The Matchmaker's Plan

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  His melancholy bloomed into desire and all he could think about was how much he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. He gazed at the curve of her lips, fascinated by the way she moistened them with the tip of her tongue, mesmerized by the scent of her perfume. “Decorating the house for us is a nice thought, a generous gift,” he said magnanimously, because there was no reason to be angry with her for the overbearing ways of her mother. “But you should be the one to make those decisions, Peyton. Not your mother.”

  Her gaze flew to his, confused, questioning. “I wouldn’t dream of changing your home,” she said. “It…well, I just wouldn’t.”

  “Why not? The place—” he paused, recalling Miranda’s words, realizing she was right “—could use a little dignity. It’s been a showroom, a playground for too long. I think I’d like it to be a home again. A place you’ll feel comfortable living.”

  “I won’t be here long enough to become comfortable, Matt.” The change in her voice, the defensive lift of her chin mimicked the chill in her touch, bringing him up short against reality. “There is no reason for you to change anything on my account.”

  And that was about as plainly as she could put it. This was a marriage of convenience, a way to put a positive spin on their mistake, a lie to protect the baby they had accidentally created. He withdrew his hand, letting hers drop to her side. “The car’s out front,” he said briskly. “Are you ready to face the lions?”

  “Ready,” she replied firmly and stepped ahead of him toward the door.

  Not the way he’d pictured the beginning of their charade. But he’d be damned if he was going to let her goad him into giving away the show before the curtain even went up. He’d been playing one role or another since birth. This was simply one more to add to his repertoire.

  The anger returned as suddenly as it had receded, but this time it was controlled and purposeful. Following her out into the crisp, cold night, he arrived on the stoop in time to help her put on the cloak. It had a hood, which settled in folds around her neck, rippling out toward her shoulders, framing her face in its flickering colors and yet taking nothing at all away from her own beauty. Her eyes, still mystifyingly hazel beneath the stars and the outside lighting, met his, clung for a moment. A heartbeat thudded loudly—his, he supposed—in the seconds before he raised his palms and framed her face.

  “Happy New Year, Mrs. Danville.” He lowered his head swiftly, deliberately, and didn’t stop even when he felt her stiffen with resistance. His lips claimed hers with a rough insistence, refused to let her deny them both the pleasure of this provocative kiss. She held out for a moment, but then, with a quivery sigh, her hands came up to rest on his arms; her fingers pulsed and massaged his biceps, letting him know her yearning was as intense, as irrefutable as his own. Marriage hadn’t changed that, he realized. The passion flared as quickly between them now as it had before, growing dangerously willful, treacherously unyielding. It burned him as well as her, singeing his control, melting her resistance. She relaxed against him, her breasts pressed invitingly to his chest, her lips opened. He took advantage and delivered hot, sipping kisses until her tongue ventured out to meet his in a seductive tryst. His self-restraint—what little he seemed to possess with this woman—ebbed faster than sand in an hourglass and he knew he was within minutes—seconds—of sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her back inside the house.

  And he was almost positive she wouldn’t murmur a single protest. It was what she wanted, too. He knew it the same way he knew he couldn’t allow that to happen. For more reasons than he cared to contemplate. Yet, when she moaned softly, sensually against his lips, he deepened the kiss and tussled with the possibility again. Logic won over desire by the smallest margin this time, and he felt as if he was forcing his ardor into a lockbox out of sheer necessity.

  It was an experiment gone awry, a test of will he had obviously failed, but even so, Matt managed to marshal his defenses and drew back from the kiss, dropping his hands to her arms and establishing control by the expedient means of putting some distance between them. Emotional distance, as well as physical. “So much for practicing,” he said more huskily than he meant to…because his voice, as well as his body, was still hostage to the alluring desire. But he made it seem light, unimportant, as if he hadn’t been affected by the kiss at all, as if he hadn’t noticed its effect on her. “I think we’re ready for the main event, now, don’t you?”

  She blinked, but recovered her composure as she drew the cloak closed around her, somehow signifying her disapproval and, however reluctantly, her disappointment. “Ready or not, Matt, rehearsal is over. It’s time to face the music.”

