Temporary Husband (3 page)

Besides, she was a complication he couldn’t afford—not if he wanted to gain his inheritance.

A nudge from behind woke Wynne to her surroundings and she started, realizing she stood in the middle of the walkway lost in thought. She’d been picturing the sweetest of fantasies—one that involved a dark, handsome prince and a real house and children. It was a fantasy that could be hers, once she got past a certain masculine stumbling block.

She eyed the retreating back of the stumbling block in question, pleased beyond all measure when he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder in her direction. He needed her. The instinctive knowledge grew stronger with each passing moment. She’d sensed a gaping emptiness in him and knew that she could fill it, a raw hurt that she had the power to heal. He needed someone who could see the inherent goodness in his character, who wouldn’t be fooled by his stormy expression and searing gold eyes and tough, independent attitude. He was a man plagued by demons, demons she could destroy.

He needed
her.

Gathering up the long sweep of her skirt, she started toward the mansion. She didn’t want to get too far behind her future husband. Heaven only knew what trouble he’d get into if she did. He might even pick the wrong woman through sheer ignorance. She grinned. Or sheer bullheadedness.

Stepping through the double doors leading inside, she stopped dead, staring around in amazement. The marble entrance hall seemed to stretch endlessly, the huge support pillars decorated for Thanksgiving with pine garland, fairy lights and white satin bows. A massive chandelier, glittering with thousands of tiny prisms, caught the setting-sun and scattering a dancing circle of rainbows in joyous welcome. Twin, curving staircases on either side of the hallway led to the upstairs ballroom, joining at the top to form a perfect heart.

Wynne climbed the steps, feeling more like Cinderella by the minute. Reaching the upper landing, she joined others in a short receiving line, holding her invitation in a white-knuckle grip. All her hopes and dreams lay in this thin, gold metallic wafer. She closed her eyes for an instant and made a wish, a wish that all who came that night would find their heart’s desire.

“Welcome to the Cinderella Ball.”

With a start, Wynne opened her eyes, realizing she’d reached the front of the line. And standing before her was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

The woman’s hair was richly black, pulled away from her face and fashioned into an intricate knot. Her eyes were huge and a clear, rich amber, thick lashes shading the innate reserve that lurked in their depths. She held out her hand and offered a warm smile. “I’m Ella Montague.”

“Wynne Sommers. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She shook hands, gazing in open admiration. It might be interesting to look like this for a day instead of like the “pocketful of nothingness” Mrs. Marsh had once called her. Somehow she couldn’t see Ella Montague allowing anyone to intimidate her, certainly not the beastly Mrs. Marsh. But then, everything had a price. Even beauty, judging by Ella’s wary expression.

“I hope you enjoy yourself this evening,” she murmured, taking Wynne’s gold ticket and dropping it into the velvet-lined basket she held. “You’re free to explore any of the rooms on the first two floors. Buffet-style dinners are laid out downstairs and the gardens are available for your enjoyment. Once you find a partner, marriage ceremonies are conducted in the salons off the main ballroom. If you have any questions or problems, there are footmen who can assist you. They all wear white-and-gold uniforms, so you can’t miss them.”

“Thank you,” Wynne murmured and moved further down the line. An older couple stood together, their expressions as guileless as newborn infants.

“Welcome, my dear,” the woman said in greeting, taking Wynne’s hand in hers. “I’m Henrietta Montague. And this is my husband, Donald.”

Wynne glanced back over her shoulder at Ella, a mesmerizing flame of gold in her Grecian-style gown, and then back at the Montagues. “Ella is your daughter?” she asked tentatively.

“Our one and only,” Henrietta confirmed cheerfully. “A bird of paradise raised by wrens.”

Wynne smiled. “I quite like wrens. They’re quick, cheerful and always have something to say for themselves.”

Henrietta beamed. “What a lovely description. Did you hear, Donald?”

“I heard, my sweet.” He took hold of Wynne’s hand and squeezed it. “Now you look around carefully tonight. Only the best for you.”

“Oh, I’ve already found him,” Wynne hastened to say. “And he is the best. The very best.”

Tears glittered in Henrietta’s eyes. “I’m so pleased. Much happiness, my dear. And with luck we’ll see you again next year.”

