart.
His hand tightened its grip a little. ‘Claire!’ It was a wonderfully husky growl that never failed to make her feel she was being caressed and it reached deep into her bones. ‘You worried me for a moment back there!’ he said softly. ‘I thought that——’ He gave a low laugh that still had an edge of relief to it. ‘I thought you were going to jilt me!’
The clergyman fidgeted, the starched cassock crackling meaningfully, but Claire’s eyes pleaded mutely for a moment to speak to Trader.
‘If I had?’ she asked gently.
‘I would have caught you and kissed you till you surrendered to me,’ Trader murmured. He smiled. ‘I love you, Claire!’ he said with fierce conviction. ‘I love you so much it stops my breath!’
It was everything she’d wanted to hear. Shaken, she slowly lifted her lashes and he must have seen the pearly tears at the corner of her huge, soft eyes despite the folds of the gossamer veil, because he gave her a tender, understanding smile that brought a blinding happiness to her face.
The intense devotion in her expression, her unworldly beauty and his compellingly handsome profile, produced a ripple of wistful envy that ran through the church in a low murmur.
Her lips parted. But she couldn’t speak for the lump in her slender throat and touched him on his broad chest instead, with a loving, worshipping hand. Which he took in his and kissed lightly before he turned to the moist-eyed cleric in front of them.
‘Please go ahead. We’re ready,’ he said, with an authoritative nod.
And Claire felt the excitement mounting within her, a mist of love around her that little else permeated. Dimly in the background, she heard the organ notes die away and then the clergyman’s gentle voice. ‘Dearly beloved…’
Trader squeezed her hand rather hard. She tried to listen carefully to every word, every special phrase she and Trader had chosen from her mother’s old prayer book, so that she could savour every second of her wedding-day—so nearly abandoned.
Now she understood her mother’s unshakeable devotion. Once you’d experienced true love, you were never the same again. There was a painful, contradictory seesawing of feelings: a deep core of tranquillity and an adrenalin-spinning excitement. Elation and security. Irresistible drugs of the mind. Trader satisfied all her emotional needs. That was enough.
She stole a look at the man she loved: the clean sweep of brow, the aggressive nose and determined mouth, the achingly beautiful angle of cheek and jaw. An intensely masculine man. Potent, a little unnerving, mysterious.
Her knees weakened. He shot her a look, his eyes glittering with such a fierce excitement that it came close to…triumph.
‘…not to be undertaken lightly or wantonly…’
Her body stiffened a little because her conscience troubled her over that. They were marrying with secrets between them. Maybe without a dowry Trader wouldn’t give her a second thought. His hand squeezed hers reassuringly. In fact, his grip was so tight that she could feel the unusual dampness of his palms and the impression of her bones against his flesh.
‘…but reverently, discreetly, advisedly…’
The pressure on her hand increased till she gasped and turned her huge green eyes to him in apprehension. It was as though Trader was afraid she’d take fright and run. Claire shrank into herself, alarmed by her suspicious thoughts.
Somehow she quelled her disloyal doubts and fixed her gaze on the solemn priest. Every word was of deep significance to her. Marriage was holy. Not to be undertaken lightly…There was a clatter behind them; one of Trader’s guests had dropped something—a portable phone, by the sound of it. And he drew in a deep, harsh breath that filled his body with a rigid tension.
Stricken by her overwhelming misgivings, she steeled herself not to tremble.
‘Therefore,’ intoned the priest, ‘if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’
There was a stifled cry behind them which made them both jump. The vicar looked up in sudden alarm as a shocked hush fell. Trader stopped breathing and prickles went down the back of Claire’s neck. Trader had tightened every muscle in his body as though he feared and anticipated a denouncement.
She felt her skin become clammy. And then she heard what she’d been dreading. A clear, ringing word that echoed accusingly in the silence…
‘Wait!’
Claire gave a low, despairing moan of horror and fainted dead away.
It seemed but a moment before the darkness that surrounded her became murky. Voices impinged on her unconscious and slowly she recovered to full awareness—but she kept her eyes tightly shut because she couldn’t bring herself to face anyone. The shame, the awful, hollowing disillusionment, rocketed through her, draining away all normal resilience.
And she tried to untangle her mind because she was no longer lying on the cold, stone floor of the church. It seemed she was sitting in an armchair; she could feel its welcome softness beneath her lifeless body.
Quite motionless, she began to gather the foggy facts together. There’d been an objection to their wedding. Her stomach did its sickening swoop. The whole scenario was so like Jane-Eyre! Trader must have a wife. In the attic? she wondered hysterically. What attic? Where? Perhaps children! Hordes of them! How dared he! She wanted to hide forever…
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You know I’d never hurt you——’
Claire all but stiffened at the pathetic whimper. It was Phoenix—Phoenix, when she wanted her mother’s shoulder to cry on…
‘For God’s sake, shut up!’ rasped Trader brutally, shockingly. ‘I’m damned if I’m cancelling the marriage! It means too much to me!’
Claire barely stifled a groan of dismay at the giveaway remark and the extraordinary change in his character. He’d never been curt or angry before. Never rude. But then she’d never known the real man, had she?
‘Face up to it, darling; she’s either highly reluctant, or she’s feeling ill. You can see she’s in no fit state,’ said Phoenix gently. ‘She wasn’t exactly galloping up the aisle.’
‘She was very pale——’ conceded Trader grimly.
‘You noticed? Even under all the layers of make-up? I’m afraid it’s possible she’s discovered your plans,’ said Phoenix, forgetting to whisper.
Of course, thought Claire. Phoenix would know everything. They’d been friends for so long. And last night Phoenix’s conscience had prompted her to hint that Trader was being deceitful, even though her loyalty meant she couldn’t openly betray him. Poor Phoenix—what a dilemma!
‘Keep your voice down, for God’s sake!’ Trader growled irritably. ‘Leave this to me! I can bring her round better on my own. You can make amends by going to Brodie—Claire’s mother—and apologising on my behalf for ordering her out of here so rudely…say I was upset. Tell her Claire is fine. Make Brodie relax, or I’ll have your hide!’
‘Bully,’ said Phoenix amiably.
‘Fee, get the vicar to announce that Claire is recovering, ask everyone’s indulgence for ten minutes and get the organist to play something cheerful,’ Trader snapped, rapping out the orders like a man born to authority. Her father had ordered her mother around in a similar way, Claire remembered, appalled. ‘Now get out!’ Trader finished forcefully.
‘I don’t like what you’re doing——’ protested Phoenix.
Trader made a warning sound in his throat that apparently made Phoenix scurry out in fear, because there was the click of high heels tapping on a flagstone floor and then a heavy wooden door slamming.
The full horror of her situation finally hit Claire. She’d fallen hopelessly in love with Trader, but to him she was nothing more than a potential goldmine, to be exploited and plundered at will. And if his behaviour with Phoenix was anything to go by, he’d push her around, given half a chance, and treat her with contempt. She knew what that did to a woman. Knew what damage a dominating brute of a man could do. And she wasn’t suffering that kind of treatment.
‘Claire?’
The pulses in her wrist began to beat a fast tattoo. Trader was bending over her, she sensed that from the movement of air in front of her and the delicious shiver down her spine. She felt her veil being lifted back and his soft breath on her painfully composed face. Her own breathing deepened, lifting her breasts high, despite her efforts to remain unaffected.
‘Damn!’ He reached around her, bringing her forward, and to her astonishment his fingers closed around her zip tag!
She gasped, hearing—feeling—the movement of the zip and the lessening of the pressure of her tight bodice. Cool air met her upthrust breasts as they spilled luxuriantly from the dainty strapless basque, her lashes fluttered open in alarm and she found herself staring directly into a pair of glittering black eyes, as dark and as dangerous as a slick of tar.
‘Claire!’ he whispered softly, sensually.
Petrified, she lifted her arms to cross defensively over the luxurious material of her bodice and her hands came to rest on the sumptuously perfumed swell of her creamy breasts. Trader’s nostrils flared, his eyes lingering avidly on the rapid rise and fall of her delicately boned hands as they tried to slow her breathing by pressure alone.
‘No! Don’t touch me!’ she gasped, shrinking back into the chair and he jerked back as if from a blow, straightening up with a muttered curse.
‘Hell! What—?’
‘How dare you do that? How dare you take the first opportunity you had to…? Oh! You’re a brute! A despicable, disgusting brute!’ she whispered incoherently.
‘My God!’ he exclaimed, his face pinched with anger. ‘You think…! Dammit, Claire—your dress was tight! I thought you needed air in your lungs, darling——’
‘Don’t darling me!’ she cried in fury.
‘Hey!’ He frowned and gave her a little shake. ‘Still groggy? This is me, Trader! How far did you think I was going to go? he demanded, sounding bitterly offended.
‘That’s what I want to know!’ she muttered defiantly, her eyes fixed miserably on his.
The muscles in Trader’s jaw tightened, the insult eating into every visible inch of him. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ he said tightly.
‘Confidence?’ she scathed. ‘I’m to have confidence in you?’
‘Ye gods! Where’s the shrewish tongue come from?’
She didn’t know. Claire flushed at the rebuke and frantically tried to lift her bodice back to cover the half-naked globes of her breasts. For a moment she thought she saw hunger flicker around his strained mouth, but it set back into hurt lines again and she knew he was going to deny any idea of assault.
‘Where are we?’ she asked frostily, hunting around for clues.
‘The church vestry.’ His wary eyes watched her as if she were a bomb that might go off at any minute. ‘You’ve got a few minutes’ grace to recover.’
‘If I do,’ she said wildly.
‘Of course you will,’ he soothed, a worrying edge to his voice.
She squirmed under the compelling glance, saw his gaze drop as if hypnotised by her quivering breasts and she froze. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the treacherous excitement firming each peak and knew that she was quivering from the frisson that always came when he was near.
There was a horrid silence between them as if they were adversaries in some ghastly Cold War. Desperately she tried to interpret his expression, to find something—anything—that told her he felt concern or a residue of love for her. But the dark, smoothly tanned face had become quite inscrutable. Her eyes glimmered with contempt. He didn’t want to lose her—or rather the money that came with her. He’d want to coax her back to the altar, wouldn’t he?
‘I’m sorry. You must have had an awful shock,’ he said with disarming gentleness. Almost disarming.
‘Terrible,’ she replied bluntly. ‘I would like some water, please.’
‘Of course. Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking,’ he said in stilted, courteous tones. He went to fill a glass from the small wash basin and she took the opportunity to struggle with the zip but her fingers made no headway. ‘Let me,’ he said politely, putting the glass on the table beside her.
‘No! Don’t touch me!’ she snapped hastily.
‘For God’s sake, Claire! What the hell’s got into you? I told you I was applying common sense and first aid! Do you think I’m an animal?’ he growled.
‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. Other than her father, what did she know of men? How they behaved?
‘God!’ he exploded angrily, balling his fists.
‘Don’t hit me!’ she warned unsteadily.
His eyes flickered with a lightning flash of rage. He sucked in his breath and slowly released it before allowing himself to launch into a chilling reply. ‘I’m not like your father,’ he said coldly. ‘I don’t hit women. The rough treatment your mother had to suffer——’
‘Don’t you dare to speak of my father like that!’ she flared defensively, shamed by his perception. ‘You know nothing about his marriage!’
