The English Aristocrat's Bride

by Sandra Field

  “Of course I do! You don’t need the whole darn family tagging along…by the way, I booked a room for you at Rafe’s hotel. It’s next door to some incredible boutiques, in case you didn’t bring anything to wear.”

  Tears on her lashes, Karyn said, “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “The rest is up to you,” Fiona said. “You can do it.”

  Reginald interjected, “Fiona, you could come back with us in the ’copter. You’ll be home in no time.” He gave Karyn a courtly bow. “Best of luck, m’dear. Drop by the castle for tea, why don’t you?”

  Joan kissed Karyn on the cheek, a gesture that felt like an accolade. “That way you can meet the dogs.”

  “I’d like that,” Karyn said.

  She hugged Fiona again, then watched as the three of them disappeared through the jostle of other passengers.

  Her first step was to get a taxi to the hotel, where she was going to gate-crash a very fancy gala.

  Hosted by Rafe.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AS THE cab wound through the London streets in a series of jerky stops and starts, Karyn could hear, far in the distance and overriding the sound of traffic, the grumble of thunder. The sky between the tall buildings was heaped with purple-edged clouds; the trees were whipped by a wind that whirled dust from the gutters and tossed scraps of paper into the air. If she were back home, she’d say they were in for a storm. She was trying very hard not to see this as a bad omen.

  She was wearing her expensive linen slacks with a blue linen blazer and an ivory silk blouse; as the taxi lurched forward, she did her best to repair her makeup. In her case, carefully packed in tissue, was the delphinium-blue dress Rafe had given her in Greece. She’d brought it hoping that he’d strip it from her body and make love to her, just as he had once before in their big bedroom that overlooked Cape Sounio. But instead she’d be wearing it to the most momentous confrontation of her life.

  The crumpled piece of paper Joan had given her said the gala began with cocktails at seven. Karyn was already praying she wouldn’t bump into Rafe before it began; she wanted him to see her first in the midst of the invited guests. That way he’d have more time to cool down. Less time to consider homicide, she thought wryly. He couldn’t very well send her packing in front of everyone. Could he?

  He could try. It didn’t mean she had to obey him.

  Lightning flickered between two office towers. The cabbie slipped through an opening in the traffic, the meter clicking with monotonous regularity. Her eyes scratchy from lack of sleep, because she’d been up since four that morning, Karyn gazed out at crowded pavements and red double-decker buses, at stone and brick architecture rooted in history. She might be scared to death of meeting Rafe; but she was also unable to quell a tremor of excitement that she was finally in London, a city that for her had always been wreathed in romance.

  Briefly her overstretched nerves loosened. Perhaps she’d come home, she thought. Maybe England was where she belonged, with a man as civilized as this great city, as un-yielding as the granite crags of his estate, as wild and powerful as the windtorn sky. Were he to love her, were she to allow that love to permeate her, and were she to return it, strength for strength…was that why she was here? To find out what that would be like?

  With one final jolt, the cab drew up in front of an elegant Edwardian stone building, lights gleaming from its myriad windows. Quickly Karyn paid the fare, added a generous tip and got out. Trundling her bag behind her, she walked toward the huge arched entranceway, where a uniformed doorman greeted her as though she was royalty, took her bag and indicated the front desk.

  For a moment, awestruck, her steps faltered. She was standing under a domed ceiling centred with a magnificent gold chandelier; the ivory walls were outlined in gilt, the ceiling a baroque marvel of swirled gold and exquisite murals. A bouquet of tropical lilies rested on a marble pedestal; the floors were pale marble, the carpets handloomed. With all the dignity at her command, she approached the desk and within moments was being whisked in the elevator to her room on the fifth floor.

  She hadn’t seen Rafe.

  She had two hours to get ready.

  Staying even one night in this room was going to wreck her budget for the next twelve months; all the more reason to enjoy it while she was here. Recklessly Karyn ordered afternoon tea to be brought to her room, even though according to her it was only lunchtime. When it came on a mahogany trolley with immaculate linens, she tucked into tiny sandwiches and luscious little cakes, pouring Prince of Wales tea from an antique silver pot.

