by Judith Stacy
Rachel canted her head, as if not sure she’d heard him correctly.
“Did you say ‘marry’ you?”
He couldn’t back down now. Besides, he didn’t want to.
“Yes. Marry me.”
Rachel leaned closer, as if the diminished distance between them might somehow make her hear better, understand more clearly.
“Are you suggesting that I marry you as a way to keep you here?” she asked.
He didn’t know what sort of reaction he expected from her. A profession of love? A declaration that she’d fallen for him? None of that showed in her expression.
Mitch didn’t care.
“I’ll stay, take care of things,” he said. “If you’ll marry me.”
Rachel’s spine stiffened and her chin went up.
“You’d hold my family’s future hostage?” she demanded. “To get me to marry you?”
“The marriage will benefit us both,” he said, ignoring a pang of conscience.
“Ah, yes. Your plan to be wealthy and powerful,” Rachel said. Her eyes narrowed. “Was this your intention all along? To make yourself an intregral part of my family, make yourself indispensable, just to force a marriage?”
Anger chased away the pain that gripped his heart.
“It wasn’t me who sneaked into your bedchamber in the dead of night,” he reminded her.
Rachel gasped. “I needed help with Noah!”
Mitch rounded the desk and planted himself in front of her. “You’re the one who insisted I live here, under your roof. Did you encourage my involvement with your family as a way to keep me here? To make me feel important?”
“I most certainly did not!” she declared.
Mitch leaned closer. “Is it the reason you let me kiss you?”
“How dare you! You can’t really believe that!”
No, he didn’t. He didn’t believe for a moment that Rachel was devious or conniving.
A few moments passed, cooling things between them.
“It would be a beneficial arrangement for the both of us,” Mitch said, the anger gone from his voice. “I’ll stay and run your family’s business. You won’t have to worry about any of that. Your family will be well taken care of.”
“And just what sort of service do you think I’m going to provide in this bargain of ours?”
Heat surged through him unexpectedly at the thought of them sharing a marriage bed, before an odd little ache surfaced.
“Your social connections. Your help with entry to polite society,” Mitch said. His gaze ran the length of her—he couldn’t help himself—then settled on her face again. “As well as anything else you’d care to provide.”
Her cheeks reddened but she pushed her chin a little higher. “That’s it? That’s the deal?”
Mitch nodded. “You can give me your answer tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I’m considering another job offer,” he said. “If you don’t want to go through with…this…I’ll need to make other plans.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to hold you up,” Rachel informed him. “I’ll think about your proposal, and if I make my decision by tomorrow, I’ll let you know.”
She put her nose in the air, whipped around and stomped out of the room.
Another night of lying awake and staring at the ceiling.
Rachel sighed in the darkness. She’d always imagined that this sort of thing would come to an end, once her life was settled. She’d imagined that finding the perfect man, receiving a marriage proposal, would give her life stability.
She’d been wrong about that, too.
Rachel gulped, holding in her emotions, refusing to let threatening tears fall.
She’d been wrong about everything, even Mitch.
What a godsend he’d seemed when he first arrived. Tall, strong, handsome. Here to do battle with her family’s financial troubles, to fight off poverty and public humiliation. Her knight in shining armor, to be sure.
Yet he’d turned out to be no different than any of the men in her life.
Now here she was once again contemplating the fate of her family. As it had been for months now, it was up to her to figure out how to keep the family together.
It was all within her grasp now, of course. She had but to accept Mitch’s marriage proposal. Everything would be fine, if she did. Rachel knew in her heart that Mitch could easily take care of the family finances, keep them on sound financial footing, ensure their future.
So she was getting what she wanted. But at a much higher price than she’d ever expected to pay.
Yet it was for her family. Would any price be too steep?
Rachel snuggled deeper into the covers and rolled onto her side, watching through the window across the room as the moon glided through the night sky.
She needed to sleep. She needed to be prepared for tomorrow when she spoke with Mitch. There’d be no surprises.
He probably knew that already. For Rachel this was neither a difficult decision nor a hard choice. Not where her family was concerned.
She squeezed her eyes closed and a shudder ran through her. What would it be like to be married to Mitch?
And, oh, what would people say?
Last night in the study when Mitch had made his marriage proposal, Rachel had felt vulnerable, exposed, discussing the matter while wearing only her nightgown and robe. Now, fortified by her undergarments, she was ready to tackle the situation in earnest.
She closed her bedchamber door and headed down the hallway. It was early still, the house quiet. As she often did, Rachel glanced at the door to Mitch’s room. Open. He was up and about already and the servants were inside, going about their chores.
Her footsteps slowed as a shiver ran though her. The gall of that man. The arrogance. Demanding her hand in marriage in exchange for her family’s future.
Perhaps she was no better for agreeing to it.
And there was always the possibility that their union might turn out just fine, Rachel thought as she descended the staircase. That notion had come to her last night along with so many others.
Maybe she and Mitch could have a marriage—a real marriage. He had so many of the qualities she admired in a man. His hard work would insure the security of her family. She wouldn’t have to worry anymore, at least about money.