  Chapter Six

  “Your brother looks happy.” Ivan slipped his arm around Ainsley and drew her lovingly against his side.

  “Mmm.” She nestled into him, while observing Matt with a meditative eye. “Which one?”

  “Matt, obviously,” Ivan said. “Since Andrew doesn’t look happy at all.”

  She couldn’t quite suppress her giggle. “He looks perfectly miserable, doesn’t he? I imagine Rachel is telling him, at length, about her trip to Africa. She loves to talk about it, and he can’t get away because of his broken ankle.” Ainsley gave a deep and highly dramatic sigh. “You know it’s difficult even for a matchmaker to predict just how an introduction of possibilities will go.”

  Ivan kissed the top of her head. “Then why do I get the feeling you’re not at all unhappy about how this particular one is turning out?”

  “Maybe because it’s turning out exactly as I hoped it would. With someone as wily as my twin, a matchmaker has to be very careful not to tip her hand.”

  “Ah-ha,” Ivan said knowingly. “So your strategy is to mislead your prey…er, I mean, client, not to mention get someone to bore him to tears, and all the while you’re planning to sneak up and shove him off a cliff in the opposite direction.”

  She looked up at him, adoring this man who was her husband and best friend. “You’re getting good at this, Doctor,” she said. “You wouldn’t be angling for an apprentice position at IF Enterprises, would you?”

  “Oh, no,” he declared firmly. “I have my hands full with the pediatric center.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing. You’d probably be better than I am and I wouldn’t like that at all.”

  “No one could be better than you, Ainsley.”

  She loved him for that…because he believed it…and for a million other reasons. “I want my brothers to be as happy in love as we are, Ivan, as happy as Miranda and Nate are going to be.”

  “It certainly appears you’ve been successful with Matt. Look at the way he’s holding Peyton…as if she were made of spun glass.”

  Ainsley thought it looked more as if he were holding something he was terrified of breaking. Which was not the same thing at all. Not to her matchmaker’s eye. Peyton was the right woman for her brother. Ainsley had no doubts about that, but their sudden elopement after all these months of pretending they couldn’t be in the same room without an argument…Well, something didn’t seem quite right about that. She just didn’t know what it was.

  The music changed and Peyton and Matt separated. She danced off with Nate, he with Miranda. Ainsley considered the nagging feeling that this perfect match didn’t quite live up to its romantic hype. Even if Matt did look happier than he had in a long time.

  “Would you care to dance, Mrs. Donovan?” Ivan bent his head to whisper seductively into her ear.

  And her knees went weak with longing—a regular occurrence in her marriage. She went up on tiptoe to kiss him full on the lips.

  “I should ask you to dance more often,” he said when the kiss ended.

  She smiled, so in love she sometimes couldn’t see straight. “I would love to dance with you,” she said. “But you’ll have to hold that thought for a few minutes. There’s something I need to do first. I think Andrew has suffered enough and is overdue for a rescue. Plus, if I read the signs correctly—an
d I’m sure I do—Rachel’s true match is getting miffed. Just as I planned.”

  “Who is he?” he asked, turning around to see if he could spot Rachel’s true match by his disgruntled expression. But no young man anywhere close by seemed to fit the description. “Anyone I know?”

  She smiled and patted his cheek. “I have to keep some secrets, even from you, Ivan. Can’t risk information getting out accidentally before its time. Save that dance for me. I’ll be back in a flash. Or two. Three at the most.” With a grin that crinkled her nose and brought out her dimples, she sighed dramatically. “A matchmaker’s work is never done, you know.”

  Then she whisked off, to bring the new-and-improved Hayley Sayers out of hiding.

  Unless she missed her guess—and she was ninety-nine point nine percent certain that she hadn’t—Andrew would never know Cupid had a dead aim on his heart.

  “SO, HOW LONG have you been dating my sister?”

