Bridegroom on Approval

by Day Leclaire

  “That’s not necessary.” Reaching into a special pocket she’d sewn into her costume, Hanna removed a set of rings. “I brought these in case.”

  Marco took the gold bands from her, examining them carefully. “They’re unusual. A family heirloom?”

  “No.” She sounded abrupt and knew it. But his question had hit an exposed nerve. “No, I found them in an antique shop not far from here.”

  “You know...” He held them up, squinting when they fractured the light, shimmering as though alive. “They almost look like they were made from tickets from the Cinderella Ball. See the scroll marks etched into the gold?”

  The uncanny similarity had been precisely what had prompted her to purchase them. “The old woman who sold them swore they’d bring me luck.” She shrugged, loath to admit to such superstitious nonsense. “Assuming I believed in such a thing.”

  “Which you don’t,” Marco guessed shrewdly.

  Hanna shook her head. The shop owner had also claimed they would guarantee a happy and everlasting marriage. And like the most desperate and gullible of women, she’d handed over her credit card without even bothering to haggle over the price and bought the two rings. Who’d have thought that she, Hanna Tyler, could be accused of possessing a romantic streak? If the citizens of Hidden Harbor heard what she’d done, they’d laugh themselves silly.

  Without a word, Marco took the smaller of the two rings and slid it onto her finger. It fit as though made for her. He lifted her hand and kissed it with all the charm and grace of a sixteenth-century courtier. “Thank you for choosing these for us.”

  He offered her the larger ring and with a bit less grace than he’d displayed, she thrust it onto his finger. It hugged his finger a bit more snugly than hers had. For some reason that pleased her. “You’re going to have trouble getting it off,” she informed him with a shameful amount of satisfaction.

  “Since I don’t plan to take it off, that won’t be a problem,” he replied.

  Her satisfaction turned to alarm. “But what if—” Glancing at the clergyman, she bit back her question. But what if the marriage doesn’t work out? she’d almost said. Somehow that didn’t seem like an appropriate question when they’d been wed for all of two seconds. “You won’t forget our arrangement?” she asked instead.

  “I haven’t forgotten anything. I’ve made you promises and I intend to keep them. Every one of them.”

  Before she could question precisely what he meant, the clergyman interrupted. “Now that you’ve exchanged rings, it’s my pleasure to pronounce you man and wife. Marco, you may kiss your bride, thereby welcoming Hanna Salvatore into your heart and into your life.”

  Hanna Salvatore. The name sounded as foreign as the ring on her finger. Not that that stopped her from lifting her face to her husband’s or from accepting his kiss. Accepting? Why bother kidding herself? She lost herself in the blissful joining of their mouths, in the lush taste and scent of him. She could get used to this. Dear heaven, she could get used to this quite easily.

  Promises, he’d said. In the plural. He’d promised before the ceremony to give their marriage a trial run. How in the world would she handle it, if he kept that part of their bargain? How indeed, since a temporary marriage was an all-too-likely possibility—one, in fact, that she’d insisted upon? The thought nearly shattered her. But then she remembered... remembered that he’d also promised during the ceremony to take her for his wife from this day forward. Maybe, just maybe, he’d keep that promise, instead. The thought filled her with a dangerous hope, warned that she’d already begun to care for this man.

  Staring up at her brand-new husband, the taste of him still fresh on her lips, Hanna Salvatore realized she was in deep, deep trouble.

  “Here we are,” Hanna said, hoping to cover her nervousness with the cool, dispassionate announcement. They paused at the hotel door and she gestured awkwardly. “Would you like to come in?”

  “For a little while,” Marco agreed.

  She hesitated, not quite sure what to make of that. A little while meant not all night. So, if he wasn’t planning to spend the night, what precisely, did he plan? A quick tumble before he left, just to consummate their new relationship? She shrank from the thought. What in the world had she been thinking to marry a complete stranger? How could she have taken such a drastic step? Here she stood in the doorway outside her hotel room with a man she’d only known for a few scant hours. He was her husband, a man she’d committed to for the next few months, a man she’d given every right to...to... To come in for a quick tumble before he left!

  The key card fell from her nerveless fingers.

  “Here, let me get that for you.”

  He bent and picked up the slip of plastic, inserting it into the locking mechanism while she watched helplessly. No hesitation, no fumbling, no awkwardness. As though to acknowledge his proficiency, the tiny light flashed gaily from red to green. Come on, you stupid lock! Turn red again and get me out of this! she wanted to scream. Instead the lock gave way with a loud clicking noise that retorted down the hallway like a gunshot. She flinched, not that Marco noticed. Twisting the knob, he shoved the door open and gestured for her to precede him into the one place she least wanted to be with her brand-new husband—a bedroom.

  Hanna hastened inside before he could think of doing something incredibly gallant and Marco-like, such as carry her over the threshold. Behind her the door slammed shut and she spun around in a swirl of feathers and ivory skirts. As though in a symbolic gesture, the scarf restraining her hair loosened and drifted to the floor with a silken sigh. Fiery curls spilled across her shoulders to her waist and she had an unnerving image of a red cape teasing the life out of a snorting, drooling, raging bull. She’d seen cartoons. She knew what the bull would do when provoked like that. She braced herself for impact.