“Next year?” Wynne asked in confusion.

“That’s when we hold our Anniversary Ball. All those who meet and wed at the Cinderella Ball are invited to celebrate their first anniversary with us.”

Wynne gave a definite nod. “Then I’ll see you again next year.” With that, she moved into the ballroom and scanned the crowd for coal-black hair and a distinctive set of broad shoulders.

Time to find her husband-to-be.

Jake lounged against a wall and watched the crowd with weary impatience. Dammit all! Four miserable hours had passed since he’d arrived—four hours spent stampeding from woman to woman like some sort of lust-crazed bull in a field full of bashful cows. And he didn’t have a single prospect to show for it. Oh, there were plenty of women, available in every shape and size. But they’d all come with a list of wants he couldn’t care less about, let alone had a hope in hell of fulfilling.

And not one of them was interested in a temporary relationship.

A hard-eyed brunette approached just then. It didn’t take long to discover she was more interested in the size of his bank account than in marital bliss. After two minutes of conversation he knew she’d never sign his prenuptial agreement. And after another two he managed to convince her he wasn’t interested in purchasing the goods she had for sale. The instant she left, a redhead replaced her. She practically shook in her ivory heels and he suspected it took every ounce of gumption for her to even approach.

“Nikki Ashton,” she introduced herself and offered her hand.

“Jake Hondo.”

An awkward silence descended as she scrambled for something to say. “I—I’m looking for a husband,” she finally announced.

“Really?” he murmured dryly. “What a coincidence. I’m looking for a wife.”

She stared at him in dismay, bright color sweeping into her face. “Oh, I knew this would never work. Coming here was a mistake.” A hint of violet glinted within the pansy-blue of her eyes. “I’m sorry to waste your time. It’s just that I’ve never done this before. And I thought…I’d hoped—”

He released his breath in a gusty sigh, afraid that if he didn’t say something nice—and quick—she might burst into tears. “You want to start over?”

She gave a forlorn little shrug. “Is there any point?”

“Could be. I’m looking for a temporary wife. You interested?”

That caught her attention. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am.” A small smile crept across her full mouth and she relaxed minutely. “I wouldn’t mind a temporary arrangement in the least.”

He lifted a sooty eyebrow. “You serious?”

“Very. I just need a husband long enough to convince my sister I’m happily married.”

“Happy, huh?”

“Ecstatically happy.” Her eyes narrowed. “You can fake ecstatic, can’t you?”

“I suppose.” He waited a beat before adding, “If you’re willing to sleep with me.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“I have to be legally wedded and bedded to inherit my grandfather’s property. And my wife will need to stand up in court and admit as much to the judge.” He rocked back on his heels. “Can you handle that?”

He watched as she mulled it over. If she hadn’t claimed she’d be interested in a temporary marriage, he’d have brushed her off. One glance had told him she’d never do. For one thing, she was too beautiful—as lovely as his little elf, though perhaps more colorful and vibrant.
If he’d learned nothing else in his thirty-five years of existence, he’d learned to give beautiful women a wide berth. For another, Nikki’s soft, white hands hadn’t seen a lick of work since the day she’d tumbled into this world. She’d be about as useful on a ranch as a silk-covered saddle.

Still, he was fast running out of options. He could tolerate the woman, if push came to shove. Let her sit in the parlor and look as gorgeous and helpless as she wanted, so long as she warmed his bed. Check that. So long as she warmed his bed
and
confirmed she’d done her wifely duty before the judge and various and sundry witnesses.

“Well?” he prodded.

“There’s no other option?”

“No other option and no other conditions. How about you?”

“Just one other detail…In addition to my sister, I have a boss to convince. You’d have to act the part of the loving-husband whenever we attend business functions together or whenever my family’s around.”

Damn. “Whoa. Time out. Where were you planning on conducting this ecstatically happy marriage of ours?”

“New York,” she answered. “Why?”

“Because I have a ranch to run. I need my wife living with me in Texas.”

She shook her head. “I need my husband living with me in New York.” Her mouth tilted into a rueful smile. “This isn’t going to work, is it?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Thanks anyway.” She offered her hand again. “And thanks for helping me through this. It should be easier from here on out.” With that cryptic remark, she disappeared into the crowd.