  Scarlett O’Reilly wore a dress that was too mature for her and that merely emphasized the innocence she so unknowingly projected. Her hair was long and dark like Peyton’s, but her eyes were a vivid, vibrant green and—in Matt’s opinion—already somewhat jaded. She was a pretty young woman, trying too hard to appear more grown-up than she actually was. Peyton was right to be concerned about her. “Several months,” he answered her question. “Since she began volunteering at the Foundation office.”

  Scarlett eyed him suspiciously. “Why’d you keep it such a secret? Were you ashamed to be seen with her?”

  “Of course not.” Where had this child—she was, after all, only fifteen—picked up such a defensive attitude? “We’re private people.” He repeated the explanation he’d been offering, in one form or another, all evening. “We’d found something very special…and we simply didn’t want to share it.”

  Obviously unconvinced, Scarlett sipped a drink that Matt strongly suspected held more alcohol than his own. “Well, I think the whole deal sounds a little too much like a fairy tale.”

  “There are such things as happy endings, Scarlett.”

  “There’s also such a thing as a good beginning, and eloping is a shady way to do anything so important. Mom is plenty mad about it, too. She’s been planning mine and Peyton’s weddings for years.”

  He’d successfully avoided his maddening mother-in-law so far tonight, and he wasn’t about to get into a discussion about her with her teenage daughter. “Getting married is very personal, Scarlett. Your sister and I did it the way we wanted, which is our prerogative.”

  Scarlett’s green-eyed glare nailed him in place. “You’d better make her happy, Matt. Or it’ll be my prerogative to make sure you regret it.”

  Her threat was so surprising, he almost laughed, but there was a steely determination in her tone, and his evolving opinion of her shifted slightly. He admired her spunk in challenging him, and he respected her because she cared about her sister’s happiness. Matt decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I believe you might try,” he said with his best hey-we’re-on-the-same-team-here smile.

  “I’m a lot tougher than Peyton, you know.”

  “I happen to think she’s plenty tough. She can argue me to a standstill—and that’s not easy.”

  “Arguing is her way of keeping anyone from suspecting she’s not as tough as she pretends to be. I mean it, Matt. Be careful with her.”

  Not so much a threat now as a warning. Surprising, too, in its focus and maturity. But unnecessary, as he felt he was being extremely careful with Peyton. Witness the number of times he’d rescued her just this evening from too-curious guests who were pressing for the details of their romance. He’d taken over the lies, lessened the strain on her and soothed a good deal of rampant inquisitiveness at the same time. He’d played his role convincingly and with a confident smile…the same way he’d played every other role in his life. Inside, he might be a bundle of twitching nerves, but on the outside, he was exactly the happy bridegroom he appeared to be.

  And if the script demanded that he charm Scarlett into believing his and Peyton’s was a fairy-tale romance, then that’s exactly what he would do. Setting his glass aside, he reached for hers. “I’m always very careful, Scarlett. And now that we understand each other, would you like to dance with your new brother-in-law?”

  She debated momentarily, looking doubtfully from her glass to him, but finally she allowed him to take it from her.

  Round one to him, he thought as he set the glass aside and led her onto the dance floor.

  PEYTON WATCHED Matt dancing with Scarlett and thought how handsome he was. It almost hurt her heart to look at him. He had a great smile, warm and appealing, and he was clearly charming the socks off her little sister, which was no small accomplishment in itself. He whirled Scarlett around the floor, making her laugh, and proving that he was a wonderful dancer, too. Something Peyton had never felt particularly competent at. But then, Matt had been born to dance in gilded ballrooms in a tuxedo made exclusively for him, while she still felt like an impostor, all dressed up in her mother’s clothes like a child trying to catch a glimpse of herself as a grown-up.

  “Congratulations, Peyton,” Connie said, walking up beside her. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Had what?”

  “The wiles to get the most eligible bachelor in Newport to marry you.”

  Peyton pressed her lips together in a tight frown and reminded herself that in Connie’s view, denial usually equated to guilt. “You’re supposed to congratulate the groom, Mother,” she replied calmly but with effort. “Not the bride. And I’m still very angry with you about this afternoon. Matt didn’t like your being there, either.”

