by West, Everly
Mason’s smile was a cold, hard, hateful expression that would’ve had a lesser man quaking in his boots. JP only grinned at him.
The man had no idea what was in store for him.
“Papa,” Samantha spoke from the doorway. “Are you and your guest finished? Dinner will be served in ten minutes.”
“Samantha, come in.” JP stood as he beckoned her into the room.
“I’m sorry, if I’m intruding. I can ask Doris to delay for a while if you haven’t concluded your business.” Samantha offered as she walked over to stand by her father’s chair and waved him back into his seat.
“No, no we finalized our business night before last. Tonight’s meeting was to ensure the transaction got off on the right footing,” JP replied, amused by Mason’s expression and his reaction to his daughter.
It seemed Mason intended to overlook his first encounter with Samantha and start fresh tonight. Excellent. Open-mindedness and acceptance would be key if their marriage were to be a happy one.
JP vanquished his doubts and decided to enjoy himself. “Forgive me, Samantha, I’ve forgotten my manners. This is Mason Mayfield. Mason, this is my daughter, Samantha. I understand, you know her brother Seth.”
“Very nice to meet you.” Mason raised her offered hand to his lips. “And now I have a confession to make.”
“What might that be, sir?” Samantha asked, raising a delicate eyebrow as she pulled her fingers from Mason’s.
“You are the sole purpose behind my presence this evening.” Mason’s lopsided grin broadened into a full-fledged smile. “I’ve heard a beautiful damsel-in-distress resides here with her evil father and I have come to rescue her.”
“And what makes you think I’m in distress?” Samantha asked, playing along with his flirtatious game.
“Anyone under the care and influence of such man as JP Wortham is surely considered ‘in distress,’" Mason answered with a playful wink.
“And just how would you go about this daring rescue, sir knight?” Samantha asked, patting her father’s shoulder as it shook with silent laughter.
“By marrying you and taking you away, never to return to your ivory prison or its evil jailer.”
JP’s laughter froze in his throat when he realized he had given Mason the power to take his daughter from him. Suddenly, his clever plan to fulfill one of the two promises he’d made his wife on her deathbed didn’t seem so clever anymore.
His dear Lydia asked him to help their children find happiness in their future lives, and right the wrong he’d done to the Mayfield family while leaving their pride intact. But she died within an hour of JP’s promises without telling him how to carry out such tasks.
He’d paced the floors for weeks trying to think of ways to honor his vows, yet determined to do so at any cost. One night as he sat at the card table in his darken study dealing five mock poker hands to empty chairs around him, the answer came to him. Mason Mayfield would win Whispering Pines back from him.
Only the outcome of the mock game JP played inside the dimly lit office wasn’t the same as the actual game that had transpired the night before last. After he’d received the third seven, completing a full house, JP knew the odds were in his favor to win. Which was exactly what he didn’t want.
Frantic, he searched for a way for either Mason or himself to fold out of the hand and still save face. The answer came from Mason’s own lips.
JP was sure no man would wager his bachelorhood—not for mere real estate. But then Mason Mayfield wasn’t just any man.
“Ah, but would I be trading one ivory prison for another? And more importantly, would I be exchanging an evil jailor for a lusty one?” Samantha’s good-natured quip eased JP’s mind.
His daughter could take care of herself. If he hadn’t seen Mason in action, he might feel a twinge of sympathy for him.
“Come now, enough of this nonsense. Doris is waiting to serve dinner,” JP commanded, trying to cover his amusement behind his gruffest tone.
“It’s amazing your father once made his living as a gambler,” Mason said, smiling as he offered his arm to Samantha.
“Why is that?” Samantha placed her hand in the crook of his arm as though she’d been doing so for years.
“He seems unable to hide his emotions,” Mason answered as they walked toward the dining room.
JP’s whole being hummed with pride-filled satisfaction. He watched as the tall elegantly clad man gracefully guided his spitfire daughter away. She was the only one who could possibly break down the stone wall around Mason that JP himself had laid foundation for years before.
“Lydia, my love, you may get both your wishes in one basket,” JP whispered under his breath.
Samantha glance over her shoulder. “Did you say something about baskets, Papa?”
“No, nothing, sweetheart.”
Samantha hesitated as though trying to decide whether etiquette allowed her to release one escort for another. Mason gently tugged at her arm.
“I’m sure whatever your father had to say wasn’t important,” Mason reassured her with his back to JP, speaking loud enough he couldn’t miss his underlining meaning.
JP chuckled, rolling his mischievous gaze toward the heavens. “Yes, Lydia love, with a big red ribbon tied on top.”
Chapter 4
Every day for the next month, Mason arrived at the Wortham household under the pretense of business. He was shown into the study where JP sat waiting behind his cluttered desk. Once the door closed to any intruders that might carry stories back to Samantha, the two men sat in silence ignoring the other occupant. At the end of an hour, both men would emerge from the study smiling as though they’d just completed a successful work session. At which time, JP would invite Mason to stay for lunch or dinner, depending on the time of day. Of course, Mason always accepted.
