Back in Manhattan, he headed home.
“Where are you going?” Faith asked.
He glanced across at her. She’d been very quiet the whole ride, apparently lost in her own thoughts. “Home.”
“My home or your home?”
“Our home.” He put a slight emphasis on the pronoun.
“It won’t be our home until Friday,” she said, using the same emphasis. “And I need to go to my apartment in any case. I still have things to pack.”
“I can send someone to finish the job. We have things to do.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” she said mildly.
“It’s no problem. And it will save you—”
“No, thank you.” She shook her head, her blond hair flying and her tone was definite enough to warn him that he was traveling a narrow path here. “No. I would like to pack myself. There’s not that much.”
“Can I at least send someone to pick everything up and move it for you?”
She smiled, and a small dimple appeared in her soft cheek, enchanting him. “That would be nice. They could come Friday afternoon.”
“Friday afternoon? Why not tomorrow? Surely you don’t have that much stuff to move.”
The smile had disappeared. “I’m not planning on moving in until after the ceremony on Friday.”
“That’s silly,” he said sharply, acknowledging more disappointment than he ought to be feeling. There was an unaccustomed tightness in his chest. “I want you there as soon as possible. Why wait until Friday?”
“Because my mother would expect it,” she said heatedly.
“Your mother would—oh.” Belatedly he realized what she meant. He almost laughed aloud, to think that someone would still be so concerned with observing the proprieties. Then he saw that she was dead serious. He sighed in frustration, bringing one hand up to roughly massage his chest. “All right. But I still think it’s silly.” Especially given the fact that nothing will be changing after you do move in.
“Fortunately,” she said in a honeyed tone, “I don’t particularly care what you think.”
“Yes, you’ve already made that plain,” he said, recalling the way he’d found out she quit school after the fact.
Then she homed in on the rest of his original statement. “What things do we have to do?”
“Wedding dress,” he said briefly, glancing at her again to gauge her reaction. “And wedding plans.” Faith wasn’t quite as pliable as her quiet nature suggested, a fact he seemed to be learning the hard way.
Her eyes went wide and then her fair elegant brows drew together. “Absolutely not. I’m not wearing a real wedding dress. I have an ivory silk suit, fairly dressy, that ought to do.”
“I have a woman meeting us at the house at one with a large selection.” He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to bark out orders. Faith wasn’t one of his employees and if he shouted at her, she was liable to bolt. “If you don’t want a big, fluffy wedding dress, that’s fine. But our mothers—not to mention the press—are going to expect you to look something like a bride.”
“It’s really none of the press’s business.”
“I know. But when you have as much money as I do, you wield a certain amount of influence. And influence leads to attention, even though I don’t seek it out.” A quick glance at her expression told him she hadn’t bought it yet. “Like it or not, we’re going to be of interest to the public. Think of yourself as…sort of a princess of a minor kingdom. Royalty interests everyone. And since there’s no royalty in America, the wealthy get pestered.”
She sighed. “It’s that important to you?”
He hesitated. There was an odd note in her voice, though he couldn’t decipher it. “Yes,” he said finally. “It’s that important to me. This has to look real. If anyone should suspect it isn’t…” He looked over at her while he waited at a light, but she had linked her hands in her lap and was studying them. He was sure she was going to object again, or perhaps even refuse to marry him. He took a deep breath, deliberately expanding his lungs to full capacity, but still he had that taut, binding sensation gripping him.
Then she said, “All right. I’ll come to your home and see these dresses.”
His whole body relaxed and the air whooshed from his lungs with an audible sound.
She shot a questioning glance at him. He’d better get a grip. She was going to think this meant more to him than it did. All he wanted, he reminded himself, was to inherit the company that had been his mother’s family’s. He’d known before he’d ever embarked on this course of action that this was to be a marriage with a finite limit of time. And in any case, he had no business even thinking about Faith in any terms other than those of a…a what? A guardian and his ward was definitely too archaic. A sister? No, there was no way he could ever condition himself to think of her as a sister. A friend? There. They could be friends. That was by far the most suitable description of their relationship, both now and in the future.
Inside him, though, there was a little voice laughing uproariously. A friend? Does kissing a friend get you so hot and bothered you barely remember your own mother is in the room?
