Bride Required

by Alison Fraser

  ‘Okay,’ she agreed.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Come on then.’

  Dee wasn’t scared of him any longer. There was something so calm and rational about this man, it was hard to imagine him as a threat. But she was still lying beneath him, conscious of the weight of his body on hers.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ he drawled.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Your promise.’

  God, he wanted her to dot the ‘i’s and cross the ‘t’s.

  ‘I promise not to attack you,’ Dee ground out through clenched teeth.

  Baxter caught her eyes, a stormy blue spitting fury. He released her arms slowly and half expected another blow. But perhaps she wasn’t quite that foolish. She remained still as death beneath him, and he levered himself away. He brushed earth and undergrowth from his clothes before offering her a hand.

  Dee ignored it. She knew she’d damaged her knee and wasn’t sure if she could stand.

  She shot at him instead, ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’

  ‘Looking for you,’ he responded evenly. ‘I assume you’ve backed out on our deal?’

  Dee could have contradicted him, but right at that moment she couldn’t see herself tolerating five minutes of his company, far less a year.

  ‘How did you know where I was?’

  ‘Your friend from the café gave me the general location.’

  ‘Rick’s no one’s friend. How much did you give him in return?’

  ‘Twenty pounds.’

  ‘You were robbed,’ she scoffed. ‘Rick would sell his own mother for a fiver.’

  He shook his head at her cynicism. ‘You underrate his loyalty. It took me a while to convince him I meant you no harm.’

  ‘I know—you told him of our engagement!’ Dee concluded archly.

  ‘Not quite.’ His brief smile acknowledged the absurdity of such a relationship. ‘I said you were my runaway niece.’

  ‘How original—the niece story again,’ she scorned. ‘I hope you didn’t tell him my real name was Morag!’

  ‘I had to. I don’t know your real name.’ He lifted a questioning brow.

  ‘Deborah DeCourcy,’ she told him.

  He laughed in disbelief. ‘Okay, don’t tell me, but I’d aim for something more credible next time.’

  ‘That is my name,’ she insisted. ‘And you should talk, Mr Baxter Macfarlane Ross.’

  ‘I suppose it is a mouthful… All right, Deborah,’ he tried out her new name.

  She snapped, ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘I thought it was your name,’ he countered.

  ‘It is. I just don’t like it.’ Deborah belonged to the girl Dee used to be. She was someone else now. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Why did you come looking for me?’

  ‘To give you these.’ He went into his jacket for his wallet and took out the other halves of the notes from yesterday. ‘I thought you might need it.’

  Dee took them and muttered a grudging, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I wanted to check you were all right, too,’ he added.

  ‘Never better.’ Dee grimaced as she struggled to her feet, and started limping back towards the flats.

  ‘I can see that.’ He caught her elbow and would have given her support, but she shrugged off his hand.

  She made it as far as an abandoned oil drum, then perched on it for a rest.

  He nodded towards her leg. ‘Want me to take a look at that?’

  ‘Why? What can you do?’ Dee didn’t want his concern.

  ‘I’m a doctor, remember?’

  Actually she hadn’t. She still thought of him as male model material. Too handsome for words.

  ‘So you say.’ Dee had her doubts and didn’t want him treating her anyway. ‘You just don’t happen to be my doctor.’

  ‘No problem. I’ve got a mobile on me. Do you think your doctor will come on a house call?’ He glanced round him at the derelict flats and urban wasteland.

  ‘Very funny.’ Dee understood the point. She didn’t have a GP anyway.

  ‘If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you,’ he offered matter-of-factly.

  ‘I’d rather die,’ Dee muttered, not quite under her breath.

  ‘Fair enough.’ He began to walk away.

  Dee watched in disbelief. ‘You’re not going to leave me here, are you?’

  He turned, hands in pockets, and gave her a mocking look. ‘What happened to “I’d rather die”!’

  Dee could have thrown something at him, only she had nothing at hand. She made it to her feet instead, and hobbled a step or two.

