A British Bride by Agreement (5 page)

She prayed about giving Jonathan an
answer, but had yet to receive any specific leading. Today she just wanted to
learn more about him, his plans for the future, and what he expected of her.
She glanced in the mirror to check her appearance once more. “Other than those
life-altering matters, this will be a perfectly, proper date.” Complete with
dueling butterflies in her stomach.

Anxious not to keep him waiting, she
scooped up her handbag and left the room, still threading her earrings in
place. “I’m looking forward—” At the sight of him, her words died in her
throat.

She hadn’t seen him since his late night
rescue. When she woke up the next morning, he was already gone. Now he stood in
profile, studying the framed pictures on her mantle, dressed in dark jeans and
a white and steel-gray t-shirt. With the scrubby outline of a beard and his
hair slightly gelled, he looked quite causal. She had never seen him so
ruggedly informal. Or considered how overwhelmingly good-looking—

He swung around. A glimmer of approval
glinted in his blue eyes. “You look…great.”

Heat flushed her face.
How could I be so attracted to him
? She
let her gaze fall. “Thank you.”

“I have something for you.” He handed
her a simply wrapped package.

She tore the paper and gasped when she
saw the title.
“A first edition Bronte book?
How did
you know—I love—where did you get this?”

“I have my sources on both.”

She nodded, suddenly wishing she had
something for him. “Well, thank you. This means a lot.”

“Good.” He smiled back at her.

“Where are we going today?”

“A day in St.
Louis, first hockey practice, then a trip to the Arch.”
Taking her keys
from a hook and handing them to her.
“Followed by lunch at
the Ritz Carlton, shopping at Plaza Frontenac.”
As soon as she was done
locking the door, he took her hand in his. “And then dinner at the St. Louis
Country Club with my parents.”

Parents?
Her insides clenched. This was
making this agreement too real. “Have you told them about us?”

“They’re aware I’m seeing someone.”

“Do they know about—will they approve—”

“Leave that up to me.” He opened the gate
that led to the waiting car. “Your parents are in England? What about them?”

Emma walked out of the shade of the
trees and into the glare of the bright August sun. At a very young age, she and
her brother had shown musical brilliance. Her parents, wanting to add an air of
respectability to their dubious business activities, arranged for Emma to
become a concert pianist and David, a classical guitarist. By ages ten and
eight, she and her brother began a rigorous touring schedule that lasted until
she packed her bags and left home for college. She’d had a few brief
conversations with them over the last three years, and had not spoken with them
since she’d called to inform them of DJ’s death, and her desperate financial
situation.

“They’re very busy.”

“Doing...?”

Her pulse quickened. Should she tell him
the truth? Her father was a shady businessman who was very proud of his
accomplishments, often comparing himself to the American mafia. But her mother
craved respectably, so they became enslaved to a grand house in the right
neighborhood, perfect clothing, the best parties, exact manners, well-connected
friends, and the extortion of Emma and her brother’s childhoods.
“Making money.”

He studied her for a moment. “No harm in
that. Shall we go?”

She let out a sigh as she slipped into
the car, immensely grateful he didn’t push for more information. Maybe she
could escape her past.

First they stopped at The St, Louis
Mills
hockey rink. Jonathan led Emma to a seat in front of
the glass, and put a blanket on her shoulder. “This will take thirty minutes.”

She sat in chilled awe as Jonathan and
another man, Steven worked with the most adorable little boys ages five through
seven who wobbled on skates trying to learn the basics of hockey. A few times Jonathan
waved up at her. He motioned with his arms around his sides, cold? She shook
her head.
Just seeing him interact with these pint-sized boys
made her heart melt.

After a while, Jonathan came up to her
with a grin wide on his face.
“Ready to go?”

“You really enjoyed that didn’t you?”

He glanced back at the players who waved
at him. “
It’s
team made of kids who are being bullies.
Hockey gives them confidence.”

She nodded.
Her throat
suddenly tight with emotion.
She would never have guessed he had this
side to him. During their day together, she learned several things about
Jonathan Christopher Steller that surprised her. In the Arch lift, she discovered
he knew how to escape a falling elevator. At the Ritz Carlton, he confessed to
being passionate for all St. Louis sports—Cardinals baseball and the Blues
hockey team, and at the Plaza Frontenac, while in Crane and Company looking for
cards, she found out, like most men, he hated shopping.
Sometimes.

He huffed out a breath, checked his
watch again, and leaned into her shoulder. “Are you done yet?”

The teasing glint in his eyes amused her
and she nudged him back. “I just need a few more. So many people have helped me
over the last few
months,
I’m behind on my thank you
notes.” Her whole life, she’d always written prompt thank you notes, even for
the slightest gift or act of kindness. Perhaps it was a result of her rather
grown-up childhood, or maybe kindness had been too rare of a commodity and so
it was truly appreciated.

 
After paying for her purchases, he took her
hand and pulled her toward Saks Fifth Avenue.
“This way.”

“Do you need to get something?”

There was a glimmer in his blue eyes.
“You have an appointment for which we are very late.”

He whisked her up an escalator, to a
back area, and greeted a woman dressed in head-to-toe black. “Madame Durand.”

 
“
Monsieur
Steller.
How
wonderful to see you.”
The thin, French woman kissed him on both cheeks.
“We have some
grandiose
gowns for your friend to
consider.
The usual to drink?”

“Of course.”
Jonathan and
Emma sat in plush chairs as a waiter brought out two tall scarlet drinks.

“Steller Cherry Soda, Mr. Steller.”

“Thank you,” Jonathan smiled in gratitude.