Shut up, he told the voice. Just—shut—up.
But all he said aloud to Faith was “That’s great. Thank you.”
Friday morning finally arrived. Standing in the courthouse with his mother, he checked his watch. Almost time. Where the hell was Faith? He knew he should have made her move in before this. Then he could have kept an eye on her, made sure she didn’t get cold feet.
It had been a surprisingly long week. He’d caught himself glancing at his watch throughout meetings and conference calls practically every hour since he’d dropped Faith off at her apartment to pack on Monday after her private showing of wedding dresses.
Which she hadn’t let him see.
He frowned. Whoever would have suspected the stubborn streak hiding behind that angelic face? It would be bad luck, she’d told him.
Just then, an older woman walked around the corner. Spying him, her face lit up and she hurried forward. “Hello, Mr. Lachlan. We’re here.”
It was…what was her name? Clarice. Faith’s mother’s…friend. Caregiver. Whatever.
“Hello, Clarice,” he said. “Have you seen Faith?”
“Oh, she’s here. We all came together.” Clarice extended a hand to his mother. “Hello. I’m Clarice Nealy, Faith’s mother’s companion.”
He felt a dull embarrassment at his lapse of manners. “Oh, sorry. Clarice, this is my mother, Eliza Smythe.” The two women shook hands.
His mother only smiled at him. “We forgive you.” To Clarice, she said, “He’s going to have a stroke if he doesn’t get to see his bride soon.”
Stone ignored that and consulted his watch. “It’s our turn. What is she doing?” Impatiently he strode toward the corner, but Clarice’s voice stopped him.
“No, no. You go in. Faith and her mother will be here in a moment.”
He frowned, but when his mother took his arm, he sighed and led her into the room.
The justice of the peace stood at the front of the room in front of a wooden rail. To one side of him was a massive raised bench behind which the man presided over his courtroom, with state and national flags displayed behind it. He looked a little startled as Stone and his mother walked forward. “Hello. You are Stone Lachlan and Faith Harrell?”
Eliza Smythe started to chuckle. “No. The bride isn’t here yet.”
Just then, the door to the small chamber opened and he caught a glimpse of Clarice’s beaming face as she held it wide. Faith’s mother, seated on a motorized scooter, whirred into the room and stopped just inside the door. Then Faith stepped into the doorway and reached for her mother’s hand.
The whole room seemed to freeze for one long moment as he simply stared. His heart leaped, then settled down to a fast thudding in his chest.
She looked stunning. As she walked toward him, pacing herself to the speed of her mother’s scooter at her side, he had to remind himself to breathe.
She had chosen a short dress rather than anything long and formal. An underlayer was made of some shiny satiny fabric that fit her like a second skin, showcasing her slender figure. The satin, covered by a thin, lacy overlayer, was strapless and low-cut and against his will his eyes were drawn to the shadowed swell of creamy flesh revealed above its edge. Over the satin, the sheath of fine sheer lace covered her up to the neck, though it clearly wasn’t designed to hide anything, but rather to enhance. This layer had long close-fitting sleeves and extended in a lacy scallop just below the hem of the underdress.
He took in the rest of her. Her hair was up in a smooth, gleaming fancy twist of some kind and she wore flowers in it, arranged around a crown of shining gems. As he recalled his reference to royalty, he had to suppress a grin. She’d done that deliberately, the little tease. She carried the small but exquisite trailing bouquet of palest peach roses, Peruvian lilies and white dendrobium orchids with touches of feathery greens that he’d sent to her. The subtle touch of color was the perfect enhancement for the glowing white of the dress.
It didn’t escape his notice that she’d chosen pure, virginal white for her wedding day. Probably a good thing, since it served to remind him of the liaison they had—and its limits.
Limits. God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to show her the pleasures of lovemaking. For an instant, he allowed himself to imagine that this was real, that the beautiful, desirable woman coming toward him would be his wife in every way. If this was real, it would be just the beginning. He would enjoy the incredible pleasures her soft body promised, and come home to her warm arms every night. In due course they would add children to their family—
Whoa! Children? He gave himself a firm mental kick in the butt.