Trader seemed to be making an effort to control himself. It was like damming a river in full spate, she thought nervously. ‘If you say so,’ he said tightly. ‘I regret the remark and I made it in temper. But I don’t hit women, Claire. Whatever the provocation. Now listen. This is a church vestry. There are one hundred and fifty-two people, a vicar and a dozen choirboys a few yards away. Even if you think I’m the sort to jump on you at any given opportunity,’ he continued sarcastically, ‘you surely can’t imagine that I’d choose this particular moment, when I’ve had ample opportunity before, on beaches, in cars and in secluded woods?’
Her face flamed at his listing of the times when she’d been achingly willing. ‘No. Of course not. I believe you. I felt…vulnerable. Muddled.’ She put a shaking hand to her head and looked at him in appeal. ‘I feel terrible that—I—I reacted without thinking,’ she said miserably, wishing her zip would come unstuck. ‘I’m sorry.’
He grunted and watched her ineffectual wriggling with ill-concealed impatience. ‘Why don’t you give in?’ he sighed. ‘You’ll never do that up on your own.’
‘I—all right. Thank you,’ she mumbled, wanting to cry.
‘My poor darling,’ he said huskily. ‘You must be feeling awful. I hate to see you upset.’
And she wanted to believe that. But the lies seemed to come too easily to his lips, the adoration flowed too freely from his drowsy eyes. She had been vain to imagine she could have captured his heart when he was so handsome, so unnervingly sophisticated and worldly.
Oh, God! She blanched. Was that how her father had seduced his second wife into parting with her fortune? By charm and stealth and smooth talk?
Trader came to stand behind the chair, and remained there for several seconds without doing anything. The hairs rose on the back of her neck while she sat waiting, her hands firmly gripping the low neckline of her dress as a precaution. Eventually, after an eternity, he swept the headdress to one side in a drift of silk that caressed her smooth shoulder in a soft, erotic whisper and she gave an involuntary shiver. Her whole body waited for the touch of his hands and every fibre of her being had become focused on her naked and unprotected back.
‘Claire——’ he husked thickly.
‘For heaven’s sake, get on with it!’ she cried in agitation, unable to bear the suspense. There was a sensation running down her spine that frightened her. Fear and anticipation. Half of her wanted him to kiss each vertebra, to surround it with his warm mouth. The rest of her wanted to pick up her skirts and run for safety. A snake-pit would be fine.
‘Of course, darling,’ he soothed and she felt the satin voice wash over her, calming her doubts despite her struggle to stay wary. ‘We are pushed for time. I merely wanted to say how I adore you. How much I want to hold you in my arms.’ He gave a wicked little chuckle. ‘But it wouldn’t stop there, would it?’
Yes, she wanted to say. It would.
One of his palms came into contact with her back and she shuddered again, the desire to have it stroke her skin far too strong for her to deny. But Trader grunted, she felt the tug on the zip and so she drew herself erect to help its slow progress upwards. It couldn’t be that difficult a task, but she seemed suspended in a heavily dragging time while the material gradually closed over her lower back and then each straining rib; one by one, inch by excruciatingly exciting inch.
Probably to taunt her, he took a painful age to do up the fastening at the top, and she agonised over the touch of his fingers on her flesh. Something fierce and raw was piercing her body, something alarmingly sexual had made her vibrate to his practised caress. Each time he brushed her skin she quivered with a strange, vibrant life that made her blush with shame.
It was deliberate, she told herself. Part of his seduction. And mentally she clad herself in an impenetrable armour.
‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ he murmured. Idly his hand ran down the sheathing material that now encased her back. ‘You have such a tiny waist,’ he mused, sounding huskier by the second. ‘I think my hands could——’
‘Please!’ she breathed in agony. The armour was melting!
In a sudden, abrupt movement, he appeared by her side and wordlessly handed her the water. ‘Tell me when you feel you can continue,’ he said, his features as brittle as his voice. He regarded her with steady, unsmiling eyes. Cold, bleak, scary. It wasn’t her imagination that tinged his words with a sinister menace. He was watching her warily, as though judging the extent of her surrender to his magnetic personality. ‘Your mother will be worried,’ he said quietly.
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ she cried angrily. ‘You don’t have to rub it in. I hate the way you and my father use her condition to force me to do what you want!’
‘I want to marry you,’ he said tightly. ‘That’s hardly the vile deed you seem to be suggesting by your tone. I’m sorry if I pressurised you. But do me a favour and don’t bracket me with your father in the same breath!’
‘You’re alike,’ she muttered and met his glittering eyes with defiance.
‘Not by one iota,’ he said savagely.
Her eyes reflected her mute contradiction. Both were big men, both were charmers who liked to get their own way. And, now that she had to tell him she wasn’t going back, what would he do? He was very physical—she knew that, from the way he’d run across Ballymare beach with her, while she perched on his shoulders. Strong, too; his hands had made light work of shifting Dan O’Connor’s heavy old boat. She quivered with nerves.
But they couldn’t begin married life with dark secrets between them. She loved him deeply and she didn’t want him to marry her because she was attached to a pile of money. She’d rather wait till he came to her of his own free will. Her legs trembled. She sought to hide that fact by twisting them around each other beneath the huge skirt.
‘I think you have something to tell me,’ she said in a weird little croak.
Trader froze. He’s guilty! she thought in dismay. Her hands began to shake visibly and she put the glass down, straining to interpret the expression on his bleak face.
‘I have? Like…what?’ he asked, non-committally.
‘Let’s start with why someone stopped our wedding ceremony!’ she said quietly. And added, ‘Or did that escape your notice?!’
‘Hardly,’ he said coldly. ‘Nor did your sarcasm. I don’t like your tone, Claire.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘And I don’t like your secrets!’ she cried hysterically. ‘Can’t you see what a state I’m in? Just tell me and put me out of my misery: what exactly is the reason we shouldn’t get married?’
Every stupid inch of her was screwed up in anticipation of his answer and she knew with a terrible despair that she was more than eager to believe any excuse he dreamed up. And how she’d loathe herself if she did! He had her heart and soul. It would be disastrous if he claimed her pride as well.
‘None. I’m not married, I’ve not been certified insane and I have all the parts a woman could want in a husband. And I don’t have any notifiable disease. OK?’
She flushed. ‘Don’t patronise me, Trader!’ she snapped.
‘I was trying to lighten you up,’ he grated. ‘You don’t have a lot of faith in me, do you? God help us both if something really serious comes to test us,’ he added thoughtfully. She glared but he went on, ‘There was no objection to our marriage. Poor Phoenix was being hassled by some guy, wanting her address. She got irritable and told him to wait.’
‘That’s all?! It—it sounds far-fetched,’ she said hesitantly.
‘It’s the truth!’ he insisted. ‘I was shaken too, Claire. I’ve been on edge ever since we parted yesterday afternoon. I haven’t slept, wondering whether you’d turn up this morning——’
‘Is there a reason I shouldn’t?’ she asked quickly.
He grimaced. ‘A thousand. Or so I persuaded myself.’ His mouth made a half-hearted attempt at a wry grin. ‘I’ve never felt so unsure of someone in my life. Or as uncertain of anything. It’s a new experience and I don’t like it.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I came here for a break in my hectic life, not to find a bride. I have things to do which don’t leave room for a steady relationship, let alone a wife. But…you can’t ignore opportunity, can you?’ he said with a rueful grin.
‘Maybe we both should,’ she said bitterly.
‘Look, I know I’ve pushed you for this marriage. But you know why.’
‘Yes,’ she said shakily. ‘I think I do.’
With a groan, he knelt at her feet and laid a firm hand on her knee. Its heat burned through the layers of petticoats, warming her frozen skin. But despite his apparently submissive position, she had the impression of being trapped. His strength, his faint air of menace, the piercing command of his eyes all added up to domination. And she wanted parity.
‘Thank God for that!’ He gave her a dazzling grin that lit up his face and, fool that she was, she immediately felt that he was the man she’d fallen in love with again. ‘Darling, all I want is to be with you,’ he said persuasively. ‘I know you feel the same. I don’t need anyone else. You’re my friend and always will be. Doesn’t that tell you we have something special, something unique?’
Claire’s thick fringe of lashes closed with the sweet memories. They’d been so happy walking hand in hand. Wandering in quiet companionship, needing nothing but each other. ‘Oh, Trader!’ she said tremulously, wishing, wishing for his love. ‘I do love you! I do, I do, I do! I want to spend the rest of my life with you because you make me feel complete! And then I start to think of reasons we shouldn’t be together, instead of listening to my blind instincts and——’
‘Then stop thinking!’ he ordered sternly. ‘It’s cracking us up! We need one another. It’s that simple. Let’s get married without any more of this damn fool talking!’
She sniffed as the tears of relief filled her huge, forest-green eyes. ‘If you love me, truly love me, I’ll marry you. I—I didn’t want to be hurt, you see. I feel horribly defenceless where you’re concerned and…my mother’s experience has made me protect myself,’ she sobbed, her body in convulsions of weeping.
And then Trader was peeling her fingers from his waist and gently holding her at arm’s length while she stood weeping in front of him.
‘I understand that,’ he said quietly. ‘It would be easy to hurt you. Once committed, you give your whole self in a relationship, holding nothing back. But you have to trust me. Say you will marry me now or I’ll have to walk out of your life for ever.’
‘That sounds like an ultimatum,’ she said slowly, knuckling away the tears in surprise.
‘It is. I’m not going through this again,’ he replied, his dark eyes steady on hers. ‘This could be our only chance of happiness. You see, darling, you’re in a unique position to change my life.’
The money would change his life, she thought sadly. He’d be rich instead of poor. ‘Trader——’ she began, but his finger stopped her lips.
‘If you doubt me, if you reject me now, I’m not hanging around for an encore.’ The words were cold and uncompromising. He stood back and gave her a little shake, fixing her with his glittering stare. ‘My father was a very proud man. So am I. It’s difficult for me to admit that I love you so much that you could destroy me. But I’m taking the risk because I think it’s worth it, you idiot! This is my final gamble,’ he growled. ‘Yes, or no?’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1937830e-62c3-5f08-a1b3-06a2ee5d5e0b)
CLAIRE felt weak and tired from lack of sleep. Or perhaps it was more from the constant tension, the terrible demons that had tormented her since yesterday evening, followed by the drama of the morning. This wasn’t the time to be making any lifetime decision but she wanted the fairy-tale and she wanted Trader. The happy ever after.
Her lips parted. He might be a bastard. Have a terrible past. She had no way of knowing. But if he left, she’d never know and she’d always wonder. The scales slid one way, hovered, and then tipped precariously in the opposite direction. He swore that he loved her and she believed him. Without him she was only half a person. She had no choice but to marry him, whatever the consequences, or she’d regret it for ever.
‘Yes,’ she whispered helplessly.
