A British Bride by Agreement (3 page)

***

Emma sat at her kitchen table with her
head in her hands for what seemed like hours, her heart aching. She fingered
the slick Fed Ex package she had found on her doorstep when she’d gotten back
home. It was from her parents. The envelope contained a first-class one way
advance purchase ticket to London, a request from their charted accountant for
a list of her debts, the contact details for a freight forwarder to ensure the
piano was brought home safely to London, and a told-you-so letter scolding her
for marrying,
the
poor excuse for a husband
.

Why had she given into a moment of
helplessness and called them last week? She knew she could never accept their
illegal money. Her throat aching, she stared at the pile of bills, the letters
from creditors, and documents from three different law offices threatening
lawsuits if the debts weren’t paid in full. The amount overdue totaled more
than $5,225,000.

Pushing away from the table, she plodded
outside to the back garden and took in a deep breath of the air, clean from the
brief rain. Her steps crunched on scattered sticks as she wandered over to the
concrete birdbath to pick out the debris. Her mind drifted back to her parents
who earned the family fortune by swindling people out of real estate deals.

After a turbulent childhood, she escaped
England at age eighteen with a small amount of trust money from her grandmother
and enrolled at the University of Missouri in Columbia. There, on a blind date,
she met DJ, the university landscaper. Did she love him, or did she love what
he represented—the complete opposite of her parent’s pretentious life style?
Misery weighed on her like rainwater on leaves. What now? How could she pay off
the debts? Was the thought of marrying a rich man she didn’t know, much less
love, more appalling than accepting her parent’s help?

She unfolded a chair and sat down.
Jonathan Steller seemed decent enough, and that he was a believer in Christ
made her trust him more, but enough to commit to him for life? She pressed her
hands to her face to stop her whirling thoughts.

She had two options.

Both of them
inconceivable.

CHAPTER TWO

The pale gold and orange rays of the
fading summer sun had long since streamed across the sky. Now chilled by the
growing darkness, Emma slipped back into the cottage, desperately needing a cup
of tea. Although it was well past the dinner hour, her appetite was
non-existent.

Flipping on the kitchen lights, she set
a kettle to boil and then pulled cookbooks and music books out of the cabinet
and threw them into a box. A Bible, a wedding present from DJ’s parents, had
been shelved in among them.

She held the soft, brown, leather book.
There was a time in her life, after her in-laws prayed with her to ask Jesus
into her heart, when she had read it every day. Conviction picked at the wounds
in her heart. Maybe if she’d been a more dedicated Christian, she would have
been better able to help DJ deal with his unhappiness, instead of him using his
addictions to deaden his pain. Maybe if she’d tried harder to be a good wife,
listened more, prayed more…maybe then his drunken car crash would never have
happened. “Lord, if
You
truly care about me, truly
know where I am, show me what to do.”

Flipping the Bible open, she let her
finger land on a scripture.
Anyone too
lazy to cook will starve.
Her shoulders
slumped. That’s what you get when you keep your Bible on the same shelf as your
cookbooks. Not much help there.

She pressed her eyes shut, flipped the
pages, and tried again.
Do not take
advantage of a widow or an orphan. If you do and they cry out to me, I will
certainly hear their cry.

A piercing shriek startled her. But it
was just the teakettle. She set the open book down and poured her tea. After
stirring in the milk, she sipped the hot brew, taking comfort in its smoky yet
sweet flavor. Something yellow on the page of the open Bible snagged her
attention.
A highlighted verse.

We
have run to God for safety. Now his promises should greatly encourage us to
take hold of the
hope
that is
right in front of us.

A slow realization dawned. She’d been
trying to solve these problems on her own, instead of running to God. No wonder
she was in such a muddle. Warmth flooded her chest. Had God just spoken to her?
Had He been just a prayer away all this time? She bowed her head as tears
moistened her eyes. How long had it been since she’d prayed?

 
“Dear God," she searched to find the
right words. “Forgive me for not turning to
You
sooner. Help me to hold onto
Your
hope and not my own.
Give me
Your
wisdom to know what I’m supposed to do.”
Her voice trembled.

As she wiped away the tears, a peace
settled over her, tempering the wretchedness that had blanketed her for months.
She took another sip of tea. Was the hope right in front of her
…
Jonathan Steller? Could God want her to marry him?

No.
Impossible.

One thing she was confident of, help
would not come from her family. She took her parent’s plane ticket, their
letter, and tossed them into the box on the counter. Then, taking one more
fortifying sip of tea, she strode back toward Steller Manor.

***

Light flashed in Jonathan’s half-open
eyes. He shot up in bed and glanced at the clock. 10:08 p.m. His butler stood
in the doorway. “Clive?”

“It’s Mrs. Banks, sir. She’s waiting for
you in the entryway.” Clive harrumphed and left Jonathan’s bedroom door open.

Slipping on a robe to cover his bare
chest, Jonathan headed down the sweeping staircase, trying not to misstep on
the thick carpeting in his half-awake state. He’d gone to bed early, as he had
scheduled a four a.m. flight to New York on the Steller company jet.

“Why me?”
Emma stood at
the bottom of the stairs, her thumbs hooked in her jean’s pockets.