Faith had reached his side by now and he surveyed her face as she turned to kiss her mother and then his. She wore more makeup than usual and the normal beauty of her features now approached a porcelain perfection. Her skin seemed lit by an inner radiance. She’d curled small wisps of her hair and it gently bounced around her face in soft, shining waves that made him want to sink his fingers into it simply to experience the texture. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t touch her in any but the most innocuous of ways.
The justice cleared his throat and Stone realized the ceremony was about to begin. His mother flanked him and Naomi maneuvered her scooter to Faith’s far side. Clarice took a seat in the small rows of chairs behind them. He extended his arm to Faith and she took it, smiling up at him tentatively.
He didn’t smile back. The reminder that this was a forced union of sorts had ruined the moment for him. This was a ridiculous charade, necessitated by the intransigence of his mother. It was, at best, an inconvenience, an interruption, in his life as well as Faith’s. There was nothing to smile about.
The smile faded from her face when he didn’t respond and she dropped her gaze. Her face abruptly assumed the serene contours he knew meant she was hiding her thoughts from the world, and she turned toward the official who was beginning the ceremony.
Too late to catch her eye, he regretted his action. Now he felt like a real bastard. She’d clearly wanted a little reassurance. He glanced down at her fine profile as she stood beside him, one small hand resting in the crook of his arm. To his dismay, he realized she was blinking rapidly, her silver eyes misted with a sheen of tears. Damn!
Acting on instinct, he raised his free hand and covered hers on his opposite arm, squeezing gently.
She looked up at him again and offered him a wobbly smile. Remorse shot through him. She was only twenty years old. He doubted this was what she’d envisioned when she’d dreamed of her wedding day, even though she’d insisted on this extreme simplicity when they’d discussed it.
He smiled down at her as he passed an arm behind her back and gave her shoulders a gentle hug. She felt small and soft beneath his hand, and he liked the way her slender curves pressed against his side far too well. Tough. He wasn’t going to do anything about that but he could make this day less of a chore for each of them.
The ceremony was short and impersonal as the justice of the peace sealed the bonds of matrimony with swift efficiency. Faith spoke her responses in a quiet, steady tone, looking down at their hands as they exchanged rings and in a shockingly brief matter of minutes, they were legally bound.
The justice looked incredibly bored; how many of these things did he perform in a week’s time? “You may kiss your bride,” the man intoned.
Stone set his hands at Faith’s waist and drew her toward him. As his mouth descended, she raised her face to his and his lips slid onto hers. He froze for an instant, nearly seduced by the sweet, soft flesh of her full lips and the memory of the way she’d melted in his arms on Sunday night. But this couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, he told himself fiercely. Faith wasn’t experienced enough to know that sex and love were two distinct issues in a man’s mind. He would be courting a messy, emotional disaster if he couldn’t keep his distance from her. And so, steeling himself to the powerful allure of her person, he kept the kiss brief and impersonal, then drew back.
He felt her go rigid beneath his hands, and he nearly apologized, but as the words formed, he realized how strange that would sound to the witnesses, so he swallowed the apology and settled instead for, “Are you ready to go?”
Faith nodded. She wouldn’t look at him and he gritted his teeth against the urge to raise her chin and cover her lips with his own again.
Oh, hell. No, no, and no! He wasn’t going to do anything stupid with Randall Harrell’s daughter. His ward. This marriage was just a business arrangement, of a sort.
Of course it was.
Faith woke early on her first morning as a married woman. For a moment, she didn’t recognize her surroundings and then it all came flooding back. Yesterday she had married Stone.
Married. She raised her left hand and her new rings sparkled as the faceted stones caught the light. If it weren’t for these she’d think it had been a dream. Slowly she got to her feet and headed for the bathroom. As she showered and dressed, she couldn’t keep herself from reviewing the wedding ceremony, like a child who couldn’t resist picking at a healing wound.
Stone had looked so handsome in the severe cut of the morning suit he’d worn. As she’d come into the courtroom, she’d allowed herself to fantasize, for one brief instant, that she was a real bride, flushed and brimming with love for her husband, taking his name and becoming part of his life forever. But then she’d looked into Stone’s eyes and seen nothing. Nothing. No feeling, no warmth. No love. He’d quickly tried to cover it up, but that first impression was indelibly stamped on her mind.