  Perched on her bed, she looked around her. Silk-damask upholstery and drapes, a deeply piled carpet in forest-green, dark cherry furnishings, two delicate prints of dancers: every detail was perfect. She’d already checked out the marble bathroom with its fleecy robe and lavish toiletries.

  Having consumed every scrap of food, she soaked in fragrant bubbles in the whirlpool tub, painted her nails, and took her time making up her face. When she was finally ready, at quarter past seven, she took one last look at herself in the mirror.

  A glamorous stranger looked back at her, a woman with delicately flushed cheeks and brilliant blue eyes, her hair in soft tendrils around her face. Crystal earrings twinkled at her lobes; the blue dress encased her like the petals of a slender flower.

  The only thing missing was the gold chain with the teardrop diamond that she’d sent back to Rafe.

  She tilted her chin. She was going downstairs, she was going to find Rafe, and she was going to fight for him. In fighting for him, she’d be fighting for her own life. Defeating Steve, once and for all.

  Freeing herself to be with Rafe. If he’d have her.

  She tucked her door card in her silver clutch purse, and left the room. Five minutes later, she was standing at the entrance to the lobby bar. A group of guests was ahead of her, giving her a moment to get her bearings.

  Small gold lamps cast a warm glow on the deep red walls, giving the polished walnut trim a lovely sheen. Intricately woven carpets were scattered on an expanse of gleaming parquet. The room was already crowded with men in tuxedos, the women’s gowns a mingling of hues like a midsummer garden. White-jacketed waiters moved smoothly among the guests.

  Rafe was standing with his back to her, talking to several men and one woman, a brunette whose beauty and sophistication Karyn couldn’t hope to emulate. Even from here she could see diamonds in a sparkling cascade around the woman’s throat. For a moment Karyn quailed. What if Rafe had indeed put her behind him? A regrettable interlude, the sooner forgotten the better.

  What if this woman was his new partner? Or even his partner for the evening?

  She’d been a fool to come.

  You’re breaking his heart… so Joan had said and so Fiona had suggested. As he laughed, bending his head to hear what the woman was saying, he didn’t look as though his heart was broken.

  “Your name, madam?”

  The doorman, in a scarlet jacket and a high starched collar, was addressing her. “Dr. Karyn Marshall,” Karyn said clearly. She rarely used her title; but this seemed an occasion that called for it.

  He ran his eyes down the list in his hand. “I don’t believe your name is here,” he said delicately. “Could there have been some mistake?”

  Gate-crashers. Jewel thieves. Unwanted interlopers. Of course there’d be security for an event of this size. “I flew in at the last minute from Canada,” she said. “If you mention my name to Mr. Holden, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to welcome me.”

  “Certainly, madam.”

  The doorman made an unobtrusive gesture to one of the waiters and whispered instructions in his ear. The waiter walked across the parquet toward Rafe, discreetly got his attention and spoke to him very briefly. For a split second Rafe’s body went utterly still. Then he said something to the waiter and turned back to his guests.

  Not once did he look Karyn’s way.

  All right, Rafe, she thought in a wave of fury. If that’s your
game, I can play it, too.

  The waiter returned and the doorman said with impeccable courtesy, gesturing her into the room, “Enjoy your evening, madam.”

  She planned to. Her blood up, Karyn helped herself to a chilled martini from one of the waiters and took the first sip, its bite almost making her choke. A man standing nearby said, with amusement, “They’re extremely good martinis.”

  He was handsome and gray-haired, with that indescribable polish that generations of wealth can confer. Karyn introduced herself, and soon discovered he was laird of a vast estate in Scotland and had a keen interest in sheep-breeding. As they talked animatedly, he said, “Let me introduce you to those three gentlemen over there…they’d like to hear your views on Cheviots.”

  The three men were standing close to Rafe. Sipping her martini with caution, for she needed all her wits about her, Karyn crossed the room and joined the three men. Even then Rafe paid her no attention whatsoever. We’ll see about that, she thought, waited for a gap in the conversation and said pleasantly to her companions, “Would you excuse me, please? I want to speak to Mr. Holden.”

