His Most Suitable Bride (14 page)

Hours later, when the sky had faded to a dull purple and the light in her room took on a gray cast, Callie sat back and studied her handiwork.

A bride and groom stared back at her. The bride wore white, in the same style as the crimson gown Mrs. Singletary had loaned her. Callie looked closer at the image. Without realizing it, she’d painted her own face on the bride.

The groom wore a black formal suit with tails, a crisp white shirt and bow tie beneath. His hair was nearly as black as the suit, his eyes one shade lighter and his face...

She leaned in closer still, gasped.

The groom’s face belonged to Reese.

Callie had painted a wedding portrait of them together.

A sound of dismay whistled in her throat. To dream of more than friendship with him was one thing, but to put that secret hope on canvas? Insufferable.

As she cupped the tiny canvas in her palm, she admitted the truth at last. Her heart yearned for Reese.

Which meant her heart was headed for disappointment.

Even if, by some strange twist of events, he turned his attention onto her, Callie could never win him for herself. He belonged to Fanny. And even if he didn’t, her past mistake would always be with her, looming as a dark reminder of her true nature.

“Miss?” Julia popped into the room, holding several magazines against her. “Where are you?”

“Over here,” she called out.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Time got away from me.” She swiped at her eyes. “I hadn’t realized dusk was upon us.”

Julia walked through the room, turning on lamps and wall sconces as she progressed. “Mrs. Singletary sent me to style your hair for this evening’s event.”

As if waiting for her cue, the widow herself sauntered into the room. “Let’s try something more festive for our evening at the theater.” She took one of the magazines from the maid. “Something like, say—” she flipped through the pages “—this one here.”

Julia leaned over the magazine. “That would look rather nice on your companion, but what about this one instead?” She flipped the page and placed her finger on another image.

While the two consulted over Callie’s hairstyle, ignoring her completely, she took the opportunity to slip the portrait she’d painted in the back of a drawer of her writing desk. She then stored her paints under her chair as stealthily as possible.

Thankfully, neither woman paid her any attention.

“I hear the Gibson Girl is all the rage out East,” Julia remarked, turning the page once more. “It looks like this.”

“Oh, my, yes. That would suit Callie quite well, quite well indeed.” Mrs. Singletary’s voice filled with satisfaction. “It is decided. Carry on, Julia. You have one hour to transform my companion into a Gibson Girl.”

Having issued her command, the widow swept out of the room.

Much to Callie’s relief, Julia performed her duties in silence. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

When she was fully dressed, Callie turned in a tight circle and faced the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Sighing in pleasure, she stroked her hand down the silk damask in a stunning emerald green. The color was exquisite and added a golden tone to her skin.

The dress itself had a rounded neckline bordered by a thin row of lace and pale green flowers. She’d never worn anything so lovely, had never seen her hair look both disheveled and elegant at the same time.

The maid looked at her expectantly. “What do you think?”

“You are very talented, Julia.”

The girl grinned. “It’s as if the hairstyle were created just for you.”

Callie touched her hair, most of which was piled high on her head in a loose topknot with a waterfall of curls caressing her cheeks.
Soft
and
romantic
were the words that came to mind.

A wave of pure happiness crashed over her. Why not embrace her transformation, if only for tonight? Why not revel in being an attractive woman?

She studied her image in the mirror a moment longer. She looked young, beautiful and innocent. For that one instant, she felt as if she was all three.

Chapter Fourteen

R
eese thought he’d conquered the dangerous leanings of his youth. For fourteen years, he’d consciously avoided situations that might lead to messy, emotional entanglements.

Yet here he stood, raging inside, battling against his very self, merely because Callie Mitchell had entered the theater’s atrium. Every effort to hold off the rush of feeling sweeping through him proved useless.

He hardly recognized himself.

The way his heart dipped in his chest did not belong to the man he’d become, a man renowned for his restraint, who adhered to a rigid set of rules and personal standards.

Dressed in a deep green dress that highlighted her blond hair and trim figure, Callie called to the part of Reese he’d locked tightly away. She sparkled like a precious jewel, her entire being lit from the inside out.

He was not the only man who noticed.

A jolt of possessiveness shuddered through him, making him uncomfortably aware that he loathed the idea of sharing Callie with anyone tonight.

When their eyes met over the crowd, Reese felt another catch in his throat. He took the moment in, like a dream, then shook himself free.

“Ah, Mr. Bennett, there you are.” Mrs. Singletary shouldered through the crush of theater patrons, Callie following beside her. “Please tell me you have not been awaiting our arrival down here in the crowded atrium.”

“I have, indeed.” His voice was that of a man doomed to a fate he could no longer prevent. “I wanted to make certain you found your way to my box without incident.”

“How very gentlemanly of you.”

He inclined his head.

Callie shifted closer to him, presumably to be heard over the din. Whatever reason, Reese’s collar felt too tight.

“Has your father joined you this evening?”

Reese enjoyed the way her winged brows knit delicately together as she asked the question, the way she looked him straight in the eye.

