by Dara Girard
“They won’t miss us. Besides, let the rumors fly as to what we’re really up to.”
Brooke felt mixed emotions as they drove back to his house. She was still shaken from his kiss. It was now official. She was Mrs. Jameson Broward. Since she was fifteen she had dreamed of this moment, but knowing the conditions under which he had married her, Brooke knew it was just business to him. If only she could feel the same. Although she knew there would be no honeymoon, she had hoped to stay and enjoy their wedding just a little longer.
The day had started with Brooke being picked up by a taxi early in the morning and being driven to the Browards’ main house, at Gwendolyn’s insistence. Brooke had been put in one of their special suites, reserved for important guests, all set to be pampered, beginning with a sumptuous breakfast. Following breakfast, Gwendolyn’s manicurist had come over and given Brooke a full manicure and pedicure, which was then followed by a full-body massage, which she needed to help keep her anxiety at bay. Gwendolyn’s hairstylist then arrived late in the morning to style Brooke’s hair before the makeup artist added the finishing touches.
“You know you are part of our family now,” Gwendolyn had said as she entered the suite once everyone had left. “And I want you to wear these on your special day.” She opened a small rectangular jewelry box, revealing a pair of exquisitely designed twenty-four-carat gold earrings encrusted with rubies. “These belonged to my mother and her mother before her. Now I’m giving them to you.”
“But...”
“No buts. Remember you need to wear something old as well as something new.” After helping Brooke get dressed, and making sure she was wearing a garter belt for the groom to remove, she had left. The day had been a dream and it was coming to an end.
Once they arrived at Jameson’s house, which was on the other side of the Broward property, the large wooden front door opened before he even touched it and an older woman came out to greet them. She sent Jameson a look. “Mr. and Mrs. Jameson Broward. Welcome.”
“Cut it out, Cecelia.”
The older woman pressed her hands together. “Do it for me, please.”
Jameson sighed then swept Brooke up in his arms.
Brooke released a squeal of alarm. “What are you doing?”
“Trust me. It’s easier than arguing with her.”
He carried Brooke into the house then set her down. “Happy now?”
“Do it again,” Cecelia said. “I want to take a picture.”
“That’s not going to happen.” He went back outside and brought in Brooke’s luggage. “Brooke, this is Cecelia O’Dowd, our house manager.” The older woman walked up to Brooke and gave her a big warm hug.
“You made such a beautiful bride. I wish I could have stayed for the reception, but I had to make sure everything was ready for you two.”
Brooke opened her mouth to thank her, but Cecelia continued before she could.
“I really want you to be comfortable here. Anything you need, you just let me know. I handle all the staff, the chef, the housekeeper and everyone and everything else in between. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Of course, we don’t have as big a staff as at the main house, but if you have any trouble with anyone, just let me know.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Brooke said, stealing glances at the home’s interior. She’d never been inside Jameson’s house before. It was a modern structure with a brick face and, although it was the middle of the night, she had seen a carefully manicured lawn surrounding it as they drove in. Moonlight spilled through large windows into the living room, where sleek handcrafted teak furniture sat in front of a stone fireplace. Beyond that, Brooke could see into the gourmet-sized kitchen. Why would a single man need a place this big? Did he expect to have a large family of his own one day?
“I’m sure everything is set,” Jameson said.
Cecelia nodded. “Of course.”
“Good.” Jameson waited then Cecelia took the hint and disappeared.
Brooke watched her go. “I like her.”
“She’s efficient,” Jameson said absently. He turned and headed up the stairs with her suitcases and headed down the hall. Brooke followed. Jameson stopped and opened a door. “Your clothes should already be in the master suite.” Brooke had made arrangements to have some of her personal items sent by a moving van ahead of the wedding. “I’ll be sleeping in the study. Oh, and by the way, I also had a shed converted into your new studio and had most of your equipment transferred there. If there’s anything else you need, just let Cecelia know.”
“But what will they think?”
“What will who think?”
“Your staff, about us sleeping in separate rooms.”
“Cecelia is the only live-in I have, so we shouldn’t have any trouble. And I pay the rest of them enough to keep their mouths shut. We have nothing to worry about.” He nodded and left.
Brooke entered the bedroom, where a large king-size carved walnut bed stood facing a floor-to-ceiling window, which provided a panoramic view of the farm. A matching set of his and hers drawers sat against each of the walls. Just off to the left of the bed was a handcrafted mirrored table, where she could put on her makeup and jewelry. Brooke knew that it had been added for her benefit. She went to the walk-in closet, which led to a full-size bathroom with a sunken tub and glass-enclosed shower. Brooke went back into the bedroom, and as she began to disrobe, she suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. This was not how she had dreamed her wedding night would be. She wished Jameson was there with her. She wished he was the one undressing her and enjoying seeing and removing the dark blue silk underwear she was wearing. But wishing was not her reality.