  He grunted his impatience before he came striding back and literally swept Dee off her feet. It was so unexpected, her heart missed a beat. Then missed another as she was compelled to lock her arms round his neck. Her hands brushed against the warmth of his skin while he moved with an easy strength. Unfamiliar feelings stirred inside her, and she tried to detach herself from this acute physical awareness of him.

  ‘Stop squirming,’ he instructed briskly as he picked his way past the debris of dumped rubbish and made for the road rather than her maisonette.

  ‘Where are we going?’ demanded Dee, alerted by the change of direction.

  ‘There’s a derelict bus shelter,’ he informed her. ‘You can sit there while I fetch the car.’

  Car? What car? He’d said his car was in Scotland.

  Could it all be a lie? His being a doctor, needing a wife, being willing to pay ten thousand pounds? The more Dee thought about it, the crazier it seemed.

  He could be a liar, a thief, a madman, but the curious thing was, she still wasn’t scared of him. In fact, as he dumped her in the graffitied bus shelter and wordlessly walked away, she was more scared that he wouldn’t return.

  By the time a car appeared and caught her in its headlights, she was very jumpy.

  She was relieved when Baxter Ross emerged from behind the driver’s wheel. He might be a stranger but there was something reassuringly normal about him.

  He put an arm to her waist and helped her limp to the car. She leaned on the bonnet and observed a car-hire sticker on the windscreen. So maybe he wasn’t a liar.

  He opened the passenger door, saying, ‘I’ll drive you to the nearest Casualty to check the damage.’

  Dee already knew what was wrong; she had damaged the tendon again. ‘I’ll go tomorrow.’

  He made a noise, impatient rather than sympathetic. ‘Don’t be silly. You won’t get there under your own steam.’

  ‘I have to go back to the maisonette,’ she insisted.

  He followed her worried glance to the block of flats. ‘If it’s a boyfriend, then he can’t be up to much,’ he dismissed. ‘Not if he lets you go on midnight rambles in this neighbourhood.’

  ‘It’s a dog!’ she retorted abruptly. ‘You’ve met him, remember?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Henry.’ He surprised her by recalling her dog’s name.

  ‘I can’t leave him,’ she explained in more even tones. ‘He’ll be frightened on his own.’

  ‘Get in.’ He nodded towards the passenger seat. ‘I’ll go fetch the mutt.’

  He was so offhand, it was impossible to imagine him as a threat. He started to walk away.

  She called after him, ‘Be careful. Henry might be a bit nervy.’

  ‘Nervy—right.’ He cast her a look over his shoulder. ‘As in likely to bite first and ask questions later?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Dee admitted.

  ‘Well, thanks for the warning, at least.’ He carried on walking.

  Dee watched him go, a tall, lean figure with a fluid stride. Nothing seemed to throw him.

  It was Dee who felt reaction set in, shivering in the cool night air at her lack of jacket, and she climbed into the passenger seat to wait for him.

  She soon heard barking, and rolled down the window a fraction. She worried about the dog initially, but as the barking became louder and fiercer her concern switched to Baxter Ross. She might not like him mu
ch, but he was trying to help her when he could easily have walked away.

  The barking continued, interspersed with the sound of wood being smashed, then there was silence. Dee sat in the car, holding her breath interminably, before they suddenly appeared.

  The dog padded alongside the man. It seemed that Henry had decided Baxter Ross was more friend than foe. He wagged his tail, glad to see Dee but not unduly worried.

  Dee watched in the mirror as Baxter Ross removed the parcel shelf at the back of the car and folded down the rear seats to create a large boot, pushing his own luggage nearer the front. He helped a stiff Henry into it and also stowed away her flute case and rucksack. Why had he brought those?

  ‘Do you still want me to go to Scotland with you?’ Dee asked as he climbed behind the wheel.

  He turned and studied her face long enough to read the mutinous look on it. ‘No, I think we’ll abandon plan A. Some things are more trouble than they’re worth.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Dee knew he meant she was more trouble than she was worth. ‘So why are you bothering to help me?’