Until on a clear, brisk day in late March when Mason opened the study’s door to find JP standing behind his desk. The piles of papers and clutter had been cleared away with the exception of a deck of cards.
“What is this?” Mason snapped, angered at the reminder of his circumstances.
“I thought you might enjoy a friendly wager,” JP answered, seemingly unruffled by the barely controlled rage emitting from Mason.
“What’s the stakes? An arm or a leg—or maybe, just my soul to go with what you already have?” Mason asked sarcastically, stepping into the study before slamming the door shut behind him.
“Insurance,” JP answered.
“What kind of insurance?” Mason tossed his satchel onto the wing-backed chair stationed in front of the desk.
“Insurance allowing me to be a part of my daughter’s life after she marries.”
“And what are you putting in the pot?” Mason asked, already knowing the answer to his question.
JP beamed. “Whispering Pines.”
“Ah, but I already have Whispering Pines, or at least I will within the next month,” Mason taunted as he watched JP turn red with fury.
“Whispering Pines, without you having to give up your bachelorhood, you thick-headed idiot.” JP clarified between clenched teeth. Reaching into his coat pocket, JP produced two slips of paper: one read WHISPERING PINES written in his flowing handwriting, the other paper read THE FREEDOM TO CHOOSE MY WIFE in Mason’s bold printing.
Mason took a deep breath. A hint of a smile skimmed over his lips before he nodded in agreement. “This time I pick the game.”
JP readily nodded. “As you wish.”
“High card,” Mason announced. When JP’s eyebrow cocked upward in an unspoken question, he explained, “It’s quicker.”
JP waved to the deck in an invitation for Mason to cut the cards first. Mason shook his head, declining the offer. The older man shrugged a shoulder in indifference as he reached to finger the sides of the cards.
Mason firmly placed his hand over JP’s fingers. “With the absence of witnesses, should I be the victor you will supply me with a written release from our prev
ious wager.”
“And if I should be the victor, I will accept your word of your compliance.” Indignance laced JP’s counter offer.
Mason raised his hand, feeling as though he’d been scolded on the finer points of honor.
JP picked up one-third of the cards. Slowly, he turned his hand over to show the jack of spades.
Mason reached down, hesitating slightly, before he swiftly lifted two-thirds of the remaining cards from the stack. Turning his wrist, he revealed his bottom card…
Five minutes later, Mason addressed the immaculately dressed butler holding the front door open for Mason’s departure, “Please inform Miss Wortham I will be unable to join her this afternoon as we planned.”
* * *
Mason leaned against the Wortham’s parlor windowsill, watching moonlight glint against the tumbler he held. The irony of the fragile, crystal prison holding the dancing sparkles didn’t go unnoticed. Could something—or more importantly, someone—find contentment while living a life of confinement? No matter how beautiful the prison?
Mason mentally groaned at his selfish lapse into self-indulgence. Happiness was only a state of mind. His honor, the return of his family’s good name and his ancestral home would be his happiness.
Whispering Pines would be his happiness.
He grimaced when he thought of the price of his happiness. It had infuriated him to forfeit his right to choose his wife to reclaim his birthright. But it had been his choice. He could’ve folded out of the hand and walked away. Wortham hadn’t held a gun to his head.
He’d made his bed, now he’d have to lie in it. Thankfully, it looked pretty inviting.
His body heated with the thought of sharing a bed with Samantha. The woman took his breath away. He wanted to run his hands over her body, touch every curve, kiss every inch of her. He wanted to feel her silken hair cascade over his chest, wanted to watch her body ignite with passion he’d fanned to flames. He wanted to…Whoa!
He took a deep breath then a bracing gulp of brandy. After a moment, he’d cool enough to be socially acceptable.
Propose, first.
Marry, second.
And then take his wife to bed.
* * *
Sammie slipped into the parlor, unnoticed. Mason stood at the window, staring into his drink as though it held the secrets of the universe.
As she studied him, a feeling of uneasiness skittered down her spine. Why? He’d been nothing but a gentleman. She felt no fear, just a keen sense of impeding…something.
She’d seen more of Mason Mayfield than her own brother in the last month. When she’d asked her father about Mason’s numerous visits of late, he’d explained that he and Mason shared a business venture that needed a great deal of effort to ensure a satisfactory outcome for all parties involved.
Yet, although her father’s explanation sounded reasonable, a kernel of misgiving still niggled at the back of her mind.
Mason’s evenings spent with her and her father seemed more personal than business. He became more attentive, more focused on her rather than her father with each passing day.
Maybe she was just imagining things. Maybe the constrictions of pretending to be something she wasn’t was playing tricks on her mind.
The morning after her tumble down the staircase at the valentine ball, her father had asked Sammie to be on her best manners in front of Mr. Mayfield. He’d said the success or failure of his business with the newcomer in town would have a lasting impact on the Wortham’s future.
Her father wouldn’t look at her directly. His voice had trembled slightly although she doubted he’d been aware. But she’d noticed.
Was the bank in trouble?
Were the Wortham’s holdings so entangled with the bank that if it failed, so would they?
Not that her father would ever admit to such a thing.