And she was fond of him.
Rachel froze at the foot of the staircase. Fond of him? Was that it?
She wished she could talk to Claudia, see how she felt when Graham was near. Did her heart beat faster at the sight of him? Did he wander into her thoughts at all hours? Did he make her wonder what it would be like to—
With a startled gasp, Rachel stopped her runaway thoughts. Voices drifted down the hallway, coming from the study. She looked inside to find Mitch and Uncle Stuart working at the desk. Mitch seemed to sense her nearness. He cut off his conversation and pushed to his feet.
He looked neat, as always, combed, scrubbed, polished. But there was an uncharacteristic tightness around his eyes. He seemed tired. She wondered if he’d been up half the night thinking about their situation, as well.
“Good morning, Rachel.” Uncle Stuart gave her a hug.
“You’re here early,” she said, feeling the reserve in his embrace.
“I understand there’s a big decision to be made,” he said.
Her gaze flicked to Mitch. He’d told Uncle Stuart about the marriage proposal? Before she’d given him her answer?
“It’s a generous offer on Mitch’s part,” Uncle Stuart said. “Certainly it’s what the family needs right now. And, it’s only for a year.”
“A year?” Rachel looked at her uncle, then at Mitch. He remained beside the desk, silent.
“That will allow for plenty of time to find someone to take over permanently. We’re working out the details of the agreement now,” Uncle Stuart said, gesturing toward the desk.
Rachel’s heart rose in her throat. “You’re writing a…a contract?”
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“It’s prudent,” Uncle Stuart said. “There’s a financial consideration for Mitch, plus—”
“He’s being paid to marry me?”
“We can’t expect him to give a year of his life to the business with no monetary compensation,” Uncle Stuart said, somehow making the notion sound reasonable. “Plus, there’s a provision for safeguarding the Branford estate and—”
“So he doesn’t steal from us?” Rachel asked.
“And to keep Mitch’s own personal finances strictly separate.” Uncle Stuart looked down at her. “If, of course, you’ve decided to accept the offer.”
A thousand emotions whirled through Rachel, but the prevailing one was anger. At that second, she wasn’t sure just who she was angry at—everyone, perhaps.
But Mitch was the person standing in front of her.
Power and wealth. That’s what he wanted. He’d told her so the first time they’d walked though the garden together. He’d made no apologies or excuses. That was his plan.
Humiliation coursed through Rachel. What a fool she’d been only a moment ago to think that she had feelings for Mitch. Or that the two of them might someday have a real marriage.
What a fool to think this man was different from all the others.
She drew herself up. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Kincade privately.”
“Yes, of course. You two have some…matters…to discuss.” Uncle Stuart left the room.
Rachel crossed to the desk. Mitch sank into the chair and she felt a rush of superiority standing over him.
“I require information before I make my final decision,” she told him. “Personal information about you.”
“My background.” He nodded. “After all, there’s the concern over what people will say?”
He made her concern sound trite—and to him, perhaps it was—but Rachel refused to give him the satisfaction of blushing.
“Well?” she demanded.
“I asked you to marry me, not the other way around,” Mitch told her.
She remembered then how he’d made a point several times of insisting that he picked his clients. He never allowed them to pick him.
Apparently he felt the same about a marriage proposal.
But Rachel had her own deep feelings. And they included suffering the shame of public embarrassment.
“I will not have my family humiliated by a scandal if something untoward should become known about you,” she said.
Several moments dragged by with Mitch staring at her until Rachel thought perhaps he might not answer, that the entire marriage proposal might be abandoned.
“You needn’t worry,” Mitch said.
“But—”
“You needn’t worry,” Mitch said again, this time with such force that she knew she’d get nothing else out of him.
Though she didn’t want to leave her questions unanswered, there seemed no use in pursuing them.
“The arrangement will have to be kept quiet,” Mitch told her. “No one can know.”
Rachel nodded. “Believe me, I’m not anxious to have this become public knowledge.”
“That means we have to act as if we’re married,” Mitch insisted.
“There are certain standards you’ll be expected to live up to,” Rachel told him. “If, of course, you think you can be trained.”
She was angry and hurt, and Mitch didn’t blame her for the insult. Yet he wouldn’t back down. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would keep him from getting what he wanted.
Rachel gestured to the papers on the desk. “If you and Uncle Stuart have worked out all the details, then I guess that’s it.”
“And what about…us?” Mitch’s gaze strayed from her face to her bosom, then up again. “We will be man and wife.”
She gave him a scathing glare. “If I decide I require those services from you, Mr. Kincade, I’ll let you know.”
“So you’re agreeable?” he asked, his heart beating a little faster. “You’ll go through with the marriage?”
“Yes,” she told him. “You’re hired.”
Chapter Fifteen
Married.