‘Thank God!’ he muttered and gave her a sudden grin. ‘The condemned man lives again! I’ve been pronounced innocent of the crimes.’ Claire smiled wanly. ‘You look shattered. I’ll get Phoenix to help repair your make-up——’
‘No!’ she protested. ‘I want Sue——’
‘Phoenix,’ he insisted. ‘I can trust her not to say anything. She has my best interests at heart. Remember, you felt ill. Lack of sleep, nerves…Your mother must never know about your doubts. I’ll tell everyone you’re on your way.’
He was through the door before she could insist. In a panic, she staggered to the small washbasin and peered at herself in the mirror above. Rivulets of tears had made inroads into the make-up that Sue had helped her with earlier in an attempt to liven up her wan face. She heard Trader talking to Phoenix and hastily rubbed her thumb to smudge make-up across the telltale tear-streaks.
‘Hello, Claire,’ said Phoenix warmly, coming over and giving her a hug. ‘You poor little scrap! I’m sorry I gave you a fright. How wan you look—and no wonder! What awful things must have gone through your mind about this reprobate!’ She exchanged a fond smile with Trader and turned back to Claire. ‘Forgive me?’ she asked, with a catch in her voice.
‘Yes,’ answered Claire huskily. ‘It—it actually gave us some breathing space to talk things through.’ Her face lifted to Phoenix’s. ‘I know he loves me now,’ she said shyly.
‘Of course you do!’ cooed Phoenix. She found her compact and began sweeping a block powder over Claire’s face. ‘I’d better do your mascara,’ Phoenix sighed. ‘You’re really not used to wearing make-up, are you?’
‘She doesn’t need it,’ broke in Trader lovingly.
‘Course she does!’ scoffed Phoenix. ‘She’s got to do something to tone down that orange hair. Lord, Trader, you can’t go around looking suave and sophisticated with a little Irish colleen in tow! Look up, Claire…You need lashings of mascara on those ginger lashes. Better!’
Phoenix smiled, unaware that her words had worried Claire. Close up, Phoenix was incredibly beautiful, her pale, alabaster skin flawless, her dark hair drawn back from her face to show its incredible bone-structure, the elegantly understated hat giving her an enviably confident air. This woman knew more about Trader than she did, thought Claire wryly.
‘Leave her alone! I love my Irish colleen. I could eat her!’ chuckled Trader happily. ‘Come here!’ Like a fool, she obeyed before she could think, detaching herself from Phoenix’s detaining hand. Trader pulled her to his body. ‘This is for the woman I love,’ he murmured.
His mouth claimed hers in a gentle kiss. It disarmed her, persuading her to forget everything in her mind, obliterating everything, removing the armour completely. Her own lips flowered beneath his and she felt herself growing boneless in his arms.
‘Trader!’ complained Phoenix, close to her ear. ‘You’re ruining her lipstick, darling!’
He laughed exultantly, a fevered light in his eyes when they met Claire’s bewildered, blinking gaze. Phoenix dabbed at his lips in a sisterly fashion and then clucked crossly over the smudge at the corner of Claire’s mouth, trying to elbow Trader out of the way as she repaired the damage.
‘Trader…It will be all right, won’t it?’ faltered Claire, too worried to be put off by Phoenix.
He smiled his tender smile and she was lost in the glittering depths of his eloquent eyes. ‘You’re very precious to me,’ he said huskily.
Then, before she could respond—or even crush the treacherous thought that she had a very precious dowry, he was striding out into the church with her hand tucked in his, excitedly hauling her breathless body past a line of gaping choirboys, past her mother, who kissed her and sniffed away a tear or two, till she came to rest beside her worried-looking father again.
‘Claire’s fine. We’re ready,’ said Trader with a ringing satisfaction.
And the ceremony began again. Throughout, Claire felt a bittersweetness in her heart. All her life, she’d dreamed of this moment and now it had come, it wasn’t as she’d imagined. Even Trader’s loving glances didn’t ease her ache, however hard she tried to tell herself that her love would be enough.
‘You’re very quiet,’ he said gently, during the photographs afterwards.
‘You do love me?’ she blurted out, to her deep embarrassment. ‘Hey, listen to me!’ she joked uncomfortably. ‘I sound like a whining wife already! I mean——’
He was laughing, the lines around his eyes and mouth creasing appealingly. ‘You look up at me with that incredible sweet face, wearing that gorgeous dress filled with your glorious body and you ask me if I——’
‘I mean love,’ she said in reproach. ‘Not physical attraction.’
‘I hadn’t finished. Sexual attraction is an important part of what I feel for you but it’s not enough to make me rush into marriage.’
‘What is?’ she asked, her throat dry.
‘Work it out,’ he teased. ‘I’m thirty-five and I’ve been around a bit. I’ve known many women and I’ve had a couple of serious affairs. Suddenly I decide to get married.’ He bent and dropped a light kiss on her nose, smiling with a loving exasperation. ‘Doesn’t that tell you anything, idiot?’ he asked affectionately.
‘Not really. You could have married me for all kinds of reasons,’ she hinted.
‘I did—dammit, just wait, will you?’ he yelled at the photographer, and everyone laughed when Trader took her in his arms and kissed her stiff mouth very thoroughly, softening it despite her determination not to be coaxed. ‘I’ve married you because you’re reserved, quiet, unassuming and tough,’ he said huskily. His mouth claimed hers again. ‘Because you’re restful to be with and I feel as if I’ve known you all my life. Because we both like silence and remote places and these past few weeks have been the happiest of my life.’
‘Really?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Really,’ he murmured against her soft lips. ‘It’s been wonderful to find peace away from the hurlyburly of life and to be with you. I love you, Claire. Let that be engraved on your heart.’
Dizzily she let him peel her fingers from his chest and blushed as everyone clapped in delight at their sheepish faces. And she held his declaration in her heart and let it comfort her, vowing to think positively about their marriage.
He held her close on the way to the reception at the hotel and she felt content to be in his arms. As various people hugged and congratulated them, she knew her face was glowing with happiness—and so was his.
‘Feel all right now?’ he smiled, as they made their way to their seats at the table. ‘Not worried you’ve married an ogre?’
‘No!’ She smiled back and wanted to explain. ‘But you are a stranger to me and you can’t blame me for wondering if I’ve done the right thing. All I know is that you drink your coffee black and strong, you never eat cake and you’re crazy about sunsets!’
‘Not a bad inventory. You also know I like crispy bacon and fried eggs for breakfast——’
‘Nothing for lunch and that you have a passion for seafood and good wine,’ she said slowly, arranging her dress with care as she sat down on the chair he held for her. She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘It’s not much to go on, is it? Only a fool would get married knowing so little about someone!’
‘But perhaps it’s only fools who fall in love,’ he said, smiling into her eyes. ‘Common sense vanishes when your heart is committed to someone. Don’t you think it’s exciting to want to be with someone so badly that you’ll risk putting your life in their hands?’
A shiver went up her spine and he must have seen her tremble, because he placed his warm hand on her cold one and massaged it gently.
‘It’s scary,’ she said solemnly. ‘I’ve never taken a risk before.’
‘Look forward to our exploration of each other,’ he said. ‘You know we’re right for each other. Look into my eyes and see the love I have for you. Look into your heart and read what’s written there. You’ll find my name.’
Claire relaxed and kissed him, overwhelmed by the strength of his love. She would trust him because she wanted to. And so she began to enjoy herself, letting her doubts recede and allowing her happiness to shine through.
It seemed that she floated on a cloud all through the meal and the speeches, even when her father rose to speak and Trader sat stiff and tense till he’d finished.
But the strain left his face when the dancing began and Claire was delighted to discover that he seemed reluctant to ever leave her side.
‘People will talk!’ Claire grinned happily, her eyes flirting with Trader as her partner was gently shouldered aside. ‘I finish a dance and you materialise from nowhere—if you haven’t cut in on my partner already!’
‘I don’t want you talking to strange men,’ he said smoothly.
She laughed as he took her in his arms. ‘Well, you’re a strange man—and I’m talking to you!’ Her arms went around his neck. ‘Luke,’ she said reproachfully. ‘I married a Luke Benedict! You fraud! I thought I was getting a guy called Trader!’
He smiled a little thinly. ‘Thank your lucky stars it wasn’t Albert!’ He nuzzled her cheek. ‘If you were surprised,’ he murmured, ‘so was I. When the vicar told me to repeat, “I, Luke, take thee, Claire,” I almost turned around to see who you’d got lined up in the queue behind me!’
Claire laughed delightedly. ‘Then my father had a coughing fit and you scowled at him! Perhaps he thought you were someone else, too!’
‘I think, for a minute, he did,’ Trader murmured drily.
A balloon banged into her head. She turned around, laughing and saw Phoenix smiling at her so she batted the balloon back and Trader quickly whisked her away.
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SARA WOOD
Wedlocked!"Marry me now. Or I'll walk out of your life forever." Claire Jardine's wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, but her whirlwind courtship had her reeling: who was the real Trader Benedict? Her perfect partner or a ruthless blackmailer? And why had he chosen Claire to be his bride?His glamorous companion Phoenix seemed a far more suitable candidate. As she stood at the altar with Trader, the time had come to answer the most important question of her life: did she dare take this man?
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ud4b4888c-92d5-5217-b3f2-efa9ebe91b56)
Excerpt (#uc601424e-c689-57df-bca7-5753654712ed)
About the Author (#ue7491224-aa24-5c47-b33f-b62df606e227)
Title Page (#u4fa52df5-ba44-5665-846c-946acd732b6e)
Chapter One (#u6f541218-8645-54a1-88d9-ae9d418f7261)
Chapter Two (#u5bbe319f-6e31-56d1-874d-ef7d4bb253c5)
Chapter Three (#ud4b0d8c3-2c26-5f96-9767-a2fa3a01f1b4)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Say you’ll marry me now. Or I’ll have to walk out of your life forever. “
“That sounds like an ultimatum.”
“It is. I’m not going through this again,” Trader replied. “You’re in a unique position to change my life.”
The money would change his life, Claire thought sadly. “Trader——” she began, but his finger stopped her lips.
“If you doubt me, if you reject me now, I’m not hanging around for an encore… Yes, or no?”
Childhood in Portsmouth meant grubby knees, flying pigtails and happiness for SARA WOOD. Poverty drove her from typist and seaside landlady to teacher till writing finally gave her the freedom her Romany blood craved. Sara is happily married and has two handsome adult sons, Richard and Simon. She lives in the Cornish countryside. Sara’s glamorous writing life alternates with her passion for gardening, which allows her to be carefree and grubby again.
Second-Best Bride
Sara Wood
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_911a5a13-cfc1-54f2-bd0f-54c49cbb796a)
IT SHOULD have been the happiest day of her life, not the worst. Weren’t weddings supposed to make people cry with joy? Claire felt closer to howling, and joy didn’t come into it. Misery, yes. Disillusionment. Selfpity and embarrassment. Not much cause to laugh there.
She huddled deeper into the corner of the limousine, staring at the billows of ivory taffeta where her voluminous skirt had been spread carefully over the cream leather seat. And she wondered how on earth she could bring herself to speak. The words were quite simple. No long syllables to tangle a tongue. ‘I can’t marry Trader’. So why did they ball up together and stick in her throat?
