A Wedding Story (2 page)

And then the attraction hit him like a sucker punch, sending his breath out, making him take a quick step aside in hopes of escaping the reach of her allure.

“‘Lord Bennett, the famed explorer—’”

He snorted.
Lord
Bennett. He was not a Lord, merely an Honorable, a distinction that seemed lost on Americans, and a title he’d abandoned when he quit England, in any case. But he’d given up protesting a dozen years ago. The Americans, for all their egalitarian ideals, did love a title; and as long as that upgrade in status kept them flocking to his lectures and snatching up his books, why should he care?

“Don’t you want to know what they write about you?” she asked. “Oh, I should have realized. You’ve memorized every word already?”

He would not smile at her, and felt the pull of it. The corner of his mouth twitched. She was dangerous enough when he was furious at her—and the mere fact that some anger still simmered when it should have faded to cinders long ago warned him how much—but there was no accounting what he might do if she could get him to smile at her. Didn’t he know by now how she worked? A little softening was merely the first step on the way to surrender.

“How’d you find my room?”

She didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. “That nice young desk clerk is most accommodating.”

“Of course.” He doubted there was a man in the place who could hold out against her charms if she was determined to wield them. Well, he’d just have to be the exception. “What do you want, Kate?”

It stopped her cold. The serene confidence she wore like a tiara gave way to a flutter of panic, quickly masked.

“Now there’s a question,” she murmured. “I wish I knew.”

She could be doing it on purpose. The faint, plaintive note in her voice, the shadow of uncertainty in her brilliant eyes, could be as calculated an effect as the flirtatious smile she’d undoubtedly bent on that poor desk clerk.

And then that moment ended. She collected herself in a wink, her shoulders square and firm, chin set at a sharp angle, as if that instant of vulnerability had never existed.

“I beg your apologies for disturbing you. I thought that—well, it does not matter what I thought, does it? I was wrong. If you’ll step aside, we can both forget that this ever happened.”

Forget? Where she was concerned, he’d never managed that nearly as well as he’d wanted.

So he stayed where he was, his eyes level on hers. Hers were brilliant blue and utterly cool, and he looked into them to remind himself of the truth. A man could scarcely look at her, all lush curves and gleaming hair and inviting smiles, without his brain getting all snarled up with baser urges. But her eyes betrayed her essential unavailability. She was not a woman there for the taking, or the giving. Not for him, and not for anyone.

“It was a foolish idea,” she said. “Born of grief, if you will. But since you clearly will not let me go until you hear of my fancy, I’ll confess it and be done. You have heard of the Great Centennial Race?”

His hesitation was brief. “Yes.” But not brief enough.

“Oh.” She smiled, wryly amused at her own foolishness. “Of course you have. You must have received an invitation as well.”

“No,” he said, wondering at the stray impulse that caused him to mouth the slight lie to protect her feelings. She was as unlikely to truly have them as he was prone to shield them. “Doc got one, did he? Surprised. He hasn’t been out in the field for ages.”

“They’d hoped to lure him back. Wrote an immensely flattering letter about how the slate of contestants would be incomplete without his presence.” A bit of color had come back to her pale cheeks, a hint of life into her guarded expression.

“He would have liked that.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “He would have. But the letter came after he passed. It seemed a pity to let the opportunity go to waste, though.”

“You intend to take his place?” he said, incredulity leaking through before he thought to stop it.

Her chin came up, a small, gallant gesture that somehow made her look vulnerable instead of brave. He wondered if she knew that, if she’d sought that effect. “There is no requirement that the invitation be used solely by the one for whom it was originally issued.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. And if that chin climbed any higher it was going to approach vertical. “Forgive me. I just…unless you’ve had some extraordinary transformation since the last time we met—and I must say you’ve shown no signs of it so far—I just can’t quite picture you dashing madly around the world, scaling mountains, or creeping through caverns or whatever else they come up with, besting experienced adventures in search of…what the hell are they in search of, anyway?”