She felt her bottom lip tremble and she bit down on it fiercely. For the first time, she allowed herself to acknowledge the depths of her disappointment. She hadn’t married Stone entirely because of their bargain. She’d married him because somewhere in the past week her silly, girlish crush had gelled into a deeper, more mature emotion.
Oh, it hurt even to think it and she shied away from deeper examination of her feelings.
Instead she replayed the wedding scene in her mind again. And she realized her shattered heart had forgotten something. He did have some feelings for her. Recalling the look in his eye the first night he’d kissed her, she knew with a deep inner feeling of feminine certainty that he wanted her, at least in the physical sense. And yesterday, for the briefest instant before his gaze had grown cool and distant, she’d seen the poleaxed look on his face as he absorbed the sight of her in her wedding dress. And she’d been gratified, because she’d chosen the unconventional wedding dress, her makeup and the soft, pretty hair-style for the express purpose of making him notice her.
Yes, for that one unguarded moment, there had been no doubt that he wanted her. If she was going to remember the cold shoulder, she needed to cling to this memory, too. And though she knew it was foolish to believe she could parlay that basic sexual desire into a more lasting emotion, that was exactly what she hoped.
He wanted her. It was a start. And she…she wanted him as well. Wanted him to be the one to teach her the intimacies of the sexual act, wanted him to make love to her. Maybe she could attract his feelings the same way her body attracted his.
Perhaps they would begin to communicate better when they went on their honeymoon. Though she knew Stone hadn’t planned one, he’d told his mother they would be going away a few weeks from now. He’d only said it because Eliza had very pointedly asked where he intended to take Faith, she was certain. And she knew he would follow through if only to assuage any doubt in his mother’s mind about the veracity of their marriage.
Buoyed by the thought, she made her bed and headed downstairs. The newspaper was lying on the kitchen counter and there was fresh coffee, signs that Stone must already be up. She hunted through the cupboards until she found cereal and dishes, and ate while she leafed through the paper. But all her nerve endings were quivering, alert, waiting for him to enter the room.
When she heard him coming down the hall, she quickly ducked her head behind the paper again, looking up innocently as he entered. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” He barely glanced at her as he headed for the coffeepot and poured himself a cup.
“Quite, thank you. And you?”
“Fine.” He sounded grumpy. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person, though he certainly looked like he was awake and alert. Lord, it simply wasn’t fair for the man to look so absolutely stunning first thing in the morning. He was as handsome to her as always and her heart rate increased as a wave of tenderness swept through her. She was his wife! Then she realized he was saying something else.
“Your mother and Clarice will be moving in today. I have a company bringing her household up late this morning. Will you help her arrange everything when it arrives?”
“Of course.” It shouldn’t bother her that he hadn’t asked her opinion. Although she’d have preferred to go down and help Clarice pack, she knew this way would be much faster and more efficient.
Stone seemed unaware of her thoughts. “I know it’s Saturday but I have to go in to my office for a few hours, so I’ll leave that to you.” He opened the door of the refrigerator and she saw a large casserole dish. “That’s a chicken and broccoli casserole the housekeeper made and froze. I set it in there to thaw. If you want to invite your mother and Clarice to eat with us tonight, that’s fine with me.”
She nodded. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do? Until the summer sessions begin, I’m going to have a ton of time on my hands. I have some accounting skills and I know my way around a computer. Maybe I could help in your office—”
But he was chuckling. “I employ people to do all that,” he said. “Just consider the next two months a vacation.”
Disappointment rushed through her for more than one reason. She hated to be idle. And working for him would give them something in common. “Oh, but I could use the experience—”
“Tell you what,” he said, cutting her off again. “I know something you could do that would help immensely.”
Thrilled, she sat up straighter. “What?”
“The den,” he said.
The den? What in the den?
“I’ve never had it redecorated,” he continued. “It’s something I’ve thought about a lot and just never gotten around to doing. But it needs a facelift desperately. The easy chair my father sat in for years is still in there.” Now he looked at her hopefully. “Would you consider taking on that project?”