A sour-tasting sickness heaved and rolled in her stomach. She closed her soft-green eyes tightly and counted slowly to ten till the nausea went away. After her hen party, she should have gone home. Disastrously for her peace of mind, she’d let Phoenix persuade her to stay on for a couple of brandies and an intimate chat.
Big mistake. Better to have remained ignorant. Her tongue slicked nervously over her dry lips, removing the final traces of peach lipstick. All night she’d dwelt on the things Phoenix had said till she’d been half tearing her hair out with despair.
She stole a look in her father’s direction. He was a picture of contentment: a handsome man, his unfamiliar face glowing with anticipation. Daunted by his delight, Claire couldn’t quite pluck up the courage to tell him the bad news.
Her heart thudded away while the smooth, ostentatious limousine purred along with its mockery of fluttering satin ribbons on the endless bonnet. They were alarmingly near to the grey stone church. And Trader. And the hundreds of guests. A hot wave swept over her.
‘We’re late,’ commented her father crossly. ‘Your fault. Good crowd, mind.’ His hand crossed her vision in a flash of gold and ruby rings, waving royally. ‘It’s their entertainment, I suppose,’ he grunted, with all the contempt of a Channel Islander for the unsophisticated people of remote Ballymare. ‘I suppose weddings and funerals add drama to their drab, small lives.’
They’d get drama, thought Claire. This would be a wedding and a funeral rolled up in one! And oh, the shame of it! She shuddered. Faint from skittering nerves, she placed her hand on her father’s arm, flinching at the ragged, good-natured cheer that arose outside when the car slowly drew up to the kerb.
Deep breath. Calm voice. Firm, decisive. ‘Don’t get out! I can’t go through with the wedding!’ she cried shakily, forcing the words through her pale, dry lips in a sudden, gabbling rush.
‘Whaaat? Sweetie——!’ Her father reached to grab her trembling hand and she withdrew it, backing away warily.
‘No!’ she said huskily. ‘I won’t budge! I won’t change my mind!’
‘The woman’s mad!’ Her father took one close look at her set face and his mouth went grim. ‘Driver! Go round the block again! Claire, what are you trying to do, give me a coronary? I’ll make you marry Trader if I have to carry you——’
‘I think the guests might notice if the bride arrives struggling and screaming over your shoulder,’ she retorted defiantly, finding his idea ridiculous. She was close to laughing hysterically—or was she nearer to tears? Whatever. Far too many emotions were thrashing around in her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she went on sympathetically. ‘I really am. But my mind’s made up.’
‘Well, unmake it. Are you nuts?’ asked her father aggressively.
‘No,’ she said forlornly. ‘Sane at last.’
‘But it’s been “Trader, Trader, Trader” ever since I arrived in Ireland five days ago! You’re nervous, that’s all. Snap out of it, sweetie!’ Seeing her set mouth, her father changed tack, holding back his temper and turning on the charm that had coaxed a lifetime of women into his arms, hissing the words through perfectly capped teeth. ‘Of course you’ll go through with it! Honeymoon in the Seychelles, palm trees, blue skies, hot sun…The expense! The marquee alone cost——’
‘I know. A fortune. You told me.’ She gave a faint, sad smile. His materialistic nature always surfaced. ‘I’m terribly sorry to do this to you!’ Her huge eyes pleaded with him in vain for comfort. ‘Dad——’
He scowled. ‘Jack. I told you! I don’t like being reminded that I’m old enough to be the father of a twenty-two-year-old woman. Now shape up,’ he snapped. ‘Fast.’
‘That’s the trouble. I’ve shaped,’ she muttered.
And felt very alone. A cuddle and some understanding would be nice. But Jack only played the one role: that of a macho charmer. Sadly she took in the dyed black waves and incongruously unlined face. Plastic surgery had meant that her father bore little resemblance to the photograph by her mother’s bedside. It was the face of a stranger.
And Trader was a stranger too, she realised with an awful jolt, twisting her long, slender fingers in alarm. Sunlight shafted in through the window, lighting her pale face and lowered golden lashes, glancing off the facets of the diamonds and emeralds of her engagement ring. It had been hers for barely a week; dreams discovered, dreams realised…Dreams lost? Her breath caught in her throat and she had to fight not to break down.
‘Jack. Please understand,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t marry Trader. I know it’s the eleventh hour. I know it’s embarrassing and annoying and it’ll cause a lot of trouble if I back out—but I’d rather cope with the flak than marry and have regrets for the rest of my life, or be driven to divorce. I never once stopped to think things through,’ she explained. ‘It’s been such a whirl. He never let up once, never left me alone,’ she added helplessly. ‘Trader bulldozed me.’
And she’d allowed it! Secretly, she was appalled. Always thoughtful, always reticent to the point of silence, she’d never let her feelings run away with her so drastically. How could she be marrying someone she’d only known for three weeks?
‘Trader’s like that. Single-minded. Beats you over the head till he gets what he wants,’ grunted Jack.
‘How do you know?’ Claire frowned. ‘You only met him a few days ago.’
‘We talked business a few times,’ said her father curtly.
‘Business?’ she queried. ‘I thought you disliked one another. Did you chat together while I was working at the hotel?’
‘We do loathe the sight of each other,’ Jack acknowledged. ‘But that’s got nothing to do with it. It’s too late to change your mind. You’ve got to be nice to him——’
‘I’ve what?’ she said sharply, unsure she’d heard correctly.
Grim and suddenly old behind the unnaturally youthful face, Jack said testily, ‘Be a good girl and treat him well! Do whatever he wants! Don’t cross him, Claire. There’ll be trouble.’
‘Trouble? Isn’t that being a bit melodramatic?’ she asked in astonishment.
‘I wish!’ said her father gloomily. ‘Take it from one who knows. Handle him with kid gloves. The man’s dynamite on legs. He’ll detonate just for spite. Marry him. For my sake. For your own.’
Fear drained even the effects of blusher on her pale, fine-boned face. Behind the hazy silk of her veil, her eyes looked like two huge mossy smudges as she stared back at her father. ‘I knew Trader was holding something back! I knew he wasn’t telling me everything, that he had a secret!’ she said tremulously. ‘Tell me what’s going on! I’m sitting in this car till you do!’
‘Oh God!’ he groaned. He was silent for a while and she felt like screaming when he hesitated for interminable seconds. ‘OK,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m in trouble. We’ve both got to crawl in whichever direction he orders. He’s calling the tune and I’m dancing. You’re part of the package. Let him have you!’
‘A package!’ Taut in every muscle, Claire leaned forward and let her father’s words roll around her head till they sank in fully. Her lips tightened into a searingly thin line.
‘Yeah. Bastard’s got a hold on me as tight as a ferret.’
‘You do mean Trader?’ she asked faintly. Her stomach gave a lurch again and her small hand flew to the tightly fitting bodice as if it could hold back the swelling misery inside.
‘Trader,’ confirmed her father bitterly. ‘Trader-blasted-Benedict! Terminator bloody III!’
‘She’s late.’
Trader scowled at his best man’s obvious remark. ‘Bride’s privilege,’ he said curtly.
‘Ye-e-es. Sure this is right for you?’ asked Charles with a wise caution. Trader had been edgy all morning. ‘You could walk out now——’
‘And miss out on the chance of a lifetime?’ growled Trader. His head turned with an angry jerk and his eyes raked the aisle grimly. If she didn’t turn up, he’d crucify that father of hers and spread his entrails across their agreement.
An elegant, gloved hand fluttered, attracting his attention. Phoenix. He smiled faintly at her beautiful face, admiring the perfect make-up, noting with approval her air of sophistication and grooming. Phoenix blew him a kiss and he grinned, his black eyes dancing with the love he felt for her. Fee’s features softened as they always did.
He raised a sardonic eyebrow and his broad shoulders, as if to say, ‘Will she, won’t she?’ and Fee gave him a secretive smile. Because they sure shared one hell of a secret. And as he turned back, he hoped to God no one found out before he was well and truly married to Claire.
The bottomless pit of anger inside him surged up and quickened his breathing, the bitterness of twenty or more years ripping through him till he saw nothing but a red haze before his eyes.
It had gone on long enough. It had begun to cripple his life, threatening to taint the woman he loved. Trader forced himself to focus clearly on the altar rail and make a decision. Ten more minutes. After that he’d leave. And blow the whistle on Jack Jardine.
The cruel smile hardened his granite profile and his long-time friend, Charles Fairchild, shifted uncomfortably. Trader had always been complex, with a dark side he’d never dared to investigate. ‘Bear up. She’s worth the wait,’ he said brightly.
Trader shot a quick look at the aisle and met Fee’s affectionate eyes again. He relaxed and turned back to Charles. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘She is.’
‘Driver! Go round again,’ said Jack tensely as Claire slumped back into the seat and the crushed taffeta sighed all around her. ‘Claire, you’ve got to help me!’ he muttered. ‘My whole business is on the line. Hundreds of my employees all over the world could be out of a job—and it would be your fault! I’m facing ruin!’
‘From Trader? How? He’s only known you a few days!’ she exclaimed, bewildered by what was happening.
‘We’ve just met. But he’s been after me for years. Me and everything I have. Coveting it all! He doesn’t care how he gets it.’
Claire gasped. ‘But…what would he get from marrying me?’
‘Half of everything I own,’ Jack muttered, sounding utterly defeated.
‘He gets money if I go through with this?’ she asked with horror.
‘Money. Property. Control. Half my wealth and possessions go to him as your dowry, I keep the rest.’ Her father’s mouth twisted bitterly. ‘And in return he’ll keep his mouth shut about my tax evasion and a couple of questionable deals. I owe several million dollars. That’s a maximum three-hundred-year gaol sentence in America.’
‘Three hundred…! Oh, Dad!’ she moaned faintly. Now she understood! And Phoenix had been trying to warn her last night. Claire felt weak from shock. It was unbelievable that Trader could have betrayed her and lied so convincingly. A package! The idea rocked her to the core.
Her nagging doubts about the wisdom of their hasty marriage had turned into something really serious. Granted, she’d wanted to delay the marriage to straighten a few things out, but she hadn’t bargained on being faced with an insurmountable obstacle like…like being betrothed to a man she couldn’t respect. One who might not even love her.
‘He—he said he loved me!’ she ventured, a desperately hopeful note in her voice.
‘Oh, sure he does!’ affirmed her father, rather too painfully eager to convince her.
And she remarked with unusual cynicism, ‘I suppose it can’t be hard to love a blindly adoring woman with a tempting dowry.’
Her father shrugged. ‘You get a lot out of this too. You share his half of the so-called dowry, after all. And I’m leaving you the other half when I die. You’re an heiress, you know.’
Claire noted with sadness that he wasn’t intending to leave anything to her mother. ‘I hope you’re not trying to buy my co-operation in this disgusting arrangement,’ she said unhappily.
‘You’d like to be rich,’ he said sullenly. ‘Everyone would.’
‘I want enough money so that Mother doesn’t have to work, that’s all.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Does Trader know that, in addition to the dowry, I will eventually inherit your portion as well?’ she asked slowly.
Her father nodded. ‘He gets the lot eventually, one way or another. The whole Trebisonne empire. So what? He loves you, you love him. That’s not so bad, is it?’
Claire groaned. ‘Yes, it is! How can I marry a scheming rat?’