“Fifty thousand dollars,” she said briskly, “for the first person who can finish before New Year’s, or the prize will be forfeited.”

“And you figured you’d win?”

“That,” she said, “was where you come in.”

“I
am not so unwise,” she went on when he hadn’t managed to dredge up a worthy answer—shock did that to a fellow, “as to think that I could do this alone. While I do have certain contacts, a number of useful skills”—she ignored his snort of disbelief—“and I have full confidence in my abilities to decipher the clues along the way, they are most mysterious about exactly where we might be headed. If it is to more exotic climes, well, I would be somewhat at a disadvantage without…”

She trailed off delicately. He had no such compunctions.

“Without me.”

Color bloomed, a pale blush along the fine curve of her cheekbones, pretty as a just-budded rose. It was almost unfair, he thought, for her to have been so blessed. Unfair to women less favored, unfair to the men who had to look at her and not tumble into a dazed stupor.

“Why in God’s name would you want to attempt this?”

He had to give her credit; he expected a clever prevarication, a lighthearted deflection. “I need the money,” she stated baldly. “Or rather, I’d like the money a great deal. I would not oversell it. But I’d make a terrible governess, an unlikely companion, and going into trade requires more resources than I currently own.” And then, more heated, “and I will
not
impose upon my sisters. The unmarried aunt, back and forth between the two, dependent and tolerated and forever just slightly in the way, however fond of me they might be.” She shuddered. “I will
not.
”

He did not want to find any common ground with her. It was there just the same; he could not stand dependency any more than she could. It was one of the reasons he’d fled England just past his sixteenth birthday.

“Surely the doctor left you better off than that.”
Please, Lord, be merciful
. Doc
had
to have left her something. “If nothing else, your clothes and jewels would keep you for years.”

“The jewels went to Norine,” she said, in a tone that brooked no pity. “As we’d agreed from the very start. And everything else went to his children as well. The clothes are mine, but those would bring enough for a few years at most.” She waved her hand as if to dismiss the problem. “Please, it is hardly a disaster. I am yet young enough and strong enough to work as seamstress or shopgirl if it comes to that. I would prefer that it did not.”

“Christ.” And damn, and damn. A promise barely remembered raised its dragon head, eager to bite. “I know that…he mentioned to me that he’d promised Elaine before she died that if he remarried all he owned would be protected for their children. But I figured after all these years…”

“All those years changed nothing. We had an agreement. Neither the doctor nor I am one to alter such,” she said briskly. “If you agree to join the venture, you can be certain of that much at least—that I will adhere resolutely and minutely to whatever terms we lay down.”

He had to think. And his brain didn’t function properly when she was a mere foot from him. He turned away. Away from the sight of her, from the sweet feminine scent that he just now recognized had been clouding his brain since the start, and paced, until he came up against a chair, the room suffocatingly close. He’d considered the accommodations more than large enough until now.

“Why would you ever think that I’d be interested in throwing in with
you
?”

She blanched, her face betraying a discomfort it rarely exposed. “The adventure of it?”

He felt the trap closing in and tried one last time to squeeze out. If he wasn’t expert at getting out of tight spots, he wouldn’t have lived this long. “Not to burst any bubbles, Mrs. Goodale, but I don’t need
you
for an adventure.”

“All right, then,” she snapped. “I assumed your reasons would be no different than mine.”

“Really?” He glanced around at the luxury of his suite. “Does this look like I need the money?”

“Did you think I’d do no research? This room comes with the lecture engagement.”

“I see.” He frowned. “The desk clerk again?”

Her silence gave him his answer. “Resourceful, aren’t you?”

“Resourceful enough to partner with?”

But he couldn’t make it that easy. “Try again,” he advised.

“All right, then,” she said, with enough heat behind it to remind him that, behind her detached manner, the woman carried a lot more emotion than one would have thought. Either that, or she faked it really, really well. He’d never decided exactly which, and it’d be dangerous to set himself to solving the mystery. Dangerous, and dangerously tempting.