“He is already upstairs. Come. Allow me to escort you the rest of the way.” He offered his arm to Callie, waited until she threaded her gloved hand through the crook of his elbow before turning to Mrs. Singletary and going through the process a second time.

Keeping both women near, he focused on conquering the stairs at a sedate but steady pace. By the time they reached the final landing the crowd had thinned to a mere smattering of theatergoers seeking out their reserved seating.

Reese released the women. “Ladies.” He moved the curtain aside. “After you.”

Inside their box, his father immediately took over the pleasantries. Reese hung back.

Propping a shoulder against the wall, he watched Callie laugh at something his father said. She looked comfortable. Relaxed and happy.

Reese was no longer a fanciful man, yet the sight of her unfettered joy gave him immense pleasure.

The more time he spent in Callie’s company the more he grew to appreciate her understated beauty and unique personality. Beneath the starch was a kind, pure heart and an intelligent mind.

She took his breath away.

The sensation had little to do with the change in her outer appearance. Something profound was happening to the woman, an overcoming of her innate shyness that brought her inner beauty to the surface.

What must it have been like, he wondered, to live in the shadow of a sister like Fanny?

Reese studied Callie’s lovely face. She looked a lot like Fanny. And yet, not at all.

Callie was far more beautiful.

Reese couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to notice.

Smiling, she turned her head toward him. Their gazes merged and Reese was caught once again inside a pair of beautiful sea-green eyes.

His pulse thundered in his ears.

Still smiling, Callie broke away from his father and Mrs. Singletary.

The thunder turned into a roar.

Out of the corner of his eye, Reese saw his father take Mrs. Singletary’s arm and guide her to the seats in front of the railing in their box. Their bent heads and hushed voices indicated they were in a deep conversation.

Neither looked back at Reese and Callie. They might as well be alone.

He fought back a bout of uncharacteristic nerves.

“Reese?” Callie’s hand came to rest on his forearm. “Are you unwell?”

How like her, he thought, to react with genuine concern.

“I am perfectly well.” How like him, to immediately deny anything less than faultless control.

“You are sure?” Callie persisted. “You seem different tonight, not quite yourself.”

How right she was.

“Busy day at work. My head is full of—”
you,
he nearly blurted out, catching himself just in time “—complicated legal matters.”

She squeezed his arm, the small gesture one of quiet understanding and affection. “You work too hard.”

“I suppose, sometimes I do.” The admission did not come easily, but even in this small matter Reese didn’t want to mislead this woman.

Her mouth gentled and her eyes warmed and he thought his head might explode from the wonder of her.

“Are you a fan of comedies?” he blurted out.

Two perfectly winged eyebrows arched upward. “Changing the subject?”

Absolutely.

Reaching to one of the plush velvet chairs behind his father and Mrs. Singletary, Reese picked up a playbill. “I was referring to tonight’s performance. Shakespeare’s
As You Like It.
” He read the title aloud, then slid his gaze across the lead actor’s photograph. “A Simon Westgrove is playing the role of Orlando.”

“What?” Callie yanked the two-page brochure away from Reese, ran her gaze wildly over the cover. “It can’t be. It’s just not possible.”

Her stunned reaction was completely unexpected, as was the way her face had paled to a dingy gray.

“Callie.” He took her arm and steered her to the back of the box, away from his father and Mrs. Singletary to afford a degree of privacy. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s. Oh, Reese, I...” She glanced up at him, her eyes glassy and unseeing, as if she was lost in another time, another life. “I do not like this play. Or—” she choked out a bitter laugh “—this particular actor.”

Although the play wasn’t especially a favorite of Reese’s, either—the plot relied too heavily on deception—he sensed the lead actor was the real cause of Callie’s sudden anguish.

“You have seen Simon Westgrove perform this play before?”

She nodded, her eyes miserable.

“When I was attending school in Boston I frequented the theater often. I...” She broke off, blinked several times, took a slow, deep breath and then squared her shoulders.

Another slow breath, a jerk of her chin, and then the rigid, controlled Callie Mitchell slid into place.

Gone were the soft eyes and warm smile, replaced with a cold, rigidly blank stare.

Reese suspected he knew why. “Do you know Simon Westgrove, personally?”

“Yes.” She didn’t expand, but the shadows lurking in her eyes spoke volumes. The famous actor had done something to hurt Callie.

Reese wanted to whisk her out of the theater, to someplace safe, somewhere that would restore her sweet smile and the kind, approachable woman who hugged frightened children.

“Do you want me to tell Mrs. Singletary you are ill?”

Her spine stiffened. “Don’t be absurd.”

The lights flickered, indicating the start of the play. They silently took their seats in the chairs directly behind Mrs. Singletary and Reese’s father. He leaned close to Callie. “I will escort you home and—”

“That won’t be necessary.” She spoke without looking at him. “I am perfectly happy to remain in my seat for the entire performance.”

Happy? No, she wasn’t.

Wishing to soothe away her pain, he reached for her hand. He acted on impulse and entirely without an agenda other than to offer Callie his silent support.

She barely acknowledged him, except to close her fingers tightly around his.