  The bull lifted a dark eyebrow. “Something wrong?” he asked mildly.

  “Yes. No.” She gestured awkwardly. “My hair.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It came loose.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  “I...I wasn’t sure what you’d do.”

  “Ah. That certainly fails to clarify matters.” He approached and she steeled herself once more. Circling her, he bent and plucked the scarf from the floor, the scrap of silk trailing from his hand like a whip. “I believe you dropped this.”

  “It...it fell out.”

  He snapped the wrinkles from it with a swift flick of his wrist and she stilled, her breathing shallow and rough. “What would you like?” he asked, coming up behind her. He draped the cool black silk over her bare shoulders, dragging it across her heated skin, the scarf stirring a reaction as potent as a lover’s caress. “Would you like me to tie your hair back again?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Absolutely.”

  “Or is this what you wanted...?”

  The scarf rippled a sinuous path to the floor like a dark flag of surrender. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he urged her a single step toward him, locking them together, spine to chest. Whispering an Italian word rich with passion, he swept her hair over her shoulder. It flowed in a tidal wave of molten fire across her breasts to her waist. He leaned into her, the warmth of his breath stirring the fine curls at her temple, his mouth so close to her cheek, she shivered beneath the promised impact. He pressed her closer still, melding their bodies.

  “I don’t think I want this,” she whispered.

  “You’re nervous.”

  Denying it would be pointless. “Yes.”

  “You’re beginning to think you’ve make a terrible mistake.”

  She sagged against him. Could the man read minds, as well? “Let’s just say that I’m having second thoughts.”

  “All brides have them, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Yes, but at least those brides have known their husbands longer than a few hours.”

  “Not always. There are places where the bride and groom meet for the first time on their
wedding day.”

  She closed her eyes, laughter battling the most alien emotion of all—an overwhelming desire to give in to tears again. “In case you’re wondering, that doesn’t make me any less nervous.”

  “How do you suppose those couples made it through their first night together?”

  “I suppose it depends on what sort of people they were. If...if the groom were a kind, understanding sort, he’d give his bride a chance to get used to marriage before... Before... You know.”

  “And if the groom wasn’t a kind, understanding sort?”

  She swallowed. “He’d force himself on her. After all, what choice would she have?” Turning in his arms, she clung to the front of his shirt. “But you’re not that type of man.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, his expression frighteningly impassive. “No? You’re so certain?”

  “Yes!”

  His eyes warmed, gentled. “Then why are you nervous?”

  Just like that, her fear eased. She trusted him! She’d instinctively sensed he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Perhaps she had gut instincts after all. Who’d have thought? She shrugged. “Call it an attack of nerves. It’s awkward. We don’t know each other well and married on impulse. I mean...” She attempted to smooth the creases she’d pressed into his shirt, ironing them along the hard, ridged contours beneath. But all that did was increase the intimacy of the moment and stir her anxiety to new heights. Her hand stilled, gathering the strong, steady beat of his heart within her palm. “You told me your brothers’ names, but I’ve tried and tried and I don’t remember what they are. Silly, isn’t it? I know there’s six.”

  “Five. Six sons, five brothers.”

  “See?” She tore free and began to pace, her hair billowing in agitated waves. “I don’t even have the number right. And then... There’s your father You haven’t told me his name.”

  “Papa.”

  She stopped and stared at him, her brow wrinkled. “What?”

  “Just kidding, carissima. His name is Dom. But he’d be offended if you called him anything other than father or papa or dad.” Marco folded his arms across his chest. “What else?”

  Hanna twisted her hands together. “You said you were a salesman. But I don’t know what you sell.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “How can you ask such a thing?” she demanded. “Of course it matters. When we go back to Hidden Harbor and I introduce you, guess the first question everyone will ask?”

  “Let’s see...” He pretended to frown. “What does he do for a living?”

  She stabbed the air with her index finger. “Exactly! And I’ll say... Why, he’s a salesman. And they’ll reply... Oh, really? What does he sell? And I’d have to say... Gee, I don’t know.” She lifted her hands in appeal. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  “As frightening as it is to admit, yes.”

  “Right! It would look odd. So, anyway...” She fixed him with an inquiring stare. “What do you sell?”

  “Anything and everything. I suppose it would be more accurate to say I put together products with vendors, money with those who need it. If someone has something they wish to sell, I find outlets for them.”

  That intrigued her. “You do?”

  “I do.”

  She resumed her pacing. “See? That wasn’t so difficult. I can explain that to people. I think we’re on a roll here. Now what else?”

  “How about your late husband?”

  She faltered, aware the tables had just been given a sharp spin. “My...my husband?”

  “Late husband. He is late, isn’t he? I’m not going to arrive in Hidden Harbor and find him waiting for us, will I?”

  “Er, no,” she assured, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on her evasiveness. “Not him.”

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. So how long were you married?”

  “Two months.”

  “Ah, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” His instant remorse made her feel worse than ever. “That must have been very difficult to lose your husband after so brief a marriage..”

