A British Bride by Agreement (14 page)

“What’s the budget?” Janette had a
playful smirk on her lips.

Jonathan shrugged. He didn’t need to be
mired in this right now. He had too many other things on his plate. “Three
hundred thousand do it?”

Emma stood, her stance bolted to the
floor. It cost that much to furnish their home? She’d never get it done.

“Great. Well, we’re going.” Janette
slipped on her sun glasses. “Neither Rome nor your new wing will be furnished
in a day.”

Jonathan’s phone rang again. He pressed
his lips and glanced at it. “I’ve got to go.”

“Okay.” Jennifer kissed her brother on
the cheek. “You can go out the front and distract the photo hounds while we
slip out the back.”

Janette waved at her brother and left
Emma and Jonathan alone.

Suddenly, his mouth felt dry. “Are you
okay with all of this?” He gestured at the crowd outside.

She started to step in towards him, and
then pulled back. “I was a little taken off guard.”

It seemed as if a gulf of space existed
between them. Where had the intimacy of the last week gone? His cell phone
jarred his ear again. He glanced at it. “It’s my father, I have to go.” On
impulse he stepped forward and gave her soft cheek a kiss. Desire stirred in
him—
alonging
to steal her away. He started to say
more, but he needed to get back to work. He didn’t have the time for
distractions, even attractive ones. “I’m…bye.”

“Bye.”

“I’ll see you tonight at the dinner.” He
squared his shoulders and headed for the front doors.

“What dinner?”

Guilt stilled him. Had he been too busy
with the wedding and trip to Germany to explain what their schedule would be
like? He turned around and paced toward her. “We have dinners to attend for the
next four nights. I’ll have Orlando drive you, as I’ll have to come from the
office.”

Did her shoulders wilt? He wanted to
tell her—that he missed her. That she was never far from his thoughts, but his
cell phone was ringing again and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the
photographers getting restless.

“You’d better go.”

By the sad tug on her lips, his stance
wilted. She wasn’t happy. But this way of life, the dinners, the photographers,
the demands on his time was part of the agreement. So why did that reasoning
leave him feeling so miserable?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Emma shifted in her strapless red gown
and fiddled with the napkin on her lap. She sat at a long imposing table
ornamented with tall gilded candelabras, exotic flowers, and dangerously fragile-looking
antique dishes. The vaulted ceiling, posh drapes, gold framed pictures of
important ancestors inspecting the dining room, added to her nervous tension.
Next to her sat Laura Dillingham, the Attorney General for the state of
Missouri and on the other side sat Liesel
Hoffmiser
,
the well-known German cookbook author. What did she have to say to these very
important women?

Jonathan sat across from her and down a
few places. They had seen little of each other, as he’d arrived after they had
been seated for dinner. He offered her a smile and lifted his water glass
toward her. He mouthed the word,
beautiful,
and a rush of pleasure infused her. His sisters had taken her shopping and once
they’d convinced her to stop looking at the price tags, she found four gorgeous
dresses for the week’s dinners. She hoped he would like them.

She took a sip of her water, but when
she looked back, he was engrossed in conversation with the stunning red head
next to him. Maybe she should have worn the emerald dress?

Waiters leaned in as if on cue and set
steaming bowls of soup down in unison. Lobster Bisque. A laugh caught in Emma’s
throat. She flashed a peek at Jonathan who was staring back at her with a
glimmer in his eyes. How she wished she could be next to him. But when she
looked back, Red-Head Lady was nudging him with her elbow and drew his
attention way again.

Emma blew out a sigh.

“Do you not like your soup?” Liesel
Hoffmiser
lifted one eyebrow.

Emma quickly took a sip of the bisque.
“No, it’s lovely.”

“You’re English.”

“Most amiably.”

Liesel nodded. “I’m just doing the final
edits on my next cookbook project on how the German culture has influenced
English cooking.”

Immediately, the two fell into a deep
conversation about restaurants in London and English attitudes toward food.
Emma enjoyed talking with the woman as the two analyzed each dish they were
served. At the end of the meal, Emma stood and as she did, Jonathan captured
her hand. “I see you’ve met Liesel.”

The warmth of his hand muddled Emma’s
words. “We, I did, we are, were—”

“You have a brilliant wife. She has
given me many wonderful ideas on English food. I may have to meet with her
again to discuss my next cook-book project.”

Emma flushed at the sight of Jonathan’s
tender smile. He squeezed her hand and all her doubts about the Red-Head Lady
that had distracted him all evening disappeared.

“I am very proud of her, but now I must
take her home.” He linked his arm with hers and after a quick thank you to the
host and hostess, steered her toward the front doors.

“Jonathan.” A tall blonde with cascading
curls in a form-fitting designer dress scurried toward them as they breezed
through the entry hall. “I’m so glad I caught up with you. I didn’t have a
chance to return your call today.” She fixed her excited gaze on Emma and held
out her hand. “I’m Dede.”

Dede?
Emma squelched
a wave of insecurity as she took in the woman’s model-like figure. She
recognized Dede from magazines, but in person, her blue eyes practically
glowed.
Her skin flawless.
Her
figure perfection.
Emma shot a glance at Jonathan whose gaze was fixed
on the woman’s face.

“We can talk later, Dede.” His voice
sounded guarded.

“Of course.
I don’t want to
bore your wife with shop talk, but I wanted to congratulate you both.” She
shook Emma’s hand with her elegant manicured one.

