His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Marcia Evanick

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “I never bat my lashes and cry on command, Mason.

  “If I want something, I use the direct approach, not deception. It’s just one of those little things you’ll learn about me over time.”

  Mason stepped closer and backed Gillian against the wooden door. The warmth from his body scalded her entire length. The silk robe felt like liquid fire pouring over her flesh.

  He reached out a hand and tenderly stroked the exposed skin of her throat.

  “There’s something you’ll learn about me, too, wife-to-be.” The backs of his fingers slid down the lapels of her robe. “If this wedding takes place, I’ll be claiming my husbandly rights.”

  Gillian secretly smiled. Two could play at this game. “I have a feeling it will be my pleasure.”

  Dear Reader,

  We’ve got some great reading for you this month, but I’ll bet you already knew that. Suzanne Carey is back with Whose Baby? The title already tells you that a custody battle is at the heart of this story, but it’s Suzanne’s name that guarantees all the emotional intensity you want to find between the covers.

  Maggie Shayne’s The Littlest Cowboy launches a new miniseries this month, THE TEXAS BRAND. These rough, tough, ranchin’ Texans will win your heart, just as Sheriff Garrett Brand wins the hearts of lovely Chelsea Brennan and her tiny nephew. If you like mysterious and somewhat spooky goings-on, you’ll love Marcia Evanick’s His Chosen Bride, a marriage-of-convenience story with a paranormal twist Clara Wimberly’s hero in You Must Remember This is a mysterious stranger—mysterious even to himself, because his memory is gone and he has no idea who he is or what has brought him to Sarah James’s door. One thing’s for certain, though: it’s love that keeps him there. In Undercover Husband, Leann Harris creates a heroine who thinks she’s a widow, then finds out she might not be when a handsome—and somehow familiar—stranger walks through her door. Finally, I know you’ll love Prince Joe, the hero of Suzanne Brockmann’s new book, part of her TALL, DARK AND DANGEROUS miniseries. This is a royal impostor story, with a rough-around-the-edges hero who suddenly has to wear the crown. Don’t miss a single one of these exciting books, and come back next month for more of the best romance around—only in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

  Yours,

  Leslie Wainger

  Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  His Chosen Bride

  Marcia Evanick

  Books by Marcia Evanick

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  By the Light of the Moon #676

  His Chosen Bride #717

  MARCIA EVANICK

  is an award-winning author of numerous romance novels. She lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband and five children. Her hobbies include attending all of her children’s sporting events, reading and avoiding housework. Knowing her aversion to the kitchen, she married a man who can cook as well as seemingly enjoy anything she sets before him at the dinner table.

  Her writing takes second place in her life, directly behind her family. She believes in happy endings, children’s laughter, the magic of Christmas and romance. Marcia believes that every book is another adventure waiting to be written and read. As long as the adventures beckon, Marcia will have no choice but to follow where they lead. She hopes that you will join her for the journey.

  For Kasey Michaels, one of the finest ladies

  in the business. May the words come and

  the rewards be bountiful

  Chapter 1

  Gillian Barnett stood at the side of the room and watched as the party swirled, glided and mingled around her. How the society loved to throw parties. How she hated to attend them. The mandatory age of attendance was twenty. Gillian had been attending parties for over four years, and they hadn’t gotten easier.

  Her gaze roamed the room until it landed on the reason for her anxiety, the man she had pledged to marry within the next couple of months, Mason Blacksword. No one could accuse him of being a doting bridegroom. Since she had entered the room an hour ago he hadn’t done more than raise an eyebrow at the amount of cleavage she was showing and nod his head in a greeting.

  All. the work she had gone through to stuff herself into the glittering spandex contraption that the saleslady had assured her would heat a man’s blood was for naught. She wondered if she should demand a full refund. Mason didn’t drool, stammer or break out in a sweat. He barely acknowledged her existence.

  Strike up a loveless match by the Council. Although they were few and far between, for some reason their matches usually seemed to work out wonderfully, but not this one. Mason acted as if he would rather donate a major organ than even strike up a normal conversation with her. Well, the major organ she wanted was his heart and she was prepared to fight for it.

  This ice blue sequin number squeezing the air out of her lungs had been her first offense. She might have lost this battle, but she was determined to win the war.

  She had met Mason when she was twelve and scared to death, not only to be standing before the Council for the first time in her life, but because she was meeting the man she would marry one day. Mason had been sixteen and more a boy than the man he was today. At first she had cursed and cried against the powers of her birth. But she matured, and with age came wisdom. She learned to appreciate and accept the fact that she was a witch. Her mother was a witch, her grandmother, and even her baby sister, Raine, was a witch. Her father was a warlock, as were her twin brothers, Cullen and Kent. It stood to reason her husband would be a warlock, too. She was just having a hard time adjusting to the fact that her husband had been picked by the Council because of his sperm count, and not by her heart.