‘Plenty of women do,’ grunted her father. ‘Why should you be so special?’
Because she wanted to fall in love and marry and be happy forever after. Because she wanted a husband who would walk over hot coals for her, cherish her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others till death them did part.
Not someone who’d put the screws on her father because he’d been fiddling his tax on a grand scale! Her father must be really desperate to give up half his wealth. He needed a lot of money for his extravagant lifestyle in Florida. The rejuvenating surgery alone must have cost thousands. And he’d let slip in a boast one day that he’d lost a million in Vegas. Expensive tastes.
‘Trader didn’t arrive in Ballymare by chance, did he?’ she said harshly. ‘It was no coincidence!’
‘Coincidence? Are you joking?’ scoffed her father incredulously.
Claire gave a little moan. She’d been set up. That meeting on the beach had been carefully planned. Trader was poor and he’d long coveted her father’s money—so badly that he’d sink to blackmail to marry it. She’d known from the first that he’d needed to count the pennies. He wore nothing but comfortable old clothes and their time had been spent walking, talking, eating simple picnic food.
She gave a bitter smile. Because according to her aunts, her father had acquired the vast Le Trebisonne fitness centres by a cold-blooded and calculating second marriage to the widow of Philippe Le Trebisonne. And now the empire was being wrested from him by a man of equal cunning—ironically, also by marriage.
Trader and her father were unnervingly alike. And that horrified her. Two irresistible charmers. Both liars.
She winced. So much for being swept off her feet. Next time she’d apply Superglue.
‘Marry him!’ pleaded her father.
‘You’re asking me to sacrifice my future for you?’ she asked with quiet dignity. ‘You’ve only seen me twice in my life before this week. It’s been fourteen years since you last came to Ballymare for a brief visit—and yet you’re expecting my unquestioning loyalty!’
Her father’s hand closed around her shoulder like a vice. ‘If you don’t marry him, Trader will bring the Revenue men down on me and the police and I’ll lose everything. I want to be reconciled with your mother. She loves me——’
‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘Even though you walked out when she was pregnant with me, twenty-three years ago!’ Her mother had loved her father through thick and thin, through infidelity, deceit, callousness. Inexplicable. But she knew that a reunion would make her mother overjoyed. Unfortunately, her father held the key to her mother’s happiness.
More blackmail. And she was being drawn into it whether she liked it or not.
‘We’re here. Again,’ grunted her father, leaping out. ‘Get ready. Remember how ill your mother is.’
Pain sliced through her like a knife through butter. The door opened and the chauffeur’s gloved hand stretched towards her. She stared at it blankly. But her father came around the car, pushed the concerned driver aside and grabbed Claire’s slender wrist with a flash of chunky gold rings, hauling her out with an impatient, ‘Too many people need this marriage. Get a hold on yourself and do your duty!’
Stunned by his lack of compassion, by his cruelty, she stumbled numbly a few yards down the church path through the crowds of friends and well-wishers. Words like ‘fragile’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘ethereal’ came to her ears. For ethereal read shocked, she thought weakly.
Someone turned her around to pose for photographs. Hating to create a scene in public, she let herself be manhandled into position, silently enduring the embarrassment of the friendly compliments from everyone. Everyone loved a bride, she thought soberly. But…did the groom?
Trader was corrupt and grasping and he would change into a monster—as her father had—the minute she became his wife. Her mother had been fooled by Jack Jardine’s easy charm. Why shouldn’t she have inherited that blindness?
‘Smile!’ urged the photographer.
She did her best but her lips kept quivering. This was a farce! But it gave her time to think. ‘A few more,’ she suggested huskily.
Her hand fretted with a hairpin in her marmalade hair. Trader had likened it to a sheet of flamed water at sunset and said he loved it straight and hanging loose. But that morning Phoenix had organised it into alien curls heaped on her head and fixed with an arc of brutal grips. Claire felt like a prisoner, starting a gaol sentence. If only she’d waited and got to know Trader properly! But he could coax a polar bear to part with its fur…
‘OK, that’ll do.’ Jack took her arm and squeezed it. ‘This is it, sweetie,’ he said shakily. ‘Remember, I’d be no good to your mother in prison!’
Her face paled and she swallowed hard. Jack was her father, whatever his faults, and she couldn’t blithely ignore his distress. All her life she’d longed to win her father’s love. She’d tried, heaven knew, but he’d always found her irritating and she’d got in the way. Yet he needed her now and she couldn’t let him down. And she did love Trader. Life without him was unthinkable.
Claire walked from the sun into the shade of the porch. She shivered apprehensively. Butterflies and gremlins were scurrying around her body, making her feel faint. She was afraid to go ahead with the wedding—and horror-struck at the idea of stopping it.
Silent and nervous, trying to find the right thing to do, she waited while her friend Sue adjusted the Southern-belle neckline and fussed with the huge puff sleeves so that the material lay in beguiling folds off the shoulder. Suddenly feeling very naked with so much creamy skin gleaming in the half-light, Claire twitched them up. They slid down again.
‘Leave them!’ teased Sue fondly. ‘You’re marrying a passionate man, you idiot, not a monk!’
‘Passionate!’ she repeated faintly.
Yes, he was. It lay in the darkness of his eyes, the intensity of his words and the hunger in his mouth. Violent emotions lay behind that courteous exterior. Phoenix had said, ‘You’ll have great sex, darling!’ and had made her blush. It had been something she’d blocked out of her mind.
Claire shivered as terror gripped her slim body with its iron hand. Passion meant male lust, passion meant anger: the two things she was scared of facing. And she recoiled from the thought of animal lust and anger entering her life, because she’d seen her mother destroyed by both.
Yet Trader had controlled himself, for her sake. Her chin lifted decisively. She would marry Trader without protest and make it all come out well. Love conquered all. ‘Love reforms Blackmailer’. Her hopes rose again. She could show him what love could do; how it could heal and soften even the most desperate of men, the most power-hungry person who walked God’s earth. She winced. It was a tall order. Her mother hadn’t had much success with her father to date.
But if she could succeed, she’d save her mother the inevitable shock. Claire grimly shut her mind to the memory of her mother’s last angina attack. It had been frightening, terribly harrowing. If anything should happen to the woman who’d devoted her life to her…
‘I’m ready, Jack,’ she said to her father, and was proud of the way her voice remained steady despite her nerves.
‘About time!’ he grumbled, jerking her into motion.
The ‘Bridal March’ began, silencing her giggling bridesmaids. Claire glided into the body of the church in a soft, rich rustle of her huge skirts. At the top of the aisle, she paused, deathly white beneath the softly falling veil, her fingers digging hard into her father’s sleeve.
Curious faces turned towards her. To her left, the lovely, homely faces of many of her Ballymare friends who were chattering excitedly, their affection reaching out and wrapping her in a welcome warmth. Many were from the hotel where she and her mother worked—and where she and Trader had met when he’d come to stay.
But to the right swirled an alien clutch of salon-smooth complexions, exclusive clothes, designer hats and discreetly wafting perfumes that denoted Trader’s few guests. Her solemn eyes swept over them in astonishment because she’d never expected such affluence. But Phoenix had said Trader courted the rich, like her father used to. Did Trader also live beyond his means, toadying to the wealthy? She didn’t know. God help her, she didn’t know.
‘By Jiminy, there’s a few million pounds represented there!’ gloated her father triumphantly in her ear. ‘Clever girl!’
‘Jack!’ Claire’s cheeks burned with mortification. One of Trader’s guests had flinched at her father’s remark.
Miserably she walked at a funeral pace down the long aisle, between the stunning displays of blue and cream flowers that adorned each pew and which drowned her in heavy perfume.
And finally she found the courage to look at Trader. Seeing the heart-stopping spread of his broad back in the beautifully tailored morning coat, she felt the tension in her fingers miraculously ease. Slowly her hand uncurled, longing to touch that neat, dark curve of hair above his tanned neck and to relax the unnatural stiffness of his head.
Oh, God, how she loved him! Her anguished eyes burned into his back. If he’d turn round, she reasoned, everything would be all right. Even at this eleventh hour it would be a joy to find her worries wiped away. She didn’t want to hurt anyone today; not her mother, her father, her friends, Trader…herself.
Turn, Trader! she pleaded. He must know she was there! Her satin-clad feet were tapping on the grating, her many petticoats were rustling. Everyone else was looking! Didn’t he care?
‘Oh, Trader!’ she breathed plaintively.
‘Claire, darling!’ whispered someone close by. With a start, Claire recognised the warm tones of the woman Trader had lived with for most of his life. Phoenix’s beautiful, exotic face swam into focus. ‘You look ill! Should you be here?’
Claire went limp with gratitude. Someone cared. ‘No,’ she husked. Her tongue flickered nervously over pale, dry lips and she gazed at the raven-haired Phoenix, pleading to be saved from her nightmare.
Before that could happen, her father’s strong, expensively tanned hand reached out and patted hers and even he—insensitive to the condition of other people—could see that it was pale and trembling where it lay against the cascades of cream and pastel blue flowers that were appliquéd on to the fabric.
‘Pull yourself together, sweetie!’ he growled.
She was together. That was the trouble. Her rational mind had woken up and it was discovering all the flaws in her dream. Her love had been too unconditional, too trusting. She was an unsophisticated chambermaid. Trader was handsome and desirable.
Like her father! And he’d never been faithful…
Quite suddenly, Trader turned, jerking around with a sharp, impatient movement. She gave a small gasp of hope and her heart quickened its beat. But there was a frown instead of the usual look of adoration on his dark and handsome face; a frown that was replaced by a chilling stare as his eyes swung between her and her tense father. And the hatred between the two men blasted down the aisle with a shockingly tangible force.
‘Oh, no!’ she moaned, panicking.
Blindly, consumed by an unspeakable dismay, Claire tugged her hand from her father’s arm and half-whirled around, hampered by the trailing material and the weight of the long, flower-strewn train. She would run! She’d get into her car, leave Ballymare and never come back!
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_25ce51d1-dc1c-5029-9ffa-198ae5269230)
CLAIRE heard murmurs of consternation from all around her as she gathered her skirts up for the dash to the door. Then her father caught her hand and jerked her roughly back to his side.
‘You want to humiliate both your parents?’ he hissed furiously.
‘I want to be happy!’ she whispered.
She rocked on her feet but managed to hold her ground. The murmurings grew louder while she stared in confusion at Trader, who looked equally alarmed, small beads of sweat glistening on his brow. Hopelessly muddled, she gripped her skirt convulsively, causing some of the petals from the flower swags to float to the floor.
‘He loves me, he loves me not,’ she intoned inaudibly to herself, superstitiously counting each petal as it fell. ‘He loves me, he loves me not…’ Her breath stopped. ‘He loves me!’
Her lashes fluttered up in the unlikely hope that the childish game had some foundation. Incredibly, Trader was smiling gently and the love in his eyes made her give an involuntary sigh of bemused pleasure. She was totally oblivious to the chorus of sentimental sniffs to her left and the amused smiles to her right. Her father tugged in vain. She was transfixed. Immobile.