With a heavy sigh, Rachel looked down at the thin band of gold that wrapped her finger. Her mother’s wedding ring. Rachel had selected it from the velvet-lined box that held her mother’s jewelry—Rachel’s jewelry now that her mother was gone—only moments before she and Mitch had departed for the church this afternoon. It fit well enough. But Rachel’s stomach knotted at the sight of it.
Did one sleep in a wedding ring? Rachel didn’t know. She’d bathed and dressed in her bedclothes already, and now slipped the ring off her finger and dropped it into her jewelry box that sat atop her bureau.
It seemed as good a reason as any not to wear the thing.
With a sigh, she sat down on the bench in front of her vanity and plucked the pins from her hair. Since last night when Mitch had delivered his ultimatum—she refused to think of it as a marriage proposal—she’d found herself wishing that Georgie would come back, that he would speak up for himself, explain things. Surely mortgaging the family assets was part of a grand business deal he’d put together. She couldn’t believe he’d actually do anything to hurt the family. If only he’d come back everything would be fine.
At the church, standing at the altar, Rachel had fantasized that Georgie would crash through the door, shouting that everything had been put right, that she didn’t have to marry Mitch.
But that didn’t happen.
She’d been left with no choice but to take her vows before God in His house of worship. Vows she knew she wouldn’t adhere to—it wasn’t in the contract.
Rachel sighed glumly. On top of everything else, she’d sinned. She’d probably go to hell, too.
With long, languid strokes, Rachel ran the brush through her hair, letting it fall through her fingers and sweep around her shoulders.
It was only a year. She’d get through it, somehow. There would be functions she and Mitch would be required to attend together. It was expected of them socially, as a couple. Plus she had to fulfill her portion of their wedding contract and provide Mitch with entry into their social circle.
Other than those occasions, she had no need to see him, interact with him. She could go about her life as always, with little regard for him.
Surely Mitch intended to do likewise.
Rachel saw her shoulders droop in the mirror. Even those thoughts didn’t lighten her mood.
Her perfect marriage floated through her mind. The one she’d dreamed about all her life. The dress, the flowers, the parties, the reception. All the things Claudia was enjoying. Rachel would have none of it.
She’d get through this difficult time, she vowed. A year would pass. They would quietly divorce and go their separate ways and she would never see him again.
Never see Mitch again? The notion caused another sort of emotion to jab her, though she couldn’t name it or know where it had come from. Everything seemed so confusing.
So to make things easier on herself, she would simply avoid Mitch as much as possible. Yes, Rachel decided, that’s what she’d do. At the moment, never laying eyes on the man again seemed good.
A quick knock sounded on her door and before she could rise from the stool, Mitch stepped into the room.
Stunned, Rachel gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“Surely you haven’t forgotten,” Mitch said. He closed the door behind him, then raised a champagne bottle and two glasses. “It’s our wedding night.”
Rachel surged to her feet, fumbling to close the buttons on her robe all the way up to her chin.
“I’m certain I made myself clear on this matter,” she informed him, tying the sash around her waist in a double knot.
Mitch paused in the center of the room and gazed around, taking it all in.
“You did,” he agreed. “But I knew you’d want me here tonight, of all nights.”
“You’re mistaken,” Rachel declared, as she twirled her hair into a
quick knot and jabbed pins through it.
He sauntered to the sitting area at the far end of the room and placed the bottle and glasses on the little table between the settee and chairs.
“You have a balcony.” Mitch opened the French doors.
“Don’t go out there!” Rachel dashed across the room and caught his arm. “The neighbors know this is my room. I sit outside a lot. Good gracious, what will they think, seeing you here?”
Mitch paused, allowing her to stop his progress, though she knew she was no match for his strength.
“That’s my point,” he told her.
“You want people to know you’re here?” she demanded, suddenly horrified. Goodness, what had she gotten herself into?
“Actually, I’d think a little gratitude would be in order,” Mitch told her.
“You’re disgusting.”
“We agreed to keep up pretenses, remember?” Mitch shrugged. “What would people think of a new wife whose husband didn’t come to her on their wedding night?”
She hadn’t thought of that. Why would she?
“So you’re just doing this for my own good?” she asked.
“You commented yourself about how the servants talk.”
“Fine,” she told him. “You’ve made your appearance. You can leave now.”
“Rachel,” he said softly, “these things take a little longer than the few minutes I’ve been in here.”
“Oh.” Rachel felt her cheeks heat. “How long, then?”
“Hours.”
“Hours?” She backed away, looking him up and down. Good grief, what could a husband and wife do that would possibly take that long?
Mitch leaned in a little. “If it’s done right.”
A wave of heat crashed through Rachel. An odd feeling she didn’t understand. Yet she was pretty certain she knew the meaning of the look on Mitch’s face. She’d seen it before, when he’d kissed her.
She felt vulnerable and exposed in her nightclothes, even with them buttoned up tight, covering her from ankle to wrist to throat. She went to her bureau and dug out a scarf.
“You can stay.” Rachel draped the plaid, woolen fabric over her head and tossed the ends over her shoulders, then pointedly checked the time on the mantel clock. “One hour. No more.”