  Ever since the witch-hunts in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692, a strange and frightening thing had been occurring to the witches and warlocks around the world. They were becoming sterile. On her twelfth birthday she had been taken to a doctor and pronounced fertile. She understood the reasoning behind the Council’s decision that she must marry a fertile warlock, in the hopes of producing strong, fertile offspring. But she wished they had gone about it in a different way. A nice list containing all the names and addresses of fertile warlocks within a three-state radius would have been nice. Maybe the Council would consider starting a video dating center for all fertile members of the society.

  She was positive she could have picked someone suitable to be her husband. A nice, safe man who loved children and had a sense of humor wouldn’t have been that hard to find. But no… The Council had to hook her up with Mason Blacksword, the complete opposite of everything she would have looked for in a mate. Mason was a control freak and she had never seen him smile, let alone actually laugh. To top it all off, considering his lack of response to the cut of her dress, she could now add cold-blooded to his list of appalling qualities.

  It had taken her fifteen minutes to secure the top of her dress without having her breasts falling out every time she to
ok a deep breath and exhaled. She was now positive the only thing keeping the bodice up was the fact that it was cold in the room.

  For years she had allowed Mason to set the pace and faded into the background, but not any longer. She wasn’t that skinny little twelve-year-old who was all arms, legs and tears, standing before the Council and being ignored by her chosen mate. She was a woman, all grown up. Her arms and legs were in proportion to the rest of her five-foot-seven-inch body. Plus she had put on quite a few pounds, all in the right areas. An orthodontist had done wonders with her overbite, and the short cap of blond, stringy hair had grown halfway down her back, and with the help of miracle shampoos it was thick and silky. Men always complimented her on her hair or the unique color of her eyes. She thought the color of her eyes was lifeless and dull. Whoever heard of pale blue eyes being romantic or fiery? A person couldn’t drown in light blue pools. They had no spark, no soul. Every time she looked into a mirror they reminded her of pale, cold ice. How was Mason supposed to gaze deeply into them and fall madly and passionately in love with her?

  Other men had gazed into them and professed love while meaning lust. A lot of men. At the age of seventeen she had naively waited for Mason to ask her to her junior prom. The thought of going out with anyone besides Mason was appalling to her romantic seventeenyear-old mind. She had waited in vain. By the time she was eighteen she had her choice of boys for her senior prom and had a wonderful time. Over the years she dated frequently, but never allowed herself to become too involved with any one man. If Mason objected to his future bride dating other men, he never voiced it.

  Gillian thought of her dating as a learning experience. Since her future husband refused to court her, she needed to learn some of the ropes for when she made her move on Mason.

  In two months she would be turning twenty-five, and the wedding was set for the week after her birthday. The one thing she wanted most from the marriage was happiness. She wanted to be as happy as her mother and father were in their marriage. She wanted a house full of laughing children. But most of all she wanted to love and to be loved in return. If Mason was truly the man who was destined to walk beside her for the rest of her days, she had a lot of work to do. It was time to begin the courtship.

  Gillian fortified herself with another sip of ginger ale and placed her empty glass on the tray the waiter was carrying. She glanced down to make sure she was still decently covered and headed to where Mason was holding court with three elderly members of the Council. She would rather confront Mason without the Council present, but he had probably guessed that and was using them as a shield. The Council members, especially the elders, struck awe and fear into most members. But not Mason; he wasn’t like most members. So why did she keep on thinking he would respond like most men? The least he could do was be curious as to what kind of wife he would be acquiring in two months. She was damned curious about her future husband.

  He wasn’t getting away with ignoring her from now on. The Council had gone through a lot of trouble to secure Senator Targett’s formal gardens for the wedding ceremony. Of course, it hadn’t hurt that the senator was one of the head elders and loved using his gardens for “arranged marriages.” Her mother had dragged her to over a half-dozen bridal shops before they agreed upon a dress. The Council was handling the reception and her best friend, Tabitha, was supplying all the flowers from her shop. All she bad to do was show up wearing the simple white gown and repeat her vows. Her sister, Raine, was more excited at the prospect of being in the wedding than she was. At sixteen, Raine was still looking at the world through rose-colored glasses, seeing Mason as the dashing silent hero.

  Raine was one of the lucky ones—or unlucky ones, depending on your point of view. It was determined four years ago that Raine was sterile. She now had the opportunity to marry the man she loved, instead of getting married and then worrying about falling in love with her mate. She was half-envious of Raine, but her other half felt sorry for her baby sister. Raine would never be a mother, at least not naturally. Gillian was offered the chance to conceive a child, have it grow within her womb and give it life. She wanted that child, and many more. If she had to marry and bed Mason Blacksword to achieve her wish, so be it.