“Of course,” she said. “Just tell me what color scheme you like. But also, I—”
“I trust your judgment,” he said. “Anything fairly neutral.” He headed for the door, coffee cup in hand. “I’ve got to get going. I have an early meeting this morning. Enjoy your day.”
“Oh, yeah, it ought to be a blast,” she muttered as she heard the front door close. Redecorate the den. Was he serious? She’d intended to help him at the office. She didn’t care if she was a receptionist. It would certainly be better experience than redecorating the stupid den! She should have told him how insulting she’d found that…giving her a little wifely project to do when what she really wanted was to be working for him, in whatever capacity he could use her.
Yikes. Her mind took that last thought and gave it a distinctly sexual twist as the memory of his hard, hot body pressed against her side while they spoke their vows set her heart racing again. She still was trying to get used to the perpetual breathless state that being around Stone left her in since the night he’d kissed her in front of his mother and turned her world upside down.
He’d kissed her when they’d gotten married, too, and though that had been only the merest correct meeting of lips, she was sure it had short-circuited some of her brain cells. It certainly had sealed her fate. And with that thought, she forced herself to face the truth.
She hadn’t married Stone Lachlan because he needed her help. And she hadn’t married him because it was a way to pay him back for his financial support, or because he’d promised to take care of her mother, or because he had promised to help her finish school. No, she’d married him because she was in love with him.
She took a deep breath. Okay, you’ve admitted it. She’d loved him, she supposed, for years under the guise of having a crush. Only the crush had deepened more and more as she’d come to know him, as she’d seen what a decent, honorable man he was, what a thoughtful, caring person—and how incredibly potent his appeal was.
And that was her misfortune. He’d made it abundantly clear, over and over again, that this was a business arrangement, not one in which emotion was welcome.
Well, tough. He might consider it business, but she was declaring war. She had a year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Surely within that time she could make herself such an integral part of his life that he’d wake up one day and realize he loved her, too.
Having Faith’s mother and Clarice around the house wasn’t the burden he’d expected it to be, Stone thought a week later as he sat at the kitchen counter nursing a cup of coffee. In fact, it was a distinct blessing.
He’d encouraged the older women to join them for dinner each night. And though they’d both protested at first, he’d made it his goal to charm them. And he’d succeeded. He hadn’t had to spend more than a few moments alone with Faith all week. Yes, inviting her mother here had been a great idea.
It might be the only thing that kept him from grabbing his young bride and ravishing her for the remaining fifty-one weeks of what was shaping up to be one damned long year.
He heaved a sigh, propping his elbows on the counter and pressing the heels of his palms against his temples. God, but Faith was making it difficult to be noble! He had no intention of seducing her. It would be despicable of him to use her that way for the brief term of their marriage and then discard her when they split up, as they intended to do.
And maybe if he kept telling himself that long enough, he’d believe it. He could hear her first thing in the morning, moving around in her bathroom, humming in the shower, removing hangers from her closet and replacing them. His active imagination supplied visual details in Technicolor. She joined him over breakfast, no matter how early he got up, and her soft farewell was the last thing he heard before he left. In the evening, she always came to greet him at the door with a smile, taking his coat and preparing dinner while he changed into casual clothes. It was a treat not to have to eat alone all the time.
And then there was her relationship with her mother. Faith and Naomi were closer than they had any right to be, considering how little they’d really seen of each other during Faith’s adolescent years. They teased and smiled, shared stories about Faith’s father, worked crossword puzzles together, and genuinely seemed to treasure each moment spent together. It was such a marked contrast to his relationship with his own mother that he could get jealous if he let himself think about it long enough. Sure, he’d imagined that normal families had relationships like that, but until he’d seen exactly how close and loving Faith and her mother were, it had been an abstract concept. Now, thanks to them, it was a reality.
He could hear them laughing right now as they came in from an early walk—or drive, in Naomi’s case—through Central Park, across the street from the town house. In a moment, they were in the kitchen.
“We’re back.” Faith greeted him with a smile as she helped her mother out of her coat and took it to hang in the closet. “It’s a beautiful day. Spring is definitely on the way.”
“The prediction is for snow by the first of the week,” he warned her.