I love you! Trader mouthed, tenderly, adoringly. And she melted. Stupid she might be to go against every ounce of rational thought in her brain, but with that affirmation, all her worries vanished in a rush of relief and a shy delight.
I love you! she mouthed back in soft, heart-aching delight, seeing his whole body relax as though he’d been tense and uncertain too.
He loved her. She’d put her life on the line that he did. That heart-stopping worship in his soul-searching eyes couldn’t possibly be faked!
Her slender body still trembled but now she glowed and her smile broke out, filling her face with radiance. She sighed in sheer relief at the narrowness of her escape from a life of misery without him. Seeing Trader’s loving face, she knew there was more to the blackmail and Trader’s strange behaviour than her father had let on. There must be another side to the story, and between them they’d work out a solution to living their lives decently.
Courage and confidence lifted her head on its slender neck. Like a graceful swan, released from its ugly duckling stage, she floated towards Trader, the man she loved, an incandescent joy on her face. And to her great delight he came slowly towards her as if he couldn’t bear to wait any longer to be near her, to touch her. That was how she felt. They’d been apart for too long. Hours!
She was aware, briefly, of her mother’s moist eyes and hugely happy smile beneath the ridiculous little hat Trader had helped her choose. It made her look young and beautiful, thought Claire fondly. And saw how quickly her mother transferred her gaze to her father, and ached at the intense longing in her mother’s sweet face. Dear Ma! It took all sorts!
And Claire vowed to forget her father’s jarring behaviour and questionable ethics and to concentrate on the fact that he had the power to make her mother content, after years of unhappiness. If they got together, her mother could give up work at last and her angina would be more manageable and less life-threatening. Claire smiled with joy.
‘I hope she knows what she’s doing!’
Claire flinched, but she didn’t let Phoenix’s anxious aside dim her smile at all. She did know. Trader was stretching out his hand to her and she had eyes only for him.
‘My beautiful madonna,’ he said softly.
Shivers chased down her spine at the way he looked at her. Nice shivers. They made her feel special. Cherished.
‘Trader!’ she husked.
Filled with a wonderful lightness of heart, she reached out and took his hand, watched him half disintegrate, saw the strong jaw working, the swallowing of a lump in his throat that echoed hers—and, unknown to her, almost everyone’s in the church.
‘Trader,’ she sighed happily.
He loved her!
Firmly he drew her to his side and his fierce, possessive look told her that he never wanted to let her go again. Lovingly he guided her the last few yards down the aisle. And, elated beyond belief, she shyly lowered her eyes to quietly savour the wonderful moment of certainty. Her dreams were safe and love would conquer all their difficulties. Feeling the acuteness of his relief, she felt privileged and humble that she should have prompted such a profound love in a man’s heart.
His hand tightened its grip a little. ‘Claire!’ It was a wonderfully husky growl that never failed to make her feel she was being caressed and it reached deep into her bones. ‘You worried me for a moment back there!’ he said softly. ‘I thought that——’ He gave a low laugh that still had an edge of relief to it. ‘I thought you were going to jilt me!’
The clergyman fidgeted, the starched cassock crackling meaningfully, but Claire’s eyes pleaded mutely for a moment to speak to Trader.
‘If I had?’ she asked gently.
‘I would have caught you and kissed you till you surrendered to me,’ Trader murmured. He smiled. ‘I love you, Claire!’ he said with fierce conviction. ‘I love you so much it stops my breath!’
It was everything she’d wanted to hear. Shaken, she slowly lifted her lashes and he must have seen the pearly tears at the corner of her huge, soft eyes despite the folds of the gossamer veil, because he gave her a tender, understanding smile that brought a blinding happiness to her face.
The intense devotion in her expression, her unworldly beauty and his compellingly handsome profile, produced a ripple of wistful envy that ran through the church in a low murmur.
Her lips parted. But she couldn’t speak for the lump in her slender throat and touched him on his broad chest instead, with a loving, worshipping hand. Which he took in his and kissed lightly before he turned to the moist-eyed cleric in front of them.
‘Please go ahead. We’re ready,’ he said, with an authoritative nod.
And Claire felt the excitement mounting within her, a mist of love around her that little else permeated. Dimly in the background, she heard the organ notes die away and then the clergyman’s gentle voice. ‘Dearly beloved…’
Trader squeezed her hand rather hard. She tried to listen carefully to every word, every special phrase she and Trader had chosen from her mother’s old prayer book, so that she could savour every second of her wedding-day—so nearly abandoned.
Now she understood her mother’s unshakeable devotion. Once you’d experienced true love, you were never the same again. There was a painful, contradictory seesawing of feelings: a deep core of tranquillity and an adrenalin-spinning excitement. Elation and security. Irresistible drugs of the mind. Trader satisfied all her emotional needs. That was enough.
She stole a look at the man she loved: the clean sweep of brow, the aggressive nose and determined mouth, the achingly beautiful angle of cheek and jaw. An intensely masculine man. Potent, a little unnerving, mysterious.
Her knees weakened. He shot her a look, his eyes glittering with such a fierce excitement that it came close to…triumph.
‘…not to be undertaken lightly or wantonly…’
Her body stiffened a little because her conscience troubled her over that. They were marrying with secrets between them. Maybe without a dowry Trader wouldn’t give her a second thought. His hand squeezed hers reassuringly. In fact, his grip was so tight that she could feel the unusual dampness of his palms and the impression of her bones against his flesh.
‘…but reverently, discreetly, advisedly…’
The pressure on her hand increased till she gasped and turned her huge green eyes to him in apprehension. It was as though Trader was afraid she’d take fright and run. Claire shrank into herself, alarmed by her suspicious thoughts.
Somehow she quelled her disloyal doubts and fixed her gaze on the solemn priest. Every word was of deep significance to her. Marriage was holy. Not to be undertaken lightly…There was a clatter behind them; one of Trader’s guests had dropped something—a portable phone, by the sound of it. And he drew in a deep, harsh breath that filled his body with a rigid tension.
Stricken by her overwhelming misgivings, she steeled herself not to tremble.
‘Therefore,’ intoned the priest, ‘if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’
There was a stifled cry behind them which made them both jump. The vicar looked up in sudden alarm as a shocked hush fell. Trader stopped breathing and prickles went down the back of Claire’s neck. Trader had tightened every muscle in his body as though he feared and anticipated a denouncement.
She felt her skin become clammy. And then she heard what she’d been dreading. A clear, ringing word that echoed accusingly in the silence…
‘Wait!’
Claire gave a low, despairing moan of horror and fainted dead away.
It seemed but a moment before the darkness that surrounded her became murky. Voices impinged on her unconscious and slowly she recovered to full awareness—but she kept her eyes tightly shut because she couldn’t bring herself to face anyone. The shame, the awful, hollowing disillusionment, rocketed through her, draining away all normal resilience.
And she tried to untangle her mind because she was no longer lying on the cold, stone floor of the church. It seemed she was sitting in an armchair; she could feel its welcome softness beneath her lifeless body.
Quite motionless, she began to gather the foggy facts together. There’d been an objection to their wedding. Her stomach did its sickening swoop. The whole scenario was so like Jane-Eyre! Trader must have a wife. In the attic? she wondered hysterically. What attic? Where? Perhaps children! Hordes of them! How dared he! She wanted to hide forever…
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You know I’d never hurt you——’
Claire all but stiffened at the pathetic whimper. It was Phoenix—Phoenix, when she wanted her mother’s shoulder to cry on…
‘For God’s sake, shut up!’ rasped Trader brutally, shockingly. ‘I’m damned if I’m cancelling the marriage! It means too much to me!’
Claire barely stifled a groan of dismay at the giveaway remark and the extraordinary change in his character. He’d never been curt or angry before. Never rude. But then she’d never known the real man, had she?
‘Face up to it, darling; she’s either highly reluctant, or she’s feeling ill. You can see she’s in no fit state,’ said Phoenix gently. ‘She wasn’t exactly galloping up the aisle.’
‘She was very pale——’ conceded Trader grimly.
‘You noticed? Even under all the layers of make-up? I’m afraid it’s possible she’s discovered your plans,’ said Phoenix, forgetting to whisper.
Of course, thought Claire. Phoenix would know everything. They’d been friends for so long. And last night Phoenix’s conscience had prompted her to hint that Trader was being deceitful, even though her loyalty meant she couldn’t openly betray him. Poor Phoenix—what a dilemma!
‘Keep your voice down, for God’s sake!’ Trader growled irritably. ‘Leave this to me! I can bring her round better on my own. You can make amends by going to Brodie—Claire’s mother—and apologising on my behalf for ordering her out of here so rudely…say I was upset. Tell her Claire is fine. Make Brodie relax, or I’ll have your hide!’
‘Bully,’ said Phoenix amiably.
‘Fee, get the vicar to announce that Claire is recovering, ask everyone’s indulgence for ten minutes and get the organist to play something cheerful,’ Trader snapped, rapping out the orders like a man born to authority. Her father had ordered her mother around in a similar way, Claire remembered, appalled. ‘Now get out!’ Trader finished forcefully.
‘I don’t like what you’re doing——’ protested Phoenix.
Trader made a warning sound in his throat that apparently made Phoenix scurry out in fear, because there was the click of high heels tapping on a flagstone floor and then a heavy wooden door slamming.
The full horror of her situation finally hit Claire. She’d fallen hopelessly in love with Trader, but to him she was nothing more than a potential goldmine, to be exploited and plundered at will. And if his behaviour with Phoenix was anything to go by, he’d push her around, given half a chance, and treat her with contempt. She knew what that did to a woman. Knew what damage a dominating brute of a man could do. And she wasn’t suffering that kind of treatment.
‘Claire?’
The pulses in her wrist began to beat a fast tattoo. Trader was bending over her, she sensed that from the movement of air in front of her and the delicious shiver down her spine. She felt her veil being lifted back and his soft breath on her painfully composed face. Her own breathing deepened, lifting her breasts high, despite her efforts to remain unaffected.
‘Damn!’ He reached around her, bringing her forward, and to her astonishment his fingers closed around her zip tag!
She gasped, hearing—feeling—the movement of the zip and the lessening of the pressure of her tight bodice. Cool air met her upthrust breasts as they spilled luxuriantly from the dainty strapless basque, her lashes fluttered open in alarm and she found herself staring directly into a pair of glittering black eyes, as dark and as dangerous as a slick of tar.
‘Claire!’ he whispered softly, sensually.
Petrified, she lifted her arms to cross defensively over the luxurious material of her bodice and her hands came to rest on the sumptuously perfumed swell of her creamy breasts. Trader’s nostrils flared, his eyes lingering avidly on the rapid rise and fall of her delicately boned hands as they tried to slow her breathing by pressure alone.
‘No! Don’t touch me!’ she gasped, shrinking back into the chair and he jerked back as if from a blow, straightening up with a muttered curse.
‘Hell! What—?’
‘How dare you do that? How dare you take the first opportunity you had to…? Oh! You’re a brute! A despicable, disgusting brute!’ she whispered incoherently.
‘My God!’ he exclaimed, his face pinched with anger. ‘You think…! Dammit, Claire—your dress was tight! I thought you needed air in your lungs, darling——’
‘Don’t darling me!’ she cried in fury.
