A British Bride by Agreement (2 page)

She blinked, a fire building in her
chest.
Two?
Like a pair of designer shoes? Like two
jet skis instead of one? Was this man mad?

“We’re both alone, not by choice.” He
paused as if measuring her response. “We’ve both been betrayed.”

Heat prickled her scalp. Did he know
about DJ and his gambling addiction?
The empty savings
accounts?
The mounting debts?
Her one secret?

“I’ve been told you have no funds and I
have,” he folded his arms, “more than I could ever spend. I know, because I’ve
tried.”

When he came and sat down next to her,
there was genuineness in his expression. “What I’m trying to say is we are both
of the same faith, and I hoped we could come to an agreement.”

“Agreement?”
Her
jaw dropped open
, her breathing, rapid. Was he daft? Did he
think she was just another one of his family’s business deals?

She scooted away from him.

He stood.
His broad
shoulders looking strong enough to take on the world.
“Look, I know you
think I’m crazy…”

And then some.

“But I believe that marriage is sacred
before God He strode over to a massive desk and stood behind it.
“
A union such as ours doesn’t have to be an
emotionally-based pledge. Two logical people can look at their situations and
decide they’re right for each other. That way, the whole arrangement wouldn't
have to be so… involved.” He picked up a document from the desk, scanned it,
momentarily distracted by some business. He looked up at her and clenched his
square jaw as if there was more he wanted to say. “Have I offended you?”

She stood and smoothed out her skirt
with a trembling hand.
Does the queen own
a tiara
? His knowing so much about her was unnerving. She glanced at her
watch. It was passed time to go. Opening the door, she spun around to tell him
what he could do with his agreement, when she slammed into him.

“Steady.” He grabbed her upper arms.

But the cloying smell of expensive
cologne,
Speed
by Lord Baron,
engulfed her. Its excessive sweetness brought back memories of her ambitious
father and his desperate hunger for the status wealth could bring. A life she
swore she would never live.

“I’m sorry,” she swallowed and pulled
away from his hold. “If this is your idea of a joke, you have an ill-bred sense
of humor. I’m grieving, and you want me to marry you and give you children?”

His face was still but his eyes roved
over her face.

“I think, like all the posh people I’ve
known, your money has gone to your head.” She bolted through the door, scurried
down a corridor lined with portraits of men with long, droopy moustaches,
crossed into a hall of mirrors, and came to a sudden halt.
She
back-tracked her way into another long hallway.

She was lost.

“This way.”

Turning around, she searched for the
owner of the deep baritone voice. She found Jonathan leaning against an archway
with arms folded. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment.

Without a word, she strode past him,
ashamed to find him so unnervingly handsome.

“My offer still stands.” His voice
sounded quietly behind her.

Without turning back, she opened the
door. “I’ll be out of the cottage in three days.”

***

Four days had passed with unrelenting
pressure. Creditors waited at Emma’s door, her mail box was full of registered
letters, demanding payment, and harassing phone calls that rang at all hours of
the night.
Followed by the confirmation from her bank that
her trust fund account was indeed bare.

Now a wiry man, no wider than the width
of a pen, stood outside on her landing, waving a clipboard. Three other men
waited behind him. By their grimy attire, they didn’t look like Royal Guards.

“We’ve got papers, ma’am, giving us
permission to take your Steinway as back payment for,” he squinted at his
document, “a debt incurred by a, Daniel Joseph Banks.”

A gasp caught in her throat. Not the Steinway.
A boom of thunder sounded outside. Emma cut a hard look at the darkening
clouds. She’d fancy some divine intervention right about now.

“You gonna sign?”

“Just a minute.”
She snatched
the papers from him and scanned them. Could she get a hold of her father’s
solicitor in London? Her stomach roiled as she folded onto a chair in her front
entry and pushed her hair out of her eyes. How could DJ sign away her
grandmother’s gift of a grand piano? Wave after wave of betrayal washed over
her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember if there were any good times in
their three-year marriage.

A scuffle of
feet.
Her eyelids flew open. Shock paralyzed her as four men undid the piano legs,
whipped thick blankets in place,
then
heaved the grand
piano, on which she had performed in the greatest music halls in England,
toward a piano skid.

“No!” She grabbed one of the burly men
by the arm, but he just dragged her slender frame toward the door. The mute
males deftly tilted the instrument onto its side and pushed it through the
front entry to the waiting lorry. She recoiled. “You can’t take my piano. I—I
have legal rights.”

Three of the men stepped onto an
electric dolly. The shrill whirr of the lift ground her rational thoughts into
dust. A few drops of rain fell, one splashing right in her eye.

The fourth man situated himself between
her and her instrument, as if he carried out these heartless acts with little
thought. “Your husband signed it as collateral. Nothing you can do about it. ‘
Cept
maybe hire a lawyer.”

Her chest squeezed. Her father knew
plenty solicitors, but would he take her calls? “I won’t let you!” Her voice
rose to a piercing C above middle E. “You can’t take this. It’s mine!”

Gabe and Kurt, two of the gardeners her
husband regularly partied with, stared back at her, their hedge clippers
hanging at their sides. Then suddenly, Kurt hopped in a golf cart and headed
toward the main house. Had they known about DJ’s gambling addiction?

Teeth gritted, she blocked the path of
the driver, who by now had lit up a cigar. The smell of the tart smoke burned
her nostrils. “Gentlemen, can’t you please give me time to sort this out? This
is just a misunderstanding.”

The rainfall started to increase,
slapping her face as if one injustice wasn’t enough for the day.

The driver looked up and hurried toward
his truck. “Take it up with the bank, lady.”