  Connie smiled. “He’ll get over it, darling, and so will you. I’m giving you a very generous wedding present and I’m not about to apologize for it. Especially not now that I’ve seen the inside of that house. Frankly, Danfair is a mess.”

  “I like it just the way it is. And, more important, so does Matt. It’s his home and I’m not going to start out our marriage by changing things.”

  “Of course you are, sweetie. That’s what wives do. We change things. We make them better. Trust me. Husbands appreciate their wives taking the responsibility of creating an attractive environment for them to come home to.”

  “No, Mother. Thank you for the thought, but I don’t want the house redecorated as a wedding gift.”

  “You’ll change your mind when all that clutter begins to drive you insane,” Connie said with certainty. “But perhaps it was a bit precipitate for me to have been there when you arrived.”

  “Being there, with those…people…when we returned from our honeymoon was just plain pushy.”

  “It was simply expedient, darling. Those people are very busy, very much in demand. They charge a fortune, you know, because they’re the best and they made a special effort for me by going to Danfair this afternoon. You should be grateful.”

  The story of her life. “Don’t do anything like that again, Mother. I don’t appreciate it and I guarantee you that Matt didn’t like it one little bit.”

  Connie sipped her drink, unperturbed. “He didn’t act as if it bothered him at all.”

  “He was being polite. For my sake. We did just get married, you know.”

  “Yes, you did, didn’t you?” Connie smiled—her favorite cat-who-caught-the-canary smile. “And I’m excessively proud of you for it, too, although I must say that this elopement came as something of a shock to me. Getting Matt’s thoughtful note was a surprise, to say the least. I will confess I hoped you’d take a little bit of initiative once we settled in Newport and you became acquainted with a few suitable men, but I never in my wildest dreams suspected you had it in you to land such a big fish.”

  Peyton closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried wishing away the unsettled churning in her stomach. “He isn’t a fish, and I didn’t land him. He’s a wonderful man and I married him.”

  “Which I find ironic, considering how
many times in the past year you’ve told me you planned to marry the poorest redneck you could find simply to aggravate me. I never actually believed you meant it, of course, although I’ll confess I didn’t believe you’d ever, in a million years, choose a man I couldn’t find a single fault with.”

  “Keep looking, Mother. I’m sure you’ll find one.”

  “Are you kidding?” Connie said with a laugh. “Honey, the Danville name is on every who’s who list in America, every social register in New England, and the whole family are members of a very elite class who can trace their ancestry clear back to the first colonists. Their fortune is staggering. Matthew inherits Danfair and heads up a highly revered foundation worth billions of dollars. I get goose bumps thinking that my grandson will be the first in his generation and the first in line to inherit all that.”

  Peyton’s stomach made a painful flop. “You’re being pushy again, Mother.”

  Turning, Connie lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, please, Peyton. I’m not completely unaware of what goes on in your life. For the past couple of months, you’ve been pale and quiet, your appetite has been either nonexistent or completely out of control. I know you’ve been sick. I can see the change in your body already. You’re pregnant. Pretend all you want with everyone else, but I’m your mother and I know why Matthew Danville married you.”

  And despite herself, Peyton felt a sense of relief. Keeping the secret had made her edgy and nervous, sharing it with Matt had merely amplified her sense of panic. She’d wished she could talk to her mother so many times since she’d suspected and then confirmed the pregnancy, even though she’d realized that Connie would be no help at all.

  Connie had hated being pregnant with Scarlett. Peyton well remembered all the complaints during those months, how her mother had resented the time she’d had to be away from the restaurant, how she’d blamed Rick for the accidental pregnancy, how he’d laughed at her charge, refusing to believe she wasn’t as delighted as he. Before that time, Peyton hadn’t even suspected she’d been an accident, too. But Connie had made it clear she’d never intended to have children, never would have had even one child if she’d thought Rick would marry her otherwise. But she’d had two daughters, and discovered—much to her own surprise—that instead of interfering with her ambition, they could be her winning lottery tickets for the status and acceptance she’d always craved.