  Holding herself very tall, she closed the gap until she stood at Rafe’s elbow, then said clearly, “Good evening, Rafe.”

  He turned, his glance flicking over her face. “Dr. Marshall,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

  “They’re the best kind, don’t you think?” she said, and smiled at the other guests. She was damned if she was going to show that his use of her last name had flicked her like a lash.

  Rafe said imperturbably, “May I introduce Dr. Karyn Marshall.” He reeled off the others’ names, not one of which Karyn could have repeated, although she did catch that the brunette was the wife of the handsome aristocrat standing across from Rafe.

  Calling on every ounce of her poise, she talked and laughed and smiled until she thought her jaw would crack. Then Rafe said, “Ah, the ambassador’s party has arrived…please excuse me. Karyn, I’ll see you later.”

  Briefly his eyes rested on her with a such a blaze of emotion that she almost dropped her glass. So he wasn’t indifferent to her. Far from it. She said coolly, “Perhaps.”

  “It’s not a suggestion, it’s an order.” His smile impartially included the whole group. “Karyn and I have some unfinished business,” he remarked, took her hand, kissed her palm with lingering pleasure and walked away from her.

  Scorched by the contact, her cheeks flaming, Karyn said, “He’s exaggerating and he’s much too used to having his own way. I need another martini.”

  The brunette, whose name was Lydia, signaled the waiter. “Rafe is never indiscreet,” she said, “how interesting. Where did you meet him, Karyn?”

  Karyn had no intention of sharing a convoluted story about separated twins and a picnic on a faraway beach. “By chance,” she said, and to her great relief heard the doorman announce that dinner was ready to be served.

  Now was her opportunity to leave with some degree of dignity. But hadn’t Steve destroyed every vestige of her fighting spirit? Was she going to run away from Rafe and that blaze of emotion he’d banked as swiftly as if it had never occurred; or was she going to match him, thrust for thrust, parry for parry? His opponent and his equal.

  Steadily she walked with Lydia and her husband toward the dining room. Its gold-framed mirrors reflected the dazzle of chandeliers and gold-leaf tracery on walls of a soft moss green. An array of crystal glasses shot little rainbows on the circular tables with their bouquets of roses and tall gold candelabra. At the door, the maitre d’ took her name and said politely, “Ah yes, Dr. Marshall…you’re on Mr. Holden’s right at the head table.”

  She said with the utmost composure, “Thank you,” winked at Lydia and crossed the room toward the long table flanked by twin marble fireplaces. Her heart was fluttering in her breast; so this was Rafe’s next move. He’d out-guessed her; she’d expected to be seated in a corner as far from him as possible.

  On her other side was a charming French count whose passion, she soon found out, was horse racing. From the corner of her eye she saw Rafe approach. “Mr. Holden,” she said with edgy mockery, “what an unexpected pleasure.”

  “I thought I could keep an eye on you here,” he said.

  “Do you like my dress?” she asked provocatively.

  “A pity you don’t have a gold chain to go with it.”

  “Flinging down the gauntlet—what a romantic gesture that is.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, but romantic doesn’t cut it.”

  She widened her eyes, aware that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. “So I shouldn’t pin my hopes on having had my hand kissed?”

  His gaze lingered on the soft curve of her mouth. “It depends what your hopes are. We’ll discuss them later—when we’re alone.” Turning to the woman on his left, he said, “Countess, may I introduce Dr. Karyn Marshall?”

  Valiantly Karyn held up her end of the conversation, working her way through Beluga caviar, delicately flavored bouillon, flame-roasted quail, and pastries shaped like swans surrounded by plump raspberries. Rafe made a speech notable for wit and brevity, then everyone moved to the baroque splendor of the ballroom, where the orchestra was tuning their instruments.