Musical notes filled the theater. A hush came over the audience.

The curtain began its ascent.

Callie shut her eyes briefly, drew in several deep breaths, and then several more. Reese knew the technique well, employed it often himself. She was gathering her composure, and having phenomenal success.

She barely flinched when Simon Westgrove entered the stage and recited his opening line.

She was so in control, so brave, Reese wanted to pull her close. He leaned over her instead and said, “You are safe with me.”

He wasn’t sure where those words came from, but he sensed they were the ones she most needed to hear right now.

She held perfectly still for one beat, two. Then, slowly, very, very slowly, she turned her gaze to meet his.

The impact of her misery was like a punch to his gut. “Callie—”

“Thank you, Reese.” She pressed a fingertip to his lips. “You cannot know how much your presence means to me.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she ruthlessly held them in check.

Compelled, he lowered his head, brought her hand to his lips then straightened. Though he didn’t look at her again, he kept their fingers entwined.

She did not attempt to pull away.

Only when the curtain descended over the stage for intermission did she unclench her fingers from around his.

Staring straight ahead, she did not applaud the performance. She did not move a muscle.

Reese ached for her.

“Well, I say.” Mrs. Singletary stood and turned to smile at them. “That Simon Westgrove is everything the rumors contend. Marvelously talented, indeed.”

Though her reaction was nearly impossible to detect, Reese felt Callie stiffen beside him.

The widow’s eyes narrowed. “Are you not enjoying yourself, Callie?”

She produced a broad smile. “I am having a grand time.”

Her voice sounded brittle.

The widow’s eyes narrowed even more, but she must have caught Reese’s imperceptible shake of his head because she merely patted Callie on the shoulder and said, “I am glad to hear it, dear.”

She turned to Reese’s father. “Come, my friend, I have a mind to see who else is in attendance tonight.”

The older man’s lips curved. “The usual suspects, I presume.”

“You jaded old man.” She slapped playfully at his arm.

“You think me wrong?”

“I dare say, no.” She linked her arm through his. “But I refuse to admit defeat until I have checked for myself, which I do not wish to do alone.”

Reese’s father chuckled. “And so you won’t.”

They left with no further fuss.

Reese waited an additional three minutes before breaking the heavy silence in the box.

He could go for the direct approach, or attempt to interject some levity into the situation.

“The play was wretched. The worst I’ve suffered through in years.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Predictable storyline and dreadful acting, especially from the untalented male lead.”

His tactic worked. Callie laughed. It was a strained, paltry sound, and lacked all signs of joy, but Reese claimed it a victory.

“Thank you, Reese.” Callie swiped at her cheeks. “That was exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head.

“I’m a good listener.”

She craned her neck forward, glanced at the box on their left, then over to the one on their right. “So, I would humbly suggest, are many others here tonight.”

Message received. Reese began a lengthy exposition on his reasons for disliking the play.

* * *

Simon.
Of all the actors, in all the acting companies traveling across America, Simon Westgrove was in Denver, performing the role of Orlando. The same character he’d played the night Callie had first met him.

Her breath snagged on a skittering heartbeat, even as the memory of her folly took hold.

Her inability to see beyond Simon’s slick surface, to the man beneath the handsome face, had nearly led her into ruin. She’d fallen for his considerable charm, his charisma, his skill in donning a role and making it his own. There was no denying he was a brilliant actor. On and off the stage.

She’d believed him when he’d said she was beautiful, when he’d called her the most extraordinary woman of his acquaintance. She’d thought him in love with her, had never once questioned his devotion, until she’d run away with him and he’d made it shockingly clear he had no intention of marrying her.

The moment she’d discovered his duplicity she’d immediately left him. She’d returned to her dormitory before dawn, thereby avoiding others finding out about her foolishness. Not even Fanny had been aware of her absence.

Callie had been so naive, so gullible.

She wanted to cry.

And there sat Reese, a man worth a hundred Simons, offering his silent support, not even knowing why she needed it.

If he knew the cause of her despair, would he remain by her side, offering his allegiance?

She didn’t dare test him.

Reese drew her to her feet. “You look like you could use a change of scenery.”

She didn’t argue as he led her to the back of the box. However, when she realized he was directing her out onto the landing and possibly beyond, she pulled him to a stop. “I’m sorry, Reese. I don’t think I can bear facing other people right now.”

She could hardly bear her own company.

Nodding, he let go of her hand. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I want to.” She really, truly did. “But you will think differently of me if I do.”

Not that, Lord. Anything but that.

She couldn’t stand knowing he might think less of her after she told him what she’d done. Her life had been far easier when Reese hadn’t thought of her at all.

“I’d rather discuss anything but me.” She took the cowardly approach and deflected the conversation back onto him. “For instance, your most recent bride list.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something that looked like annoyance. He shook his head, even as he reached out and drew her against him with heartbreaking tenderness.

As they stood hidden from view, one of his hands cupped the back of her head and urged her to rest it against his shoulder. He said nothing, simply held her in silence. The moment couldn’t have been more profound or poignant had he kissed her.