  ‘I could say out of common decency, but I don’t think you’d relate to that,’ he responded, before starting the car and pulling away from the kerb. ‘Let’s say instead that I don’t fancy being chief suspect if some psychopath happens to come along later and decides a limping girl is easy game.’

  Dee’s mouth tightened. ‘Very funny. You’re just trying to scare me.’

  ‘No just about it,’ he drawled back. ‘I only hope I’m succeeding.’

  He was, but then he hadn’t really needed to try. Dee had enough imagination herself.

  For his part, Baxter Ross wondered what he was going to do with her. If he had any sense, he would take her to a hospital then go.

  He tried ignoring her. It was impossible. Her teeth were chattering too loudly.

  ‘Have you no jacket?’ he asked.

  ‘It got caught on a nail,’ she replied defensively. ‘You must have seen it.’

  He shook his head, then qualified, ‘Your dog was tearing and worrying at something when I arrived. I thought it was an old rag.’

  ‘Great,’ Dee muttered, now jacketless, and wondered if the day could get any worse.

  She was holding that thought when he suddenly pulled into the entrance of a deserted factory, and she tensed, hand automatically reaching for the door.

  ‘Sit tight.’ He shrugged out of his own jacket, a cracked, brown leather affair that had seen years of service. ‘Put it on.’ He dumped it in her lap.

  Dee wanted to dump it back, but then realised how childish that action would seem.

  She tried to stop her teeth chattering, knowing it was nerves as much as cold, but when she couldn’t she put the jacket on rather than seem more absurd. It was heavy and worn and smelt of him.

  ‘Right,’ he said before restarting the car, ‘any idea which is the nearest Casualty?’

  Dee looked out of the window. They were not far from Newhouse underground. She remembered seeing signs for a St Thomas’s.

  Baxter used his mobile phone to call up the hospital and was warned the casualty department was operative but overstretched, and currently handling only emergencies.

  He relayed all this to Dee, at the same time checking his watch.

  Dee read the time on the car clock. It was well after eleven. She realised she was becoming a major inconvenience to him.

  ‘Look, my knee has stopped hurting,’ she lied, ‘and I don’t fancy sitting around Casualty for hours on end. So why don’t we just call it a night and you drive me back to my squat?’

  ‘Not really an option.’ He offered her a look that just might have been apologetic. ‘I had to take down all the boarding at the window before I could get your dog to jump out.’

  ‘Great.’ A gaping window gave her no security at all. ‘Where am I meant to go now?’

  ‘We’ll worry about that in the morning,’ he dismissed. ‘At present a hotel would be the best bet.’

  ‘You think I’m going to a hotel with you?’ Dee made a scathing sound. ‘Stroll on, mate.’

  ‘You think I want to go to bed with you?’ he countered bluntly. ‘Don’t flatter yourself… Separate rooms, on separate floors if you like. I won’t be doing any night wandering.’

  His tone told her she was as far from his taste as she could get. Dee had forgotten. She felt her face redden.

  ‘I can’t afford a hotel.’ She stated the obvious.

  ‘Just as well I can, then,’ he replied, with a mocking undercurrent, and started the engine again. ‘Any preference?’

  Dee didn’t know the name of any local hotel. ‘How about the Continental?’ she replied.

  It wasn’t a serious suggestion. She didn’t imagine for one moment he was going to take her to a posh place in central London.

  But he smiled briefly before calling her bluff. ‘Yes, why not? If they have any rooms left… You’ll find the number on their bill in my wallet.’

  Dee pulled a face and cast a glance down at her torn jeans and soiled T-shirt. ‘I don’t think I’m quite dressed for the Mayfair Continental, do you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I doubt they have a dress code… The wallet’s in the inside pocket.’ He waited for Dee to draw it out. ‘You make the call if you like, ensure I don’t request adjoining rooms.’

  Lazy blue eyes mocked any fears she might yet have. But, no, Dee had already received the message, loud and clear. Even if she were the last woman on earth, he would pass. Was it just her youth? Or did he find her basically unattractive? It might be reassuring but it was hardly flattering.