  Karyn, by now, was light-headed with fatigue, wine, repressed sexuality and suspense. Rafe led off the dancing, taking her into his arms and sweeping her around the floor in an old-fashioned waltz. His arm around her waist, his fingers clasping her own to his shoulder, the closeness of his determined jaw and unfathomable dark eyes all worked their magic. Her body yielded in his arms in a way that spoke volumes. He said harshly, “So that hasn’t changed.”

  “Did you expect it to?”

  “I’ve given up knowing what to expect from you.”

  His fingers were now splayed over her hip in overt possessiveness. How important was Steve likened to the elemental simplicity of Rafe’s embrace? It was Rafe who matched her, body and soul. Rafe who from the beginning had shown her that passion could be coupled with integrity, willpower with trust.

  What a fool she’d been to compare him to Steve. In all the ways that mattered, there was no comparison. How could she have forgotten the first time Rafe had made love to her, in the bungalow in Maine? He’d put his own needs on hold in order to soothe her fears and bring her to ful-fillment. He’d been breathtakingly generous.

  Yet she’d run from him like a terrified sheep.

  Not paying attention, she stepped on his toe. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “Only another three hours,” he said heartlessly. “I have to circulate…I’ll pass you over to the count.”

  Soon Karyn was whirling around the dance floor with a succession of partners young and old. Normally she would have enjoyed this immensely. But as the minutes and hours passed, the knot in her belly tightened. Rafe hadn’t danced with her again. Nor did she have any idea what she was going to say to him when, as he’d promised, they found themselves alone.

  Promised or threatened, she wondered with a shiver along her spine.

  For the second time she watched him lead a frail, white-haired dowager onto the floor, dancing with her with such care for her pleasure that sudden tears shimmered on Karyn’s lashes. As she rubbed them away, it was as though she rubbed scales from her eyes.

  She loved Rafe. Of course she did.

  She had for weeks.

  Her new knowledge didn’t arrive in a blinding flash, like the lightning flickering over the city streets. It held none of the threat of a stormy sky. Rather, it had the integrity of Rafe’s beloved Stoneriggs, and the deep roots of her connection to Fiona. It was as dependable as stone, she thought; as beautiful as the sea. She could feel her heart expanding to encompass him, to hold him there forever. Happiness welled up within her.

  She loved him. Now she must tell him so.

  The orchestra announced the last waltz. With a sense of inevitability, Karyn watched Rafe return the dowager to her equally aged husband and then sw
iftly search the crowd. For herself. Talking and laughing as he went, he eased his way toward her and took her in his arms.

  I love Rafe, she thought. That’s all I need to remember. The rest will look after itself.

  I hope.

  But she couldn’t recapture the delight of being in his arms. Twice she tripped over her own feet; her body felt clumsy, her brain empty of any kind of strategy. Finally the waltz ended; as the guests started to depart and Rafe began a round of goodbyes, she slipped into the ladies room and repaired her makeup. Lipstick for courage, she thought ruefully, running a comb through her tangled curls. She didn’t look like a woman who’d been up for twenty-one hours. She looked fully and invigoratingly alive.

  When she went back out, the great ballroom was nearly empty, the musicians putting away their instruments as the staff cleared the tables of used glasses. The party’s over, she thought, and slowly walked over to Rafe, who was shaking hands with the last of the guests.

  As though he sensed her presence, he turned. His face inscrutable, he said, “Let’s go.”

  Deliberately she laced her arm with his, feeling the muscles rigid as steel beneath the sleeve of his tuxedo. They crossed the lobby to the elevators. The attendant pressed the button for the penthouse suite, and in silence they were whooshed upward. Rafe unlocked tall double doors and stood aside for her to enter.

  In one quick glance, she took in her surroundings. Space and simplicity, she thought with a sigh of relief. “Is this your own suite?”

  “Yes. We won’t be disturbed here. Why did you come to London?”

  So there was to be no social chitchat. Karyn sat down on the arm of the nearest chair and eased her stiletto sandals off her feet. “I came to see you.”

  “Why?”

  I’ve all of a sudden realized I love you? It didn’t sound very convincing. “You don’t look too happy that I’m here.”