  Gillian skirted around another waiter and avoided her mother, who appeared to be trying to get her attention. She didn’t want to discuss another detail about the wedding. Every time her mother tried to talk to her lately, it was about the wedding. What kind of centerpieces did she want? Had she gone for the second fitting of the gown? Did she make a hair appointment for the morning of the wedding? Did Raine talk to her about the floppy hats Tabitha, she and her niece, Celeste, the flower girl, were supposed to wear? Raine hated the hats. The questions were endless and she was sick to death of talking about the wedding. She’d rather be spending her time talking about the groom.

  She came up on the far side of the room and studied the man in question. Mason appeared to be in some debate with the elders. By the look of apprehension darkening the elders’ faces, she guessed Mason was winning the argument.

  She inspected her future husband. He was just a little bit over six feet, on the lean side, without being too thin and bony. His shoulders were broad and he filled the black suit he was wearing to perfection. His clothes, as always, were black as midnight and matched his conservatively cut hair. The brilliant white of his shirt set off his tanned complexion, and the gray design in his tie suited the lack of color. His preference for black would be considered grim, if not morbid, but for one fact. Mason Blacksword looked devastatingly handsome in black.

  On silent feet she snuck around behind Mason and closed the distance between them. She didn’t want to give him a chance to beat a hasty retreat. If he thought the elders could protect him, he had better think again. Two could play this game, and it appeared to be her turn.

  Dr. Robert Lang, a noted psychologist at a famous institution on the outskirts of Philadelphia, gave her a friendly smile as she joined their group. “Gillian, so nice of you to join us.”

  Gillian stepped right next to Mason and tenderly laid her hand onto his arm, as if she had done it a hundred times before. She ignored the tightening of his muscles and smiled sweetly at the three elders. “Nice to see you again, Dr. Lang.” She nodded at the other two men. “Dr. Lyons. Mr. Clement.”

  “Gillian,” acknowledged Mr. Clement.

  “So how’s our bride-to-be? Getting nervous?” asked Dr. Lyons.

  “I’m fine, Dr. Lyons.” She forced her smile not to slip. “Why should I be nervous when I’m about to marry the catch of the society?” She turned her smile up a notch and faced Mason for the first time. “Right, darling?”

  Her fingers, clutching his arm, trembled slightly as the muscle beneath the expensive material of his jacket turned to stone. She had a feeling she had just stepped on dangerous ground, but it was too late to turn back. How was she ever going to make something of their marriage if she ran every time Mason glared?

  “Right—” Mason glanced at the low cut of her dress and growled the word “—darling.”

  To her ears it didn’t sound like an endearment. More like a threat. But it had fooled the elders. All three glanced at each other and grinned.

  “So, Gillian, how are the wedding plans proceeding? We can’t get a thing out of Mason.”

  Gillian batted her eyes up at Mason, not to be coy but because she feared if she met his gaze she would be turned to stone. She turned to Dr. Lang, who had asked the question. “Mamma always said if I caught the strong, silent type, I should appreciate him.” She gave Mason’s arm a playful squeeze that didn’t dent his arm. “No one could possibly know how much I appreciate him.” Laughing softly with the elders, she glanced beneath her lashes at Mason. He wasn’t laughing. In fact, his face had turned more emotionless. “I’ve been so busy with all the plans, I barely have time to get my work done. Just today I had to run into Bloomingdale’s in center city Philadelphia to register our china pattern.”

  “
Good, good,” nodded Edward Clement, the CEO of a computer software company in center city Philadelphia. “It’s the little things that make a marriage.”

  Gillian couldn’t imagine how a china pattern was going to make her marriage. When her mother and grandmother demanded she pick a pattern, she had shocked them both by picking a simple pattern of all white with three black pinstripes around the edge of the plate. When they had started to argue, she said it was either that or she was going to the novelty department to purchase the Halloween set with orange pumpkins and black bats and cats printed all over them. She even threatened to invite the Council over for dinner one night to show off her new dishes. Her mother and grandmother quickly agreed that the white china with the black stripes was perfect.

  Witches and warlocks everywhere hated the commercialization of Allhallowmas and what it had done to their reputation. Never once in her twenty-four years had she whipped up a potion in a black caldron or ridden a broom across the night sky. She never cackled and there wasn’t a wart anywhere on her body. If someone handed her an eye of newt she would probably faint dead away. To top it all off, she was allergic as hell to cats. She’d like to find the person or persons who started all this ridiculous talk about black, pointy hats and flying hags and teach them a thing or two.

  The modern society of witches and warlocks was contributing so much to mankind, yet they received no recognition for their deeds. Fear had kept the society “underground” throughout its existence. The Salem witch-hunt back in 1692 had graphically reminded the society what could, and probably would, happen if the society went public. The Puritans had brought back devices of torture from centuries past. Who was to say these devices wouldn’t be brought back, with dozens or possibly hundreds or thousands of innocent people being put to death once again. The society wasn’t about to take that chance. The sad, if not ironic, truth was that not one real witch was put to death in Salem.