“I admitted my circumstances easily enough. But God forbid honesty should slap up against male pride. It loses every time. But really, haven’t you read the papers? It’s common knowledge that after your misadventure in the Arctic—” She caught a glimpse of his expression and bit off the words immediately. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he said, stepping close enough that she backed away, toward the hard, flat door, until her backbone pressed against it. She wished the wood had some give—anything that would allow one more precious inch of space between them. He took up more than his share of room, more than his share of air.

She’d remembered him as a charming young man, handsome and laughing and vibrant with life. Irresistible. Had this prickly man with the bitter and dangerous edge always been there, only she’d been too young and dazzled to recognize it? Or was it something that had taken him over in the years since, a malevolent rot that putrefied all the joy in him into something darker?

“Just let me go. I’ve obviously made a misjudgment in coming here. I thought this could be simpler than is obviously possible for you, and so I—”

“Possible for me?” His gaze drifted down, fastening somewhere at the base of her neck, and she felt her pulsebeat flutter there, panicked and wild. He seemed as likely to wring her neck as kiss it.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured lightly, as if merely musing over a menu choice, “that, in coming here and asking for my help, you have perhaps swallowed some of that pride you wore so well. But you’ve retained every shred, and gained more if you believe that the mere presence of
you
in this proposition complicates things for me.”

She eyed him warily. His head remained bent, as if he counted each heartbeat, and she wished to blazes she’d thought to bring a shawl. His lids shielded his eyes from her view. She saw only the dense semicircle of his lashes, shades darker than his hair, near-mink, and the severe jut of his cheekbone. The angles had grown sharper; any soft and friendly handsomeness he’d worn as a young man had been worn away in jungles and glaciers, scoured down by wind and sun and hardship.

“You’re not wearing mourning,” he said, flicking a flutter of lace at the top of her sleeve.

“No,” she answered on a thready breath. “You know the doctor had limited patience for what he considered the artificial constructs of society. I thought that he would rather I not…”

“Pretend?”

She flushed. “Yes.”

“I wonder,” he said, “just how badly you want this venture to proceed. You’ve no chance without me.” He looked up then, and she felt his gaze like a physical thing, piercing sharp, sinking deep. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Alone, perhaps not. But without you doesn’t necessarily mean alone.”

“Ah, but you want to win. What’s the point otherwise? You need me.”

“You’re making too much of this,” she said, too flat, not nearly convincing enough.

“Am I?” He exhaled, and she could feel the hot wash of his breath. “I wonder.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t wonder? Ah, but I do. It is my curse, you see, curiosity. And now I find myself wondering…just what would you do to secure my agreement?”

Her throat was tight. “We could…discuss the terms.”

“Could we?” His voice was low, the mesmerizing tone of a hypnotist. And then he lifted his hand and drew one finger over the wide expanse of flesh exposed by her aggressive neckline—it had seemed such a good idea when she’d first put it on, she thought in rising panic. He took his time, finger sweeping slowly, over a swell, dipping into the valley between her breasts, a bare inch from the satin edge of her bodice.

She froze. Blood, breath, heart, soul, as trapped as a rabbit in a wolf’s jaw. Oh, she’d underestimated this so terribly—had never once considered that a glimmer of the passion he’d once roused in her remained. More than remained, had somehow, deep inside where she never knew it existed, been waiting and strengthening as the years passed, awaiting release.

“I’m certain we can negotiate an agreement,” he murmured, his slow, wicked smile full of sensual promise.

She opened her mouth to object. She was sure she did. But at that moment his finger wandered farther, insinuated itself just under the edge of the fabric, stealing into thoroughly forbidden territory, and all that came out was a gasp.

And then, in an awful flicker of an instant, he changed. He dropped his hand, his smile twisted into bitter mockery, and he stepped away, freeing her to leave as she would. “Thought so,” he said, as if she’d just confirmed every bad opinion he’d ever had of her. He turned away, dismissing her completely, and strode over to his cluttered desk.