“And for you,” the tiny woman’s gaze
raked up and down Emma’s figure.
“A diet cherry soda.”

Emma flashed a glance at Jonathan, who
was smirking at the slight.

The two sat down in front of a small
stage. Soon a model slinked out and showed off a suit sparkling with metal
threads. Another reed-thin girl followed her in a hounds tooth patterned dress,
hemmed in a thick wool fringe, tagged by a thin girl in a long dress of black
tulle with a sparkle of crystals. Slowly it dawned on Emma. This show was for
her. A tingle went up her spine. She’d never seen a couture fashion show up
close. But by the time the thirteenth evening gown pranced past her
inexperienced eye, the fashionable designs started to blend together.

“Which do you like best?” he asked.

Emma shook her head, unable to drag her
gaze away from the beautiful clothing. “All of them.”

“I know which one I like, the white and
pinkish one. Would you try it on?”

Before she could answer, Madame Durand
took her drink, set it down, and led her to the dressing room. Emma looked over
her shoulder at Jonathan, whose arms were folded across his chest. He was
studying her from top to bottom.

Her face radiating heat, she stepped
into the mirrored dressing room and Madame shut the door. Emma slipped out of
her sundress and allowed the pink and white luxurious garment to slide over her
head in a sheath of cool fabric. High-heeled flesh-toned pumps in several sizes
were brought in, and once she was properly shod, she was led out in front of
Jonathan.

A smile tugged across his lips.
“Beautiful. Do you like it?”

A giddy sensation teased Emma. This was
like a dream.
“Of course.”

Madam Durand scoffed. “When you’re
weeth
a Steller,
you get whatever you wish.”

Her words were like a splash of cold
water. Emma’s giddiness vanished. Bitter memories flooded into her mind. Her
mother’s obsession with the latest fashions, her father’s name-dropping. Emma
had vowed never to get caught up in an affluent life style again. The idea of
being enslaved to keeping up a posh image made her insides go icy.

Madame led her back toward the dressing
room and handed her a garment bag with her summer dress inside.

“Oh, thank you, but I think I’ll put my
summer dress back on.” For a fleeting moment, the compulsion to tear off the exquisite
designer dress and put the aqua one back was overwhelming. How could she even
consider living this kind of life again?
Just the memory of
her family endlessly trying to keep up with the right people, by wearing the
right clothes, and being invited to the right parties brought back a wave of
repulsion.

“No, you will wear the dress Mr. Steller
approves of.” She slipped from the dressing room, leaving Emma alone with her
thoughts.

Emma looked at herself in the full
length mirror again. The dress was exquisite, but she felt as if she was being
lulled into this care-free, money-is-no-object world and it wasn’t what she
wanted. Jonathan was known as a jet setter with a beautiful woman on each
arm—so why was she even considering this agreement? And why was he considering
her? She was far from beautiful socialite.

Her shoulders slumped. Even greater was
the disappointment that obviously God didn’t know or care about the trouble
that she was in. How daft of her to think that
just maybe
God had sent Jonathan to rescue her. But He wouldn’t
have sent someone whose lifestyle repulsed her? She took in a deep breath and
let it out slowly to hold back her tears. To get through this evening, her
British stiff upper lip would come in very handy.

Jonathan Steller was not the man for
her.

She proceeded from the dressing area,
searching for the words to tell him that she didn’t want the dress, or to go to
dinner, but he strode out from another room, where he had changed into a
stunning black tuxedo, she momentarily lost her breath. The sight of his
handsome figure made her forget her concerns like the last note on a sheet of
music. “You look quite… lovely.”

He tugged at his cuff links. “I think
you English think everything is lovely.”

“I meant to say handsome.” Heat prickled
her scalp. She hadn’t meant to say any of that out loud.

He took her by her arm and directed her
to the north end of the store. “It’s time to go. We’re already late. I don’t
want to disappoint my family.”

His voice had that formal edge back
again. One minute he appeared warm and friendly, and then he would slip behind
a distant, professional persona. As he propelled her to the back of the store,
she fought with her conflicting emotions. As soon as dinner was over, she would
escape from his plans, like Cinderella at midnight. This contract to marry,
this bride by agreement, was quite ridiculous, and it would never work.

He led her through a rear VIP exit to a
parking lot where, instead of the sports car he’d driven all day, an idling
white limousine awaited them like a carriage for royalty. He opened the door
and bowed with a smile.
“My lady.”

Was she dreaming? With her new dress,
and smart escort, she did feel like Cinderella. Maybe, she reasoned, it
was
only 8:00 p.m. She could enjoy this
fairytale night for a bit longer, and then escape.

Inside the cocooned atmosphere of the
limo, she stared idly out the window as they drove down Lindbergh Boulevard.
Her conflicting thoughts—wanting to run from this status-obsessed way of life,
and yet enjoying getting to know Jonathan and still hoping that God would
somehow show up in all of this, battled furiously. This
unpayable
debt was forcing her to regard options no sane person would consider.

 
Jonathan’s offer of marriage.

 
Her parents offer of illegal money.

Or a prison roommate named Spike.

Jonathan, who’d been texting on his
smart phone, leaned in, just a bit, so that his shoulder was now touching hers.
She wrapped her arms around herself, overwhelmed by his masculine warmth. The
powerful aura he presented made her feel as if she was swimming in water over
her head. She pressed her eyes shut. How would she get out of the deep end?

She glanced at his profile for some clue
as to how he was feeling and saw nothing until he turned. His gaze roved over
her face and hair as if taking her in for the first time, but yet revealing no
emotion.