Without a second thought, Sammie had promised she’d be the epitome of social graces. No pants, no fishing, no hunting, and no riding bareback when Mason Mayfield was around or expected to be around.
But she hadn’t thought he’d be around every day for the next month. She was tired of pretending. She wanted to feel the wind in her hair, listen to the snowmelt waters rush over rocks in the creek, climb a tree.
The last thing she wanted to do was scrunch herself into a corset, parade around in a dress with eighteen petticoats and play hostess for her father. But that’s what she’d been doing for the last month. And she was dang tired of it.
She wanted her life back.
Not that Mason’s company was a hardship or offensive. Far from it.
The man was gorgeous. Tall, well over six foot, with a muscled build to match his height. His dark hair and sun-kissed skin added to his allure. But it was his lake-blue eyes that captivated her. A woman could drown in those eyes. She could forget who she was and what she wanted in life.
But her attraction to Mason was more than physical. She liked his sense of humor—when he let it come out to play. She liked his intelligence, his kindness. Too bad he was a stickler of social decorum.
Maybe she should introduce him to Jane. She would be his type of woman.
A sharp pang sliced through her chest at the thought. Before she could define the sensation and its cause, Mason turned to face her.
“Samantha.” He smiled and set his glass on the small side table stationed beside the window. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
She crossed the parlor to him, fighting an urge to stomp her foot. How many times had she asked him to call her Sammie or Sam? Only her father called her Samantha.
Biting back her irritation, she placed her hand on Mason’s sleeve and asked, “Is something wrong?”
He laid his hand over hers and cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“When I came in, your expression was much too serious to be contemplating whether or not to have a second drink,” she teased before letting a hint of worry slip into her tone. “Does it have something to do with you cancelling our earlier plans?”
“Oh, Samantha, my sweet Samantha,” Mason whispered huskily as he brought her hand to his lips.
Her hand trembled slightly as his strong fingers caressed her wrist. “Mason?”
“Shh, there’s nothing wrong. On the contrary, actually…” Mason stopped mid-sentence and shook his head. “This is not coming out as I’d planned.”
A sliver of foreboding snaked up her back.
“Samantha, look out into the night. What do you see?” Mason asked, moving closer to her side.
She looked at the moon and stars, twinkling brightly in the darkness. They’d been there since the start of time. And would still be in place forever and a day.
“Eternity,” she answered, lifting her gaze to him. “What do you see?”
“Tomorrow, and all the tomorrows that follow.” Mason gazed down at her, his blue eyes smoldering with emotion she couldn’t quite name. Then he lowered his mouth to hers.
Their first kiss was one of tenderness and awe. Slowly Mason raised his lips from Sammie’s. “I want to share my tomorrows with you.”
Shock slammed into her, rendering her speechless. Somehow, a soft “Oh” squeaked out from between her tight lips.
“Sweetheart, you’re the most beautiful, compassionate, genteel woman I’ve ever met,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her. “Marry me.”
For half a heartbeat, she almost said yes. A part of her, a bigger part than she wanted to admit, wanted to accept what he offered.
Then his words came rushing back to her.
Genteel? She was about as genteel as a hound dog with fleas.
She’d spent a lot of time with Mason over the last month. She knew the man he was. But he didn’t have an inkling of who she really was, of her likes or dislikes, her dreams.
Guilt swept over her. What had she done? Poor Mason, he’d fallen in love with a lie.
Or had he?
Suddenly, her guilt dissolved. He hadn’t spoken of love or any
kind of affection for that matter. Only his wish for her to marry him. He’d said pretty words—just not the right pretty words.
With a sigh of relief, she patted his chest and pushed out of his arms. She wasn’t going to hurt him. His pride might sting for a while, but his heart would be intact.
“I’m sorry, Mason, but my answer is no.”
“What?!” He stepped back, obviously stunned at her refusal. “Why?”
“It would be an injustice to us both.”
Mason’s eyes hardened, his jaw clamped tightly, his lips thinned into a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No, Mason, it’s not.” Sammie shook her head. “You don’t love me. You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re the perfect woman for me.” He retrieved the drink he’d left on the side table. “The rest will come with time.”
“Thank you, Mason. But that’s not enough for me.” She turned, crossed the parlor then paused at the door. “You wouldn’t like me much if you knew the real me.”
She left, closing the door behind her.
A roar and the sound of glass exploding against the other side of the door ripped a chuck of her heart away.
What had she done?
Chapter 5
Fifteen minutes later, Mason stomped into JP’s study, slamming the door behind him.
“What the devil, Mayfield?” JP blustered, rising from behind his desk.
Mason fisted his hands to his sides and growled, “Your daughter refused me.”
“She did what?”
“I asked her to marry me and she said no.” Mason didn’t know whether he wanted to wring Samantha’s pretty little neck or kiss her senseless. Preferably both.
He’d never considered she’d turn him down. Maybe he’d handled the situation wrong. Maybe he should have dropped to one knee and professed an undying love. But Samantha was too intelligent to believe such drivel.
He hadn’t been lying when he told her she was the perfect woman for him. Beautiful, good-hearted, and compassionate to those she loved. With time, proximity and mutual lust, love would have come.