She pushed those thoughts aside. The marriage was a business agreement. That was all. She wiped a tear away and switched her thoughts to hoping Jameson’s room was just as comfortable as hers.
She was glad he’d remembered her need for a studio. Earlier in the week he’d told her he’d renovated an old shed on the property, but she was too tired to look at it now, and besides, it was late and she didn’t know where it was. She paused when she heard a soft knock. She quickly grabbed a robe then said, “Come in.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Cecelia said. “A package arrived for you, Mrs. Broward. It’s over there.” She pointed to the corner, where an old battered trunk sat.
“Thank you and please call me Brooke.”
“Just so you know, Jameson is one of the easiest men to work for.”
“I’m glad,” Brooke said, wondering why Cecelia felt the need to mention that.
“So if you have any instructions...” She let her words fade away.
“Oh,” Brooke said, finally understanding her request. Cecelia saw her as the new mistress of the house and was probably waiting for Brooke to give her orders. “Sorry, it’s been a long day but I’m sure that we’ll get to know each other’s habits very quickly. Don’t change anything right now on my account.”
“It’s just that the chef always has Mr. Broward’s breakfast ready by four in the morning. Would you like your breakfast ready by then also?”
“Seven would be fine and I’m not particular.” Although she had grown up on a ranch, Brooke was not one to wake up at the crack of dawn.
Cecelia nodded. “Well, good night then.”
Once Cecelia left, Brooke changed into her new nightgown and went over to the trunk. She noticed the address. It was from her college friend Leslie, who had no idea that Brooke’s marriage was a sham. Brooke had phoned her and told her about her wedding, but because it had been such short notice, Leslie had been unable to make it. She had promised to send a gift, though. Leslie had excellent taste. The trunk was filled with an assortment of high-priced personal items—four sets of sexy nightdresses with matching nightgowns, silk slippers, a bed cape to take off the chill when needed, a b
eautiful handmade quilt, two sets of luxurious towels with both of their initials, three sets of silk sheet sets and several sexy lingerie items just for fun.
Brooke picked up one of the filmy nightgowns. Then she heard a slight knock on the door. Before she could reply, Jameson entered the room then stopped. “What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the nightgown with interest.
“My friend Leslie sent me a trousseau. She seems to be the only person alive who thinks this marriage is for real.” Brooke set the nightgown down.
Jameson nodded, unable to move his gaze from the nightgown. For one brief, wild moment he wanted to be on a honeymoon with Brooke and wanted their wedding night to be real. He wanted Brooke to be waiting in his bed and wearing that nightgown. He’d slept with beautiful women before, so why was she having such an effect on him? It had only been one night. He couldn’t feel this way when he had 364 days to go. His marriage suddenly felt like a prison sentence. No wonder it was considered an institution. Kissing her the way he had at the altar had been a mistake, although he didn’t regret it; he just hadn’t thought he’d enjoy it so much. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman, and now all he could think of was those lips of hers doing a lot more. He’d thought his heart had shut down, but just looking at a little piece of lace had opened up his desires. He noticed her wedding dress laid out on the bed and the somewhat revealing nightgown she was wearing. He averted his eyes.
“We’ve been married less than a day and I already can’t wait until it’s over,” he said with feeling, gripping the door handle.
When Brooke’s gaze fell he silently swore. He’d hurt her, but he hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t her fault she made him think about things he’d fought hard to forget. He was experiencing feelings he never thought he’d have again. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said in a light tone. “We both know you didn’t want this.”
Jameson walked across the room over to the trunk. Even though he couldn’t offer her a regular honeymoon night, he didn’t want her to be unhappy. He picked up the quilt then set it down. “What’s this stuff called again?”
“A trousseau.”
He frowned. “A true what?”
“A trousseau,” Brooke repeated slowly. She started to explain then caught his quick grin. She narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing me.”
“Why would I do that? I’m just a big dumb cowboy. I don’t know any fancy German—”
“French.”
“Words.”
Brooke laughed. He had a playful side he rarely showed and she wanted to see more of it. “So you don’t know what any of this is for?” she asked, gesturing to the items.
“No, ma’am.” He remained standing. He didn’t want to get too comfortable.
She pulled out an old-fashioned garter belt and swung it back and forth on her forefinger. “How about this?”
“Not a clue.”
She pulled out a couple of pasties with gold tassels. “Or these?”
“No.”
Brooke lifted a full-body stocking, with cutouts, and thread her fingers through several of the strategically located holes. “You must have an idea how one could wear this.”
Jameson shook his head, his face blank.
“You can’t even use your imagination?”
He rested his hands on his hips. “My mind is not that creative.”
“I doubt that. I didn’t realize you were shy.”
“I’m not shy.”
“You were shy to dance at the saloon and now you’re shy about this.”
Jameson folded his arms and his gaze sharpened. “How come this feels like another challenge?”
Brooke fluttered her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m just a dumb cowgirl.” She lazily walked around him. “I don’t know about these things either. I need somebody to teach me.”