‘Hey!’ He frowned and gave her a little shake. ‘Still groggy? This is me, Trader! How far did you think I was going to go? he demanded, sounding bitterly offended.
‘That’s what I want to know!’ she muttered defiantly, her eyes fixed miserably on his.
The muscles in Trader’s jaw tightened, the insult eating into every visible inch of him. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ he said tightly.
‘Confidence?’ she scathed. ‘I’m to have confidence in you?’
‘Ye gods! Where’s the shrewish tongue come from?’
She didn’t know. Claire flushed at the rebuke and frantically tried to lift her bodice back to cover the half-naked globes of her breasts. For a moment she thought she saw hunger flicker around his strained mouth, but it set back into hurt lines again and she knew he was going to deny any idea of assault.
‘Where are we?’ she asked frostily, hunting around for clues.
‘The church vestry.’ His wary eyes watched her as if she were a bomb that might go off at any minute. ‘You’ve got a few minutes’ grace to recover.’
‘If I do,’ she said wildly.
‘Of course you will,’ he soothed, a worrying edge to his voice.
She squirmed under the compelling glance, saw his gaze drop as if hypnotised by her quivering breasts and she froze. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the treacherous excitement firming each peak and knew that she was quivering from the frisson that always came when he was near.
There was a horrid silence between them as if they were adversaries in some ghastly Cold War. Desperately she tried to interpret his expression, to find something—anything—that told her he felt concern or a residue of love for her. But the dark, smoothly tanned face had become quite inscrutable. Her eyes glimmered with contempt. He didn’t want to lose her—or rather the money that came with her. He’d want to coax her back to the altar, wouldn’t he?
‘I’m sorry. You must have had an awful shock,’ he said with disarming gentleness. Almost disarming.
‘Terrible,’ she replied bluntly. ‘I would like some water, please.’
‘Of course. Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking,’ he said in stilted, courteous tones. He went to fill a glass from the small wash basin and she took the opportunity to struggle with the zip but her fingers made no headway. ‘Let me,’ he said politely, putting the glass on the table beside her.
‘No! Don’t touch me!’ she snapped hastily.
‘For God’s sake, Claire! What the hell’s got into you? I told you I was applying common sense and first aid! Do you think I’m an animal?’ he growled.
‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. Other than her father, what did she know of men? How they behaved?
‘God!’ he exploded angrily, balling his fists.
‘Don’t hit me!’ she warned unsteadily.
His eyes flickered with a lightning flash of rage. He sucked in his breath and slowly released it before allowing himself to launch into a chilling reply. ‘I’m not like your father,’ he said coldly. ‘I don’t hit women. The rough treatment your mother had to suffer——’
‘Don’t you dare to speak of my father like that!’ she flared defensively, shamed by his perception. ‘You know nothing about his marriage!’
Trader seemed to be making an effort to control himself. It was like damming a river in full spate, she thought nervously. ‘If you say so,’ he said tightly. ‘I regret the remark and I made it in temper. But I don’t hit women, Claire. Whatever the provocation. Now listen. This is a church vestry. There are one hundred and fifty-two people, a vicar and a dozen choirboys a few yards away. Even if you think I’m the sort to jump on you at any given opportunity,’ he continued sarcastically, ‘you surely can’t imagine that I’d choose this particular moment, when I’ve had ample opportunity before, on beaches, in cars and in secluded woods?’
Her face flamed at his listing of the times when she’d been achingly willing. ‘No. Of course not. I believe you. I felt…vulnerable. Muddled.’ She put a shaking hand to her head and looked at him in appeal. ‘I feel terrible that—I—I reacted without thinking,’ she said miserably, wishing her zip would come unstuck. ‘I’m sorry.’
He grunted and watched her ineffectual wriggling with ill-concealed impatience. ‘Why don’t you give in?’ he sighed. ‘You’ll never do that up on your own.’
‘I—all right. Thank you,’ she mumbled, wanting to cry.
‘My poor darling,’ he said huskily. ‘You must be feeling awful. I hate to see you upset.’
And she wanted to believe that. But the lies seemed to come too easily to his lips, the adoration flowed too freely from his drowsy eyes. She had been vain to imagine she could have captured his heart when he was so handsome, so unnervingly sophisticated and worldly.
Oh, God! She blanched. Was that how her father had seduced his second wife into parting with her fortune? By charm and stealth and smooth talk?
Trader came to stand behind the chair, and remained there for several seconds without doing anything. The hairs rose on the back of her neck while she sat waiting, her hands firmly gripping the low neckline of her dress as a precaution. Eventually, after an eternity, he swept the headdress to one side in a drift of silk that caressed her smooth shoulder in a soft, erotic whisper and she gave an involuntary shiver. Her whole body waited for the touch of his hands and every fibre of her being had become focused on her naked and unprotected back.
‘Claire——’ he husked thickly.
‘For heaven’s sake, get on with it!’ she cried in agitation, unable to bear the suspense. There was a sensation running down her spine that frightened her. Fear and anticipation. Half of her wanted him to kiss each vertebra, to surround it with his warm mouth. The rest of her wanted to pick up her skirts and run for safety. A snake-pit would be fine.
‘Of course, darling,’ he soothed and she felt the satin voice wash over her, calming her doubts despite her struggle to stay wary. ‘We are pushed for time. I merely wanted to say how I adore you. How much I want to hold you in my arms.’ He gave a wicked little chuckle. ‘But it wouldn’t stop there, would it?’
Yes, she wanted to say. It would.
One of his palms came into contact with her back and she shuddered again, the desire to have it stroke her skin far too strong for her to deny. But Trader grunted, she felt the tug on the zip and so she drew herself erect to help its slow progress upwards. It couldn’t be that difficult a task, but she seemed suspended in a heavily dragging time while the material gradually closed over her lower back and then each straining rib; one by one, inch by excruciatingly exciting inch.
Probably to taunt her, he took a painful age to do up the fastening at the top, and she agonised over the touch of his fingers on her flesh. Something fierce and raw was piercing her body, something alarmingly sexual had made her vibrate to his practised caress. Each time he brushed her skin she quivered with a strange, vibrant life that made her blush with shame.
It was deliberate, she told herself. Part of his seduction. And mentally she clad herself in an impenetrable armour.
‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ he murmured. Idly his hand ran down the sheathing material that now encased her back. ‘You have such a tiny waist,’ he mused, sounding huskier by the second. ‘I think my hands could——’
‘Please!’ she breathed in agony. The armour was melting!
In a sudden, abrupt movement, he appeared by her side and wordlessly handed her the water. ‘Tell me when you feel you can continue,’ he said, his features as brittle as his voice. He regarded her with steady, unsmiling eyes. Cold, bleak, scary. It wasn’t her imagination that tinged his words with a sinister menace. He was watching her warily, as though judging the extent of her surrender to his magnetic personality. ‘Your mother will be worried,’ he said quietly.
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ she cried angrily. ‘You don’t have to rub it in. I hate the way you and my father use her condition to force me to do what you want!’
‘I want to marry you,’ he said tightly. ‘That’s hardly the vile deed you seem to be suggesting by your tone. I’m sorry if I pressurised you. But do me a favour and don’t bracket me with your father in the same breath!’
‘You’re alike,’ she muttered and met his glittering eyes with defiance.
‘Not by one iota,’ he said savagely.
Her eyes reflected her mute contradiction. Both were big men, both were charmers who liked to get their own way. And, now that she had to tell him she wasn’t going back, what would he do? He was very physical—she knew that, from the way he’d run across Ballymare beach with her, while she perched on his shoulders. Strong, too; his hands had made light work of shifting Dan O’Connor’s heavy old boat. She quivered with nerves.
But they couldn’t begin married life with dark secrets between them. She loved him deeply and she didn’t want him to marry her because she was attached to a pile of money. She’d rather wait till he came to her of his own free will. Her legs trembled. She sought to hide that fact by twisting them around each other beneath the huge skirt.
‘I think you have something to tell me,’ she said in a weird little croak.
Trader froze. He’s guilty! she thought in dismay. Her hands began to shake visibly and she put the glass down, straining to interpret the expression on his bleak face.
‘I have? Like…what?’ he asked, non-committally.
‘Let’s start with why someone stopped our wedding ceremony!’ she said quietly. And added, ‘Or did that escape your notice?!’
‘Hardly,’ he said coldly. ‘Nor did your sarcasm. I don’t like your tone, Claire.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘And I don’t like your secrets!’ she cried hysterically. ‘Can’t you see what a state I’m in? Just tell me and put me out of my misery: what exactly is the reason we shouldn’t get married?’
Every stupid inch of her was screwed up in anticipation of his answer and she knew with a terrible despair that she was more than eager to believe any excuse he dreamed up. And how she’d loathe herself if she did! He had her heart and soul. It would be disastrous if he claimed her pride as well.
‘None. I’m not married, I’ve not been certified insane and I have all the parts a woman could want in a husband. And I don’t have any notifiable disease. OK?’
She flushed. ‘Don’t patronise me, Trader!’ she snapped.
‘I was trying to lighten you up,’ he grated. ‘You don’t have a lot of faith in me, do you? God help us both if something really serious comes to test us,’ he added thoughtfully. She glared but he went on, ‘There was no objection to our marriage. Poor Phoenix was being hassled by some guy, wanting her address. She got irritable and told him to wait.’
‘That’s all?! It—it sounds far-fetched,’ she said hesitantly.
‘It’s the truth!’ he insisted. ‘I was shaken too, Claire. I’ve been on edge ever since we parted yesterday afternoon. I haven’t slept, wondering whether you’d turn up this morning——’
‘Is there a reason I shouldn’t?’ she asked quickly.
He grimaced. ‘A thousand. Or so I persuaded myself.’ His mouth made a half-hearted attempt at a wry grin. ‘I’ve never felt so unsure of someone in my life. Or as uncertain of anything. It’s a new experience and I don’t like it.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I came here for a break in my hectic life, not to find a bride. I have things to do which don’t leave room for a steady relationship, let alone a wife. But…you can’t ignore opportunity, can you?’ he said with a rueful grin.
‘Maybe we both should,’ she said bitterly.
‘Look, I know I’ve pushed you for this marriage. But you know why.’
‘Yes,’ she said shakily. ‘I think I do.’
With a groan, he knelt at her feet and laid a firm hand on her knee. Its heat burned through the layers of petticoats, warming her frozen skin. But despite his apparently submissive position, she had the impression of being trapped. His strength, his faint air of menace, the piercing command of his eyes all added up to domination. And she wanted parity.
‘Thank God for that!’ He gave her a dazzling grin that lit up his face and, fool that she was, she immediately felt that he was the man she’d fallen in love with again. ‘Darling, all I want is to be with you,’ he said persuasively. ‘I know you feel the same. I don’t need anyone else. You’re my friend and always will be. Doesn’t that tell you we have something special, something unique?’
Claire’s thick fringe of lashes closed with the sweet memories. They’d been so happy walking hand in hand. Wandering in quiet companionship, needing nothing but each other. ‘Oh, Trader!’ she said tremulously, wishing, wishing for his love. ‘I do love you! I do, I do, I do! I want to spend the rest of my life with you because you make me feel complete! And then I start to think of reasons we shouldn’t be together, instead of listening to my blind instincts and——’
‘Then stop thinking!’ he ordered sternly. ‘It’s cracking us up! We need one another. It’s that simple. Let’s get married without any more of this damn fool talking!’