She groaned and threw her hands up in
the air. DJ had left her riddled with debts, bills, creditors so relentless in
their pursuit of
her,
she was being forced to turn to
the one place she vowed she’d never go—to her family in England.

 
“I hate you,” burst from her lips as if DJ
could somehow hear her. The truck’s engine roared, snapping her back into
reality. Lunging forward, she ran after the unwieldy vehicle, pounding on the
back section as it lumbered up the bumpy gravel road past a grove of trees in
the direction of the Steller estate. Although it slowed as it moved toward the
open wrought iron entrance, the lumbering thief outpaced her. But she continued
yelling and running.

Just before the paved road in front of
the estate, she tripped and fell to her knees in a cloud of noxious fumes.

The offending vehicle charged on.

She
wilted,
face down, in an eruption of tears. Her hands and knees, scraped by the
pavement, throbbed as she cried. Her piano had been a gift from her grandmother
on her sixteenth birthday. Grandmum had even paid to have it shipped to the
states when Emma married.

At the reverberation of braking
screeching, her head shot up.

A black jaguar swerved into the truck’s
path. Jonathan Steller climbed out of the driver’s side.

***

Jonathan’s insides hammered. Thanks to
Kurt’s call, he’d turned around and headed back to the house just in time.
Shoving his keys into his pocket, he dug out his checkbook, as his family’s
longstanding motto,
ich
werde
hilfe
—I will help—demanded.

He’d spent his whole life living up to
Steller expectations.

The driver stuck his head out the
window. “Move the car, Mr. Steller, or I’ll have to run over it.”

Thunder boomed, adding to the tension in
the air. Jonathan swiped at the rain on his face with his sleeve.
“How much?”

The driver swung open the door and
dropped to his feet. “With all due respect, sir, I can’t just unload—”

“How much?”
Jonathan
snapped. At the sound of a woman’s weeping, he turned around. The sight of Emma
crying filled him with fury. He glared at the driver. “Don’t.
Move.”
Then he strode over and lifted her to her feet. “Are
you okay?”

She nodded as the rain began to fall
steadily.

He handed her a handkerchief.

Another worker came around the truck and
spoke to the driver. “Just collect the money, and let’s get out of here.”

“Excuse me,” Jonathan said to Emma as he
paced back to the two men.

The driver retrieved his clipboard from the
truck’s dashboard and shoved the papers in front of him.

Clive, Jonathan’s butler came and stood
beside him. “Do I need to summon security?”

“No.” A few scribbles of Jonathan’s pen,
a quick tear of vellum paper, and the matter was resolved. “Now get off my
property,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Look, Mr. Steller, I’m just
doin
’—”

Jonathan grabbed him by a fist full of
collar. “You’re nothing but a bully. And if you say one more word, I will reach
for the .45 I keep under my driver’s seat.
”
 
With a slight shove, Jonathan let him
go. He gestured toward Clive. “See that the piano is taken to the music room
before it gets too wet—”

“No, it’s mine.” Emma charged at
Jonathan, her short blonde hair in wet, wild tangles.

A pang of sympathy rang though him, but
he kept his face still. He hated bullies, and he had a painfully soft spot for
those who were being abused. “I’ll keep it for you.”

The truck started up and swerved out of
the Steller driveway, just missing Jonathan’s jag.

“Is my piano now a bargaining chip?” Her
shoulders, now soaked with rain, heaved with emotion.

He studied her beautiful skin and pink
lips. Unfortunately, he inadvertently had Emma Banks over a barrel. A
negotiating position he preferred in matters of business, but this agreement wasn’t
business. He wanted her to accept his offer, but he didn’t want her to feel she
had to. “I’ll only keep it until you get settled, wherever you’re going.”

She stuffed her hands in her jean’s
pockets. “Oh, I’m—if you could, that would be brilliant.”

“Great.” He tugged on his suit coat and
straightened his tie. Did Emma see his rather aggressive behavior? He pressed
his lips. Of course she did. He hoped it didn’t deter her. “Do you want to come
in and dry off?”

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes
looking around as if weighing her options. “It was lovely, er… good to see you
again.”

 
He’d always found English accents charming.
“Am I lovely, or the piano?”

Instead of answering, her gaze followed
the workers from the Steller house
who
carried her
instrument into his house. A protection blanket slipped revealing it to be a
Steinway concert piano.

She handed Jonathan his handkerchief and
cast him a nervous glance. “I used to play professionally.”

Did she think he’d expect her to sell
such a dear possession? Although based on the creditors’ nonstop calls to his
accountant’s office, she couldn’t afford not to. The suspicion in her gaze
unnerved him. “If you’ll tell me where to send your piano, I’ll arrange to have
it moved properly.”

She bit her lower lip.

How could a woman look so beautiful and
be soaking wet?

“If you could give me a couple more
days…” Her gaze fell. “I need to get a few more things sorted out...”

“Just let me know. Are you sure you’re
not hurt?” He took her arm. “Let me give you a ride back to the cottage.”

The wind picked up and the rain began to
fall at an increasing pace. She merely shook her head and pulled away from him.

He watched her as she trudged back down
the lonely path toward the cottage. If only she’d think about his proposal,
albeit a dry and logical one. Dede, his fiancée, had been all wrong for him.
And it took her jilting him for him to see it. Her beauty, charm, wealthy
background, had blinded his ability to make a wise choice. He’d never make that
mistake again. He’d vowed on the steps of the terrace on his rain-soaked
wedding day, he’d never be led by his feelings again. Next time he picked a
wife would be a cold, calculated decision, one that would live up to his
family’s expectations. And this rain only reminded of him his unshakable
decision.