He grabbed a random handful of papers, sifting through them as if he were alone in the room.

“Now wait a minute,” she began, and he looked up in surprise.

“You can go now. It begins the first of September, right? Pack light.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” A few moments ago, all she thought of was escape. Now all she wanted was battle. She whipped across the room after him, debated grabbing his arm and yanking him around so he had to face her.

No, better not.

“Though I know you cherish the conclusions to which you jump so enthusiastically I was
not
acquiescing to your suggestion.”

“Of course not.” Pursing his lips, he studied a random sheet of paper with too-obviously serious intent. “There. Are your feathers soothed? I never for an instant assumed that the glazed look in your eyes and utter lack of protest indicated agreement.”

“It was not compliance,” she said through her teeth. “It was complete shock at your extreme lack of manners and astonishing forwardness.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He tossed aside the paper, snatched up another sheet, and still didn’t so much as honor her with a glance. “The first, then, isn’t it? Where does this fiasco begin?”

“Oh, no. You’re not coming with me.”

“Rescinding your offer?” he chided. “We both know that you’re fond of exercising your right to change your mind, but in this case it’s too late.”

She never thought that someone could actually strangle on anger, but she was a hairsbreadth away from doing so. “You have no choice. You are not in this. You could fall on your knees right now and
beg
and I wouldn’t let you come with me.”

“Keep dreaming, my dear. About me keeping out of this now and about me on my knees. Because neither one is happening in your lifetime.”

“I’m going to that race. And I’m going to win it, too.
Without you.
Truthfully, I should thank you, for I’m now a hundred times more committed to success than I was when I walked in that door.” Time for a grand exit, Kate decided. There, at least, she was on familiar and accomplished ground. “And you—you can live off the stale stories of ten-year-old adventures until there’s not an audience in America who hasn’t heard every tale. Twice.”

She swept out in a furious swish of silk, a huff of frustration. Jim winced at the crash—not a bit too ladylike to slam the door, was she? He waited a beat, half expecting a bell boy to come running to see what had caused such a commotion. And then he frowned, disturbed because he’d found himself smiling. He would not be amused by her, not by her temper or her quick tongue or her ridiculous plan.
Amused
could slide too easily into
charmed.

He tossed his handful of papers, from which he hadn’t read a single word, in the direction of the table and shrugged when half of them skated off and fluttered down to the deep, patterned rug.

Kathryn Goodale.
Hell.

Unbidden, unwanted, the memory rolled up in him, way down deep from where he’d buried it, where he’d tried to exterminate it completely. Sometimes months had passed and he didn’t think of her, not once. But then, on a soft night when his guard was down, she’d slip back into his dreams and he’d wake up, sweating, wanting, hurting.

Heaven. He was drowning in heaven, in the glory of warm, seeking lips beneath his, in the wonder of a lithe, heated female form in his arms. Scents filled his nose, clouds of cultivated summer flowers, the softer, beguiling smells of a clean woman. Hair slid through his fingers, finer than any silk he’d touched in Xinjiang, softer than any fleece he’d bought in Kashmir. He was bedazzled, had been since the instant he’d stepped into the gazebo, weary from nine months of beating through jungles looking for a fabled temple and finding nothing, and seen her.
Her
. So lovely he’d almost thought he’d imagined her, a legendary beauty as ephemeral as the ancient myths he sought.

Then she’d turned, and smiled, and spoken to him. Simple words, polite mannerisms, and each one seemed to portend a thousand things more than their minimal syllables should have, as if each bare word that passed between them was one of cupid’s arrows, sinking in deep, binding them together. As if he’d spent all those years searching, looking, hunting in far corners of the world, and all along what he sought above all was in a Philadelphia garden, waiting for him to find her.

Peace had flooded him. And a lighthearted joy like he’d never known. He’d kissed her—he hadn’t thought, hadn’t considered. Just kissed her, because he couldn’t do anything else, because every step he’d ever taken in his life had brought him to this moment. And, miracle of miracles, she’d kissed him back.