She sniffed as the tears of relief filled her huge, forest-green eyes. ‘If you love me, truly love me, I’ll marry you. I—I didn’t want to be hurt, you see. I feel horribly defenceless where you’re concerned and…my mother’s experience has made me protect myself,’ she sobbed, her body in convulsions of weeping.
And then Trader was peeling her fingers from his waist and gently holding her at arm’s length while she stood weeping in front of him.
‘I understand that,’ he said quietly. ‘It would be easy to hurt you. Once committed, you give your whole self in a relationship, holding nothing back. But you have to trust me. Say you will marry me now or I’ll have to walk out of your life for ever.’
‘That sounds like an ultimatum,’ she said slowly, knuckling away the tears in surprise.
‘It is. I’m not going through this again,’ he replied, his dark eyes steady on hers. ‘This could be our only chance of happiness. You see, darling, you’re in a unique position to change my life.’
The money would change his life, she thought sadly. He’d be rich instead of poor. ‘Trader——’ she began, but his finger stopped her lips.
‘If you doubt me, if you reject me now, I’m not hanging around for an encore.’ The words were cold and uncompromising. He stood back and gave her a little shake, fixing her with his glittering stare. ‘My father was a very proud man. So am I. It’s difficult for me to admit that I love you so much that you could destroy me. But I’m taking the risk because I think it’s worth it, you idiot! This is my final gamble,’ he growled. ‘Yes, or no?’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1937830e-62c3-5f08-a1b3-06a2ee5d5e0b)
CLAIRE felt weak and tired from lack of sleep. Or perhaps it was more from the constant tension, the terrible demons that had tormented her since yesterday evening, followed by the drama of the morning. This wasn’t the time to be making any lifetime decision but she wanted the fairy-tale and she wanted Trader. The happy ever after.
Her lips parted. He might be a bastard. Have a terrible past. She had no way of knowing. But if he left, she’d never know and she’d always wonder. The scales slid one way, hovered, and then tipped precariously in the opposite direction. He swore that he loved her and she believed him. Without him she was only half a person. She had no choice but to marry him, whatever the consequences, or she’d regret it for ever.
‘Yes,’ she whispered helplessly.
‘Thank God!’ he muttered and gave her a sudden grin. ‘The condemned man lives again! I’ve been pronounced innocent of the crimes.’ Claire smiled wanly. ‘You look shattered. I’ll get Phoenix to help repair your make-up——’
‘No!’ she protested. ‘I want Sue——’
‘Phoenix,’ he insisted. ‘I can trust her not to say anything. She has my best interests at heart. Remember, you felt ill. Lack of sleep, nerves…Your mother must never know about your doubts. I’ll tell everyone you’re on your way.’
He was through the door before she could insist. In a panic, she staggered to the small washbasin and peered at herself in the mirror above. Rivulets of tears had made inroads into the make-up that Sue had helped her with earlier in an attempt to liven up her wan face. She heard Trader talking to Phoenix and hastily rubbed her thumb to smudge make-up across the telltale tear-streaks.
‘Hello, Claire,’ said Phoenix warmly, coming over and giving her a hug. ‘You poor little scrap! I’m sorry I gave you a fright. How wan you look—and no wonder! What awful things must have gone through your mind about this reprobate!’ She exchanged a fond smile with Trader and turned back to Claire. ‘Forgive me?’ she asked, with a catch in her voice.
‘Yes,’ answered Claire huskily. ‘It—it actually gave us some breathing space to talk things through.’ Her face lifted to Phoenix’s. ‘I know he loves me now,’ she said shyly.
‘Of course you do!’ cooed Phoenix. She found her compact and began sweeping a block powder over Claire’s face. ‘I’d better do your mascara,’ Phoenix sighed. ‘You’re really not used to wearing make-up, are you?’
‘She doesn’t need it,’ broke in Trader lovingly.
‘Course she does!’ scoffed Phoenix. ‘She’s got to do something to tone down that orange hair. Lord, Trader, you can’t go around looking suave and sophisticated with a little Irish colleen in tow! Look up, Claire…You need lashings of mascara on those ginger lashes. Better!’
Phoenix smiled, unaware that her words had worried Claire. Close up, Phoenix was incredibly beautiful, her pale, alabaster skin flawless, her dark hair drawn back from her face to show its incredible bone-structure, the elegantly understated hat giving her an enviably confident air. This woman knew more about Trader than she did, thought Claire wryly.
‘Leave her alone! I love my Irish colleen. I could eat her!’ chuckled Trader happily. ‘Come here!’ Like a fool, she obeyed before she could think, detaching herself from Phoenix’s detaining hand. Trader pulled her to his body. ‘This is for the woman I love,’ he murmured.
His mouth claimed hers in a gentle kiss. It disarmed her, persuading her to forget everything in her mind, obliterating everything, removing the armour completely. Her own lips flowered beneath his and she felt herself growing boneless in his arms.
‘Trader!’ complained Phoenix, close to her ear. ‘You’re ruining her lipstick, darling!’
He laughed exultantly, a fevered light in his eyes when they met Claire’s bewildered, blinking gaze. Phoenix dabbed at his lips in a sisterly fashion and then clucked crossly over the smudge at the corner of Claire’s mouth, trying to elbow Trader out of the way as she repaired the damage.
‘Trader…It will be all right, won’t it?’ faltered Claire, too worried to be put off by Phoenix.
He smiled his tender smile and she was lost in the glittering depths of his eloquent eyes. ‘You’re very precious to me,’ he said huskily.
Then, before she could respond—or even crush the treacherous thought that she had a very precious dowry, he was striding out into the church with her hand tucked in his, excitedly hauling her breathless body past a line of gaping choirboys, past her mother, who kissed her and sniffed away a tear or two, till she came to rest beside her worried-looking father again.
‘Claire’s fine. We’re ready,’ said Trader with a ringing satisfaction.
And the ceremony began again. Throughout, Claire felt a bittersweetness in her heart. All her life, she’d dreamed of this moment and now it had come, it wasn’t as she’d imagined. Even Trader’s loving glances didn’t ease her ache, however hard she tried to tell herself that her love would be enough.
‘You’re very quiet,’ he said gently, during the photographs afterwards.
‘You do love me?’ she blurted out, to her deep embarrassment. ‘Hey, listen to me!’ she joked uncomfortably. ‘I sound like a whining wife already! I mean——’
He was laughing, the lines around his eyes and mouth creasing appealingly. ‘You look up at me with that incredible sweet face, wearing that gorgeous dress filled with your glorious body and you ask me if I——’
‘I mean love,’ she said in reproach. ‘Not physical attraction.’
‘I hadn’t finished. Sexual attraction is an important part of what I feel for you but it’s not enough to make me rush into marriage.’
‘What is?’ she asked, her throat dry.
‘Work it out,’ he teased. ‘I’m thirty-five and I’ve been around a bit. I’ve known many women and I’ve had a couple of serious affairs. Suddenly I decide to get married.’ He bent and dropped a light kiss on her nose, smiling with a loving exasperation. ‘Doesn’t that tell you anything, idiot?’ he asked affectionately.
‘Not really. You could have married me for all kinds of reasons,’ she hinted.
‘I did—dammit, just wait, will you?’ he yelled at the photographer, and everyone laughed when Trader took her in his arms and kissed her stiff mouth very thoroughly, softening it despite her determination not to be coaxed. ‘I’ve married you because you’re reserved, quiet, unassuming and tough,’ he said huskily. His mouth claimed hers again. ‘Because you’re restful to be with and I feel as if I’ve known you all my life. Because we both like silence and remote places and these past few weeks have been the happiest of my life.’
‘Really?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Really,’ he murmured against her soft lips. ‘It’s been wonderful to find peace away from the hurlyburly of life and to be with you. I love you, Claire. Let that be engraved on your heart.’
Dizzily she let him peel her fingers from his chest and blushed as everyone clapped in delight at their sheepish faces. And she held his declaration in her heart and let it comfort her, vowing to think positively about their marriage.
He held her close on the way to the reception at the hotel and she felt content to be in his arms. As various people hugged and congratulated them, she knew her face was glowing with happiness—and so was his.
‘Feel all right now?’ he smiled, as they made their way to their seats at the table. ‘Not worried you’ve married an ogre?’
‘No!’ She smiled back and wanted to explain. ‘But you are a stranger to me and you can’t blame me for wondering if I’ve done the right thing. All I know is that you drink your coffee black and strong, you never eat cake and you’re crazy about sunsets!’
‘Not a bad inventory. You also know I like crispy bacon and fried eggs for breakfast——’
‘Nothing for lunch and that you have a passion for seafood and good wine,’ she said slowly, arranging her dress with care as she sat down on the chair he held for her. She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘It’s not much to go on, is it? Only a fool would get married knowing so little about someone!’
‘But perhaps it’s only fools who fall in love,’ he said, smiling into her eyes. ‘Common sense vanishes when your heart is committed to someone. Don’t you think it’s exciting to want to be with someone so badly that you’ll risk putting your life in their hands?’
A shiver went up her spine and he must have seen her tremble, because he placed his warm hand on her cold one and massaged it gently.
‘It’s scary,’ she said solemnly. ‘I’ve never taken a risk before.’
‘Look forward to our exploration of each other,’ he said. ‘You know we’re right for each other. Look into my eyes and see the love I have for you. Look into your heart and read what’s written there. You’ll find my name.’
Claire relaxed and kissed him, overwhelmed by the strength of his love. She would trust him because she wanted to. And so she began to enjoy herself, letting her doubts recede and allowing her happiness to shine through.
It seemed that she floated on a cloud all through the meal and the speeches, even when her father rose to speak and Trader sat stiff and tense till he’d finished.
But the strain left his face when the dancing began and Claire was delighted to discover that he seemed reluctant to ever leave her side.
‘People will talk!’ Claire grinned happily, her eyes flirting with Trader as her partner was gently shouldered aside. ‘I finish a dance and you materialise from nowhere—if you haven’t cut in on my partner already!’
‘I don’t want you talking to strange men,’ he said smoothly.
She laughed as he took her in his arms. ‘Well, you’re a strange man—and I’m talking to you!’ Her arms went around his neck. ‘Luke,’ she said reproachfully. ‘I married a Luke Benedict! You fraud! I thought I was getting a guy called Trader!’
He smiled a little thinly. ‘Thank your lucky stars it wasn’t Albert!’ He nuzzled her cheek. ‘If you were surprised,’ he murmured, ‘so was I. When the vicar told me to repeat, “I, Luke, take thee, Claire,” I almost turned around to see who you’d got lined up in the queue behind me!’
Claire laughed delightedly. ‘Then my father had a coughing fit and you scowled at him! Perhaps he thought you were someone else, too!’
‘I think, for a minute, he did,’ Trader murmured drily.
A balloon banged into her head. She turned around, laughing and saw Phoenix smiling at her so she batted the balloon back and Trader quickly whisked her away.
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