A thrill shot through him as he came
down the stairs. It had been a busy day of letters of credit, faxes from the
bank, and calls from their new office in Shanghai, China. He’d put the
agreement for her to become his wife out of his mind. He ran his fingers
through his hair. “Would you like some coffee?”

Her green eyes flashed. “I suppose the
Steller Soda Company makes that too.”

“It comes from the Steller coffee
plantation in Columbia.”

“Oh, I see.”

 
“We hire local people and offer free schooling
to their children—”

“Yes, please.” A tentative smile touched
her lips. “I mean,” she removed her gaze from his attire. “I’d like some
coffee.”

“Great.” He seized on the chance to do
something. He took a few moments of grinding and brewing his favorite java to
fully wake up and sort out his thoughts.

His proposal of marriage was farfetched,
but he reasoned it could benefit both of them. She would gain from his
financial help, his protection, and a new start in life. And he needed to have
children. He stopped for a moment. No. He wanted children. If he was going to
prove to his father he was capable of one day reigning over the
three-generation Steller business empire, surely as the only son, part of that
was passing on the family name.
Only son
.
The phrase hit him in his gut.

Once he’d succeeded in every area of the
company, his father would surely see him as the heir apparent. Anything was
better than being stuck in his soon-to-be position as director of the Steller
Charity Foundation.

He snuck a glance at Emma’s blonde hair
and trim figure. What would it be like to touch her silky—he halted his
thoughts.
Keep it business
.

He filled a mug with the steaming brew
and handed it to her. He couldn’t tell her he’d done a complete background
check on her and knew her life history in the U.S. in detail, including her
desperate financial situation. Or that information from the U. K. on her family
was proving strangely difficult to uncover. But he could tell her how happy he
was she’d come. “I’m glad to see you. Perhaps, I’m not as ridiculous as you
first thought?”

She took a long sip of coffee. “You
still haven’t fully answered my question.
Why me?”

He ran his hand over his mouth,
determined to convince her of his sincerity. “I first really noticed you at one
of the children’s hospital charity events for our foundation last year. I saw
you talking with the sick kids, singing songs with them, hugging, kissing
them.” The memory of
her
 
bright
smile and lilting British voice sent an ache of longing
across his chest. He dropped his gaze. She was the kind of mother he’d want for
his children. Heat prickled his scalp, and he fixed his coffee.
Whoa, relax the emotions.
He furrowed
his brows and spoke more logically. “I chose you because you’re a believer,
you’re about the right age, and you’re musical.”

She set down her mug. “You picked me
because I can play the piano?”

He smiled at her straightforwardness.
“My mother is very musical. Before she married my father, she sang opera at the
St. Louis Opera Theater. It would please her to know her grandchildren may have
musical potential.”

Her face fell. Silence echoed between
them. Had he offended her again?

“I’ll think about it.”

He schooled his appearance to remain calm.
She was a beautiful woman, but this time his decision would be based on logic,
not emotion. He had to get this right. “Sure, take your time.”

She took another sip of her coffee and
leaned forward, setting her elbows on the countertop. “Thank you for stopping
those men today.”

The deep blue of her shirt brought a
glow to her face. How soft was that skin—He swallowed. No one in his family,
including past generations, had ever been divorced. He had to make this choice
based on facts, not attraction. With a flick of a button, he shut off the
coffee machine, and his feelings. “Always glad to rescue a stolen piano.”

Her green eyes were filled with
gratitude. “Well, thank you to my knight in shining armor.”

Sweat was collecting on his forehead. He
needed to get away. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

Minutes later, he strode back into the
kitchen and slid a binder across the granite counter, his confident corporate
persona firmly in place. “Before we met to discuss my proposal, I had my
lawyers
type up letters of intent, stating my objectives.”

She stiffened. “But how did you—”

“I wanted to have a clear plan in place
in case you were willing to consider my offer.”

By the firm set of her lips, her
defenses were rising.

“I just hoped you would.” He held his
breath. That sounded vulnerable. He tapped the leather file. “We stay married
for life. Once we have two children, if you wish, the intimate side of our
marriage will cease, but for the children’s sake, we remain a family in every
other sense.”

At the word,
children
, her stomach knotted. She would love to have child
someday, but didn’t know for sure—”
 

“Also, there will be no pre-nuptial
agreement.”

Her eyes widened. “B—but why would you
risk your fortune?”

He dipped his head, remembering how hard
the family lawyers had fought him on this. Surprising though, for once his
father had been very quiet about his decision. “I believe in the sanctity of
marriage. If I make this commitment to you, before God, it is for life.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“My parents met and married in two
weeks.”

“But this is different—”

“I am making an exception for the
Steinway.” He flipped open the binder, and leafed through several pages.

“My piano?”

“Should you choose to leave me, it will
become mine.” As the words left his mouth, he stiffened his posture. It wasn’t
to threaten her, but since he’d discovered its significance, he’d decided to
use it as leverage. She wasn’t a business deal, but he wasn’t accustomed to
losing.

Her mouth hung open for a moment.
“W—what if you leave me?”

“Not possible.” He flipped through the
document to the last page. “Here is a list of grievances for which you can
leave me with your piano intact and half my fortune.”

The first item on the inventory was
gambling.

She scanned the paper and then risked a
glance at him.

“So you’ll consider my offer?”

Concern furrowed her brow. Her fingers
traced the page as she chewed on her lower lip. “When would we marry?”