“But it won’t last,” she said confidently.
Naomi directed her motorized scooter toward her own apartment down the hall from the kitchen and the two of them were left alone. An awkward moment of silence passed.
Then Faith cleared her throat. “Do you have anything planned for today?”
“Um, nothing special,” he said. “Tonight there’s a dinner and ball but we have most of the day before we have to start getting ready for that.”
“That reminds me,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to wear to the ball? I have those dresses we bought last week, remember?”
He remembered. And his blood heated. Though she hadn’t modeled them for him, he’d had several long, detailed daydreams. “How about the blue?” he said.
“All right.” She cleared her throat. “Actually, if you have time, I’d like you to look at some fabric swatches and paint colors for the den. I can order things next week.”
He didn’t really want to spend any more time alone with her than he absolutely had to, but she vanished before he could think of a good reason not to look at the samples. A few moments later she reappeared clutching a large folder and two wallpaper books. He folded up his paper and efficiently, she spread everything out on the counter. Her slim figure, clad in blue jeans and a clinging pale yellow sweater, was so close he could smell the clean scent of her hair, and her shoulder brushed against his side as she moved. “Here you go.” She pulled one of the wallpaper books toward them. “The first thing you need to do is decide on the walls. Then we’ll go from there.”
“You’re really happy to have your mother here, aren’t you?” Good God. Why had he said that?
Her fingers stilled on the books. “Yes. Thank you again.”
“No,” he said impatiently. Hell, he’d started this, he might as well find out what he really wanted to know. “I mean, you’re enjoying her company, not just putting on a polite act.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Why on earth would I do that? Of course I’m enjoying her company. No, I take that back. I’m loving it. At school, there were nights when I cried myself to sleep, missing her so much. It wasn’t that the school was a terrible place,” she said hastily as he frowned. “The staff members were actually very caring and mostly I was happy. And I could call Mama every day if I liked. But it still wasn’t the same.”
“No, I guess it wasn’t.” He could hear the longing in her voice as she relived those days and he felt a surprising kinship. “But you understood how difficult it would have been for her to try to care for you at home. You knew she would have done it if she could.”
She turned and looked at him, her gray eyes far too wise and understanding. “I think your mother cares, too. Maybe it wasn’t as easy for her to leave you as you think.”
“I don’t think about it,” he said. He didn’t want her pitying him, thinking he’d had a miserable childhood. “My father and I got along fine without her.”
She didn’t say a word, only studied him.
“She could have pretended she cared,” he said, goaded by her silence. “Would it have killed her to let a little kid think he meant something special to her?”
Faith laid her small hand on his arm and he realized how tense he was. “I don’t know,” she said. “Have you ever asked her?”
He consciously relaxed his muscles, feeling the tension drain out of him. “No.” He reached forward and pulled the wallpaper books toward him. This conversation was pointless. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Now why don’t you show me what you have in mind?”
She continued to gaze at him for a long moment, and he kept his eyes on the books. He didn’t want her pity. Sure, he’d been hurt by his mother’s indifference when he was small, but he was a grown man now, and her approval had long ceased to matter to him.
“All right,” she finally said. She rested one hand on the back of his chair and opened the topmost book with the other. The action placed her breasts just below eye level, inches away, and he couldn’t prevent himself from covertly assessing the rounded mounds. “Here you go. The first thing to decide on is—”
“Look.” He pushed back his chair and rose before he gave in to the fantasy that had leaped into his head. “I want you to like the den, too,” he said. “I don’t need to approve it. I’m sure whatever you choose will be fine.”
“You’re the one who’s going to have to live with it after I leave,” she pointed out.
After I leave… The words echoed in the air around them and he was shocked by the strong urge to blurt out “Don’t leave!”
But he didn’t say it. Instead images of his life a year from now, when Faith and her family were gone and he was rattling around this place alone again, bombarded him. He liked having Naomi and Clarice around, dammit! And he more than liked having Faith around. For one brief instant he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to grow old with her, to stay married to her on a permanent basis. The thought was so tantalizingly appealing that he immediately shoved it away.
Abruptly he turned his back and started out of the room. “I don’t have time to deal with this now.”