“Wasn’t she right for you?” a friendly voice questioned from behind.

He turned and glanced down, both intrigued and irritated to discover that his elf had reappeared. “I thought I got rid of you earlier.”

She shrugged, the graceful movement drawing his attention to the fine, sculpted lines of her neck and shoulders, her short, layered hairstyle further emphasizing the most exquisite bone structure he’d seen in a long time. She reminded him of a thoroughbred, lean and delicate and fluid.

“I’m hard to get rid of,” she replied, not in the least offended by his gruff comment. “I’m persistent.”

A small smile eased the corners of his mouth. “Annoying.”

“Tenacious.”

“Pesky.”

“Determined.”

“Clingy.”

She laughed up at him. “In that case, I’ll grow on you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered wryly.

Tilting her head to one side, she gave him a sympathetic look. “Not having any luck?”

“Not much. How about you?”

“Oh, I haven’t given up yet. These things take time.”

He grimaced. “Something we’re fast running out of.”

“Unfortunately.”

She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and peeked up at him. To his amusement, the look held a contradictory element of both caution and daring, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Spit it out, munchkin. What do you want?”

She took a deep breath and offered an engaging smile. “I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Wynne Sommers.”

The name suited its owner—they each had a fey, almost arcane feel about them. “Jake Hondo,” he replied with notable reluctance.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’m starved. Why don’t we visit the buffet table and you can tell me what it is you expect in a wife.”

“We’ve already covered that ground,” he said, a bard edge invading his tone. “I want a temporary arrangement. You want permanent.”

“I prefer permanent,” she said, correcting him. “But I’m willing to compromise.”

His eyes narrowed. “I want someone who’s not afraid of hard work. You’d blow away in the first gust of wind.”

“Oh, I’m not that easy to blow away. And as for hard work…” She held out her hands, palms up. They were marred by calluses, the skin red and chapped. “I know my way around a bucket of soapy water.”

He gritted his teeth to prevent an exclamation of fury. She shouldn’t have hands like that. They should be like the redhead’s hands, silky and white and pampered. He eyed her thoughtfully. His elf worked hard for a living. Is that why she’d come? To escape a life of drudgery? “You want a gentle warrior,” he reminded. “And I’m not even close to gentle.”

She gave a gaminelike grin. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” he said with pointed finality and turned away.

She didn’t leave. Instead she stood quietly at his side and waited. Reluctantly he glanced down at her. Her dress was made of some sort of shimmery fabric, the light green an almost perfect match for her eyes. The V-neck bodice hugged her slender curves and he suppressed the savage urge to steal her away to a dark, private corner and become intimately familiar with those curves—curves, he suspected, that would prove to be a hell of a lot softer than her hands.

“You don’t want me,” he told her in a harsh undertone. “I’m not the right sort of husband for you.”

He might as well have saved his breath. “If you won’t eat with me, will you dance with me?” she asked.

Take her into his arms? Feel that pale, velvety skin beneath his hands, breathe in her scent and mold her body to his? He gritted his teeth. What the hell did she think he was made of? Stone?

“Not a chance.” He bit out the words and grabbed hold of her work-roughened hand. “It’s the buffet or nothing.”

He towed her through the crowds, calling himself every kind of a fool for not avoiding the trap closing in around him. But he found he couldn’t. Something in the way Wynne looked at him, the unquestioning faith he read in those candid green eyes made him want to take her under his wing and ensure that nothing ever harmed her. He didn’t stop to analyze his reaction. He only knew that for the past four hours he’d caught distracting glimpses of her—and of the men stalking her like a pack of feral dogs. And each time he’d thought her on the verge of selecting one for a husband, it had felt as though he’d been mule-kicked square in the gut.

He was doing her a favor, he decided. He didn’t know why she felt the need to go to this extreme, why she felt that marriage represented salvation, but he suspected she only saw the dream, not the reality. If he married her, she’d be free in a short amount of time. By then, she’d have realized that marriage didn’t solve problems, it only added to them. And she’d be only too happy for an opportunity to escape.