  She couldn’t deny it. They’d been two of the most difficult months she’d ever experienced. “He’d been ill for quite a while.”

  “And you married him, anyway?”

  “Of course,” she said simply.

  “Did you love him?”

  “I told you—”

  “That’s right. You don’t believe in love, do you?”

  “No.” She set her chin and faced Marco squarely. It was one of those occasions when the truth hurt, when her resolution to hold emotion at bay seemed doomed to failure. “I...I cared for Henry. He was a dear friend.”

  “Interesting you’d marry the late Mr. Tyler considering you didn’t love him.” He tilted his head to one side. “Why would you do that?”

  “It seemed the right choice at the time,” she confessed. And it had. There hadn’t been any other way to accomplish what she needed unless she’d married him. How odd that she’d put herself in the precise same situation again—marrying for need rather than more traditional reasons.

  “Did he love you?”

  Tears pricked her eyes and she bowed her head. “No,” she whispered. “He respected me. He might have even liked me. But he loved his first wife.”

  “And you were willing to settle for that?” Marco asked incredulously.

  “At the time it seemed...acceptable.”

  “And what about us?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked evasively.

  “Is what we have, what you hope we’ll have in the future, just acceptable? Or is it more than that?”

  An intense yearning caught her by surprise. It was a totally inappropriate emotion, but she couldn’t deny its existence. She wanted more from this man than what she’d had from Henry. She wanted it with all her heart—the very heart she’d denied possessing. “I hope it’ll be more.”

  His expression eased and she knew her answer had pleased him. “In that case, I have one final question for you.”

  Hanna eyed him warily. “What’s that?”

  “You asked for a trial marriage.” A smile tilted his mouth. “When does it start?”

  She braced herself once again. “Tonight. We can start the trial tonight.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MARCO RELEASED HIS BREATH in a long sigh. “I see. I guess I know what we should do.”

  “What?” Hanna asked, fighting for calm and fast losing the battle.

  He didn’t take his eyes from her, but silently approached. Good heavens, but he was graceful, moving with a fluidity that made her wonder if he’d show that same supple skill in bed. In bed! She froze, trapped between want and apprehension, finding the knowledge that this man could inspire such disparate emotions downright frightening. No one should be able to do that to her, certainly not a man she intended to share her life with. It would give him too much power, not to mention far too much control.

  Marco lifted an eyebrow, halting inches away. He stood so close she didn’t doubt he could hear the swift give and take of her breath. “Nervous?”

  There was no point in denying the obvious. “Yes.”

  “Don’t be.”

  He cupped her shoulders and urged her into his arms. He smelled of sandalwood soap and some sort of bewitching cologne that should be legally banned from store shelves. The fragrance made her dizzy. Or was it Marco? She gazed into his eyes, seeing the gentle reassurance she’d sensed in him from their first meeting. Perhaps she wouldn’t find this night so difficult. She could do it. It only involved a few more of those mind-blowing kisses. After that they’d get naked and tumble onto her bed together. He’d make love to her six or seven or twenty times and that would be it. All done, mission accomplished. Sure. She could handle that.

  She groaned. Yeah, right!

  Leaning down, he kissed her on the forehead. “Buona notte, amor mio,” he murmured.

  It didn’t take a mental giant to figure out what that meant. She d
idn’t know whether to burst into hysterical tears or equally hysterical laughter. Instead, she retreated into a familiar air of detached calm, clinging to it with a terrifying desperation. “You’re not staying, are you?”

  “I don’t think it would be best.” He slipped a stray feather from her hair and pocketed it. “Not tonight.”

  For the first time in more years than she could recall, her poise threatened to desert her. She studied the wall over his shoulder, praying the bland surface would give her something to fixate on other than rich brown eyes and a charming smile. “Why?” she managed to ask. Could he hear the ache in her voice? Did those acute senses of his pick up on her bewilderment and confusion? Where had her precious control gone when she needed it most? Out the door, apparently, soon to be followed by her brand-new husband.

  “Ah, cara. How can you ask that question while looking at me with such apprehension. You’re not ready for this.”

  Her gaze flickered in his direction, then away. “I...I might be.”

  “No, sweet. I don’t take unwilling women to my bed. Nor do I take sacrificial lambs.”

  “I’m not...unwilling.”

  “Nor are you willing.”

  He was right, though she hated to admit it. She gave in to the inevitable with a quick, regal nod. “If that’s what you prefer.”

  “It’s not what I—”

  “Where are you going?” she cut him off, unable to handle much more without falling all over him in a disgusting, weepy mess.

  “The Beaumonts are putting me up. I’ll return to their place.”

  “The Beaumonts?” She remembered again seeing him standing near the reception line without a mask or costume. She’d never gotten around to asking him about that. “Are you a friend of theirs?”

  “Not exactly. I’m staying at their invitation since my visit to their home coincided with the ball.”

  She steeled herself for the next question. “Will you be back?”

  “First thing in the morning.” He responded promptly, as if it weren’t an unusual question for a new bride to-ask her two-hour-old bridegroom. “You have my promise.”