I
look bloated in this dress
. Emma swallowed back her concerns.
“Nice to meet you.”
 

“I knew it would take someone very
special to capture Jonathan. And I see he’s been truly captured.”

Emma wilted further. The lady was gorgeous
and
nice.

“Well, good to see you again.”
Jonathan’s tone sounded disinterested, but why was he phoning her?

Emma wanted to ask him about his former
fiancée, but as soon as the chauffeured car pulled away from the estate,
Jonathan’s cell phone rang. “This will only take a minute.”

While he was distracted, Emma stared at
his darkened profile. It was strong, resolute, determined like its owner. As he
talked, his fingers caressed her hand. She closed her eyes and savored the
intimate sensation. Her mouth dry, she longed for him to kiss her again. He
hadn’t since their honeymoon.

She laid her head back on the head rest.
Jet lag was taking its toll, and it had been a busy day. And tomorrow, she had
a tea and then a luncheon to attend with her sisters-in-law. Would her days
always be so consumed with social events? She hoped not. She wished she could
have more time with Jonathan. Did he miss spending every day together as they
had on their honeymoon? As they pulled through the main gate at the house, he
offered another apologetic wave and continued with his call. Perhaps he didn’t
miss her at all.

Disappointment welled in her throat. She
had to remember, she was a wife by agreement, not a wife chosen by love.

***

At two a.m., Jonathan pushed back the papers
he’d been reading and rubbed his eyes. Every night since he’d been back from
Munich, he’d worked all day, attended important business dinners, and then gone
back to work until the wee hours of the morning. By Emma’s disappointed tone at
the last of the three events they’d attended, his long hours at work were
already hurting her. But she needed to understand, the most important thing in
his life was the family business.
Living up to the
expectations of being a Steller, so that one day he could take the company
over.
His whole adult life, his career had come first and always would.

He arched his aching back, resigned to
going home. He scooped the papers on the Belize Children’s Orphanage and tucked
them in a file. Not only did the orphanage not exist, but the man who had
claimed to be the director had disappeared with the funds the Steller charity
had given him. Jonathan met with the company lawyers and they had a few of
their contacts in Belize looking to see if he could be traced. But even if the
money was recovered, Jonathan had a lot to answer for. This charity was harder
to run than he thought. His mind slipped back to earlier in the day, when he’d
met his first real client…

“Ms. Garrison from the Kinder AIDS Group
is here to see you.” Geraldine stood in his doorway.

Jonathan stared at her. He wasn’t ready
for this. He let out a sigh. “Doesn’t Nick take care of the face-to-face
encounters?”

“Mr. Steller, we all try to meet with
the clients. Nick isn’t here any
mor
,
and you’re the one she wants to speak with.”

“Remind me again who she is.”

“Anita Garrison is the head of a local
AIDS organization for children. She’s very passionate about the needs of the
kids who have this disease. And one more thing, she also has AIDS.”

He squirmed in his seat. He was accustomed
to meeting with heads of corporations, not sick people. But this was part of
the job. “Sure, send her in.”

He tugged on his jacket and straightened
his tie.

Ms. Garrison bounded into his office in
her multi-colored shirt, bright red skirt, and long dark braids. “So, I finally
get to meet the big guy.”

He forced a smile to his lips.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Garrison.
Won’t you sit down?”

She plunked down and leaned forward.
“You cut back on the money you send my group and I don’t like it. I’m here to
change your mind.”

He quickly brought up her organization’s
information on his computer. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember why they
had reduced her support. “We often review all of the organizations we assist,
and at times we shift our funding slightly.” He clicked around on his computer.
“According to my records, we only cut your monies by twenty percent.”

“According to my records, you cut it by
the new bunk beds we need to buy, most of the dental work my kids must have,
and the field trips we had planned.”

My kids?
“So these
children live with you?”

She cocked her head. “You don’t know
anything about my organization, do you?”

Jonathan folded his hands. “It’s not
that I don’t know, I have just come to be the director and my time—”

“Forty-three children with AIDS live
with me, Mr. Steller. These are children who have been abandoned by
AIDS-infected parents, or have been taken away by the state. I feed, clothe,
nurse, and provide for these children with a team of volunteers and money from
a few organizations. Your twenty percent affects my children on a daily basis
and I want you to reconsider.”

He nodded and looked at the
organization’s website again. A year ago, the Steller charity began
floundering, the over-whelmed director at the time, began to cut giving to all
groups. Jonathan had brought the files on the groups on his honeymoon,
including the financial statements, and the whys behind the decision to cut
funding, but never opened it once. What could he say? “Ms. Garrison, I’m very
sorry, but this decision was made by our finance committee—”

“Your finance committee needs to meet
these adorable children before they decide to cut their funding.” She dug in
her fringed purse. “Why don’t I set up a time for you to come and see our
center?”

“I don’t think that will be ness—”

She got to her feet with a fire in her
eyes. “Because in truth, Mr. Steller, you don’t really care about the people
your charity provides money for, do you? This is just a job.”

Nailed.
He was no good
at these types of meetings. He stood and walked over to his open door. “I’ll
review your request and send you a letter on our findings.”

She held out her hand.

His brain warned.
She has AIDS.

But he’d already let her down enough. He
took her hand in both of his and gripped it warmly. “I want to care about your
children. Let me check my schedule and see when I can visit.”