“I think you already know a lot.”
“One never grows too old to learn.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“I’m not a kid anymore.”
“I know that. And one day you’ll have some college-educated yuppie take you away from here.” He watched her make another circle around him. “What are you doing?”
“Just walking.”
“Are you trying to make me dizzy?”
Yes. “No.” Brooke licked her lower lip and slowed her pace. She wanted him to see her as a woman because she’d always seen him as a man. She could flaunt, taunt and tease, but she wanted him to make the first move. “Those college boys aren’t really my type.”
Jameson rested his hands on his hips but didn’t reply.
“It’s amazing what nature can teach you. I’m sure like you, your father never had to sit you down and tell you about the birds and the bees.” She continued to lazily walk around him. “I remember when I saw my first bull. I should have been scared, but I wasn’t. I was in awe. It was so beautiful and big.” She stopped at Jameson’s side and looked up at him. His eyes were dark and magnetic. “It was big all over. This wild massive beast went for our little heifer with energy I’d never seen before. That’s when I became frightened, but soon I saw the heifer wasn’t scared,” Brooke said, her voice dropping to a whisper and her gaze sweeping over his face as if she were memorizing every detail. “The heifer expected it and the bull didn’t hurt her. She could take him no matter how big and powerful he was. Yes, I learned a lot that day. What do you think?”
For the first time in his life Jameson didn’t feel like thinking at all. He grabbed her and kissed her. He hadn’t planned to. It was an impulsive decision and completely unlike him, but he did it anyway. He meant to make it quick, playful, but the moment his lips touched hers everything changed. He felt as if the ground had shifted under him.
Jameson pulled away and stared at her shocked expression. The air seemed to still, filled with an electric sense of anticipation and the sound of their breathing. He shook his head, as if to wake himself from a trance, dropped his hands to his side and promptly left the room.
* * *
He stumbled to his study and sat down at his desk. What had just happened? He rested a hand against his heart. It was racing, and that wasn’t like him. But, no, that was wrong. He had been like this once before, with someone else. He couldn’t let himself fall for another Palmer. What was it about those women that seemed to be his weakness? It wasn’t because she was beautiful; he was used to that. Then what was it? Loneliness? No. He had all that he needed. Lust? Yes. Definitely. He wanted her.
He wanted to see her mane of curls spread out on a pillow and watch pleasure fill her eyes. He ran a hand down his face and took a deep, steadying breath. No, that was all wrong. The marriage was a business proposition. Strictly business. He had to be the rational one. She was basically a kid. Ten years ago she was still in high school. In a year, she’d get her homestead and marry a man that suited her. And that man wasn’t him.
* * *
Unlike the princesses in a fairy tale, the kiss didn’t wake Brooke up; instead it seemed to cast her under a spell. His spell. Once Jameson left, she felt as if she were living in a dream. Her dream of being his bride had come true. That night she slept with a joy in her heart she never thought possible and woke up the next day with an energy that surprised her. She ate a quick breakfast, knowing that if Jameson had been up at four, he would be halfway through his chores by now. However, she hardly saw him that day or the next two days. She busied herself with getting to know Cecelia and the names of the other staff. She wasn’t ready to get back to working with her pottery yet, hoping to at least first share a meal with Jameson. With all that had been going on she hadn’t even looked at her studio. But after three days of not seeing him, she knew that the connection she’d hoped they’d made that first night was over.
She’d ended up saving her inhe
ritance and breaking her heart.
Chapter 6
Jameson walked into his bedroom weak with exhaustion. It had been a long day. A neighboring cow had gotten lost and had died from eating one of the larkspurs they’d been spraying. The weed seemed extra virulent this year. But work had been his savior and had helped to keep his mind off his new bride. Since that first night, he’d been successful in keeping his distance from her and planned on keeping it that way until winter, when work slowed, then he planned to work more in his office. Jameson tore off his shirt and made his way to the bed without turning on the lights, comforted by the sweet scent in the air. He flopped on the bed, nearly half-asleep, but jerked back up when he fell on a soft form that screamed. He tumbled out of bed and fell to the floor with a thud just as light flooded the room. He turned on his back and stared up at Brooke, who peered down at him from the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He squinted, his eyes not yet adjusted to the light. What was Brooke doing in his bed? He glanced around the room and his gaze fell on the worn trunk—her trousseau. He squeezed his eyes shut and swore. He was in the wrong room.
“I’m sorry. I forgot,” he said as he scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his jeans and put them on, glad he hadn’t gone any further than removing his shirt and pants. He cleared his throat. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. You just scared me.”
Jameson looked around the room once more, wondering where he’d tossed his shirt. “It won’t happen again.”
“You didn’t have to give me your room, you know. I don’t mind staying in the study—”
Jameson shook his head, frowning. His shirt was nowhere in sight. “It’s my fault I came in here. I should have remembered.”