  Scowling, she took the mobile from his hand and dug out his wallet from inside his jacket. It wasn’t the most organised of affairs. She pulled out a clump of receipts and found the hotel bill among credit card slips. She did a double take at the amount. ‘How many weeks were you staying at this joint?’

  ‘Three days,’ he informed her. ‘It is fairly central.’

  And hugely expensive. Dee rolled her eyes with disapproval, before saying, ‘Are you rich or something?’

  ‘Or something,’ he replied dryly. ‘After two years in the African bush, I like to treat myself to life’s little luxuries.’

  Put like that, it didn’t sound unreasonable. Dee, however, didn’t want him spending his money on her.

  ‘Look, I was just joking about the Continental,’ she ran on. ‘Anywhere will do me. A bed and breakfast. As long as there’s somewhere for Henry.’

  ‘Trying to save my money for me?’ he asked with a half-smile.

  ‘Well, I don’t imagine you earn a huge amount, working for a charity,’ she commented bluntly.

  ‘True,’ he agreed, ‘but I can still run to another night at the Continental, and we’re already going in that direction so you might as well dial them.’

  Dee did as requested, but when a snooty voice said, ‘Continental,’ she handed the mobile over to him.

  Briefly Baxter Ross explained that he had checked out that morning but found he needed to stay in London for another night. He requested two singles, then two doubles, but from the conversation that ensued they clearly didn’t have either.

  ‘Yes, okay, that’ll do.’ He agreed to some alternative after they’d confirmed that a dog could be accommodated and rang off.

  Dee waited for him to explain the arrangements. When he didn’t, her doubts resurfaced.

  What was she doing, letting a total stranger take her to a hotel for the night? After all, what was in it for him?

  He’d made it clear he no longer wanted her to pose as a blushing bride. He’d also made it clear he disapproved of her and her lifestyle—if you could call living in a squat a lifestyle. So what did he have to gain, forking out for a hotel room?

  Nothing. Unless, of course, it was the obvious thing and he did want to sleep with her?

  She studied his profile as he drove through the lit-up streets of the capital. He really was remarkably good-looking, mature and tanned and fit. Mo
st women would find him attractive.

  That he’d left her thinking he was gay when they first met suggested a total confidence in his real sexuality. Perhaps he was used to effortless success with women. Perhaps he took it for granted that he could seduce her if he chose.

  She was still debating the matter when they arrived at the hotel.

  ‘All they have left is a suite,’ Baxter Ross finally got round to explaining. ‘But don’t start panicking. I’m not proposing we share it. I’ll help you register, pay your bill in advance, then go find another hotel for myself. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Dee echoed, but in a tone that said she was waiting for the catch.

  There was none. He did exactly what he’d said—left his own luggage in the car with Henry, shouldered her rucksack and carried her flute case in one hand, helped her up the steps with the other—no doorman barred her way this time—then hung around long enough to settle the bill.

  If the desk manager had any curiosity about Dee, he kept it well hidden. He was scrupulously polite, issuing an instruction to a porter to take what little luggage she had up to her suite.

  His expression didn’t change when Baxter said, ‘I wonder if you could possibly ring round some hotels and find a bed for me, too?’

  ‘Certainly, sir, although it may be difficult, being the summer season,’ the manager warned.

  ‘Well, do your best,’ Baxter requested with an unworried smile.

  It was Dee who was frowning. What if he couldn’t get anywhere?

  ‘I’ll escort you to the lift.’ Baxter handed Dee her plastic security key and walked through the lobby with her. ‘Your gear should already be up in your room. I’ll fetch Henry. They have an indoor kennel behind the kitchens… Will you be all right?’ His glance shifted to her leg.

  Dee nodded. The knee was hurting like hell, but for her own reasons she didn’t want him looking at it. She felt stiflingly hot in the hotel, and remembered she was still wearing his jacket.

  ‘Here.’ She started to take it off.

  ‘Have you another one?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then keep it.’

  Dee didn’t argue. She needed some sort of jacket if she was going to survive the streets.