Those women seemed to share an understanding that Westcott men lacked whatever it took to earn true devotion. Like his father and grandfather, Cole would never win a good woman’s heart, which was why Fate had blessed them with wealth. A simple matter of compensation.
It hadn’t been such a bad deal.
But now he wanted more by way of compensation. He wanted Tess McCrary. “I guess we’ll just have to be convincing.”
Tess stared at him, thoroughly unnerved by his suggestion. It seemed such a dangerous, foolhardy thing to do, pretending to be in love with Cole Westcott. She struggled to find her voice and hoped he wouldn’t notice her breathlessness. “Don’t you think they’ll think it’s a little too coincidental that your father’s will demands you marry a McCrary and a McCrary suddenly falls in love with you?”
A smoky warmth smoldered in his gaze. “It could happen.”
Tess was suddenly very afraid that it could.
*
Chapter 3
« ^ »
“Come on, Tess.” With that smoky sensuality warming his gaze and roughening his voice, Cole released his hold on her shoulders, slid his hands in a lingering path down her arms and caught her hands in his. “Let’s go meet our public.” His slow, roguish smile only worsened her inner havoc. “Let’s show them how much we’ve, uh, fallen in love.”
Her sense of self-preservation urged her to snatch her hands away and run from him as fast as she could. But her practical side wouldn’t allow it. He was right about the danger of ignoring the media. Better to spread the news he and she had manufactured than fuel the random gossip that might be brewing.
She supposed her cooperation in this interview told him clearly enough that she intended to go through with their deal. Though Tess hadn’t exactly told Cole, she had made up her mind to help him claim his inheritance. She didn’t want to see him lose his home and the historic properties he felt such surprising passion for. Had he manipulated her into taking his side? Had she fallen victim to the infamous Westcott charm?
He seemed to assume her acceptance as a natural turn of events. Did his assumption stem from his vast experience with women, or did he believe he’d bought her cooperation with his offer of two million dollars? Or … worse yet … did he somehow sense her bewildering response to him, which heated her blood and undermined her resolve whenever he gazed at her in a certain way?
She hadn’t much time to reflect on those disturbing questions. Within moments they were entering the luxurious Magnolia Room; her hand was firmly encased in his larger, stronger one. Reporters and cameramen immediately jumped to attention, but didn’t mob them, at least. A woman stepped forward and led them to the piazza where a camera crew posed them against a wrought iron railing. A breathtaking view of the harbor and the morning sky was the perfect backdrop.
When video cameras were strategically placed, and a brace of microphones erected before them, the interview began.
Tess had a hard time focusing on the questions, which were mercifully aimed at Cole. He had released her hand and slipped an arm around her shoulders. He slanted her frequent glances, all backlit with an alluring mix of warmth, humor and devilment. He called her “honey,” as if they’d been a couple for quite some time.
“No,” he was saying in calm response to a question, “you have the wrong impression. I’m not marrying Tess because of my father’s will. We’re in love.”
Brows shot up. Mocking glances were exchanged. Tess inwardly cringed, wishing she could crawl beneath a carpet and tunnel her way to an exit. Why had Cole ever thought anyone would buy their “love” story? They would be portrayed to the world as liars and schemers.
“The truth is…” Cole continued, unfazed by the expressions of disbelief, “my father put the stipulation in his will because he knew how much I’ve always loved Tess McCrary.”
Tess turned her head to gape at him. The man was simply too creative for comfort—and in an “evil genius” kind of way.
“I’m not saying my past relationship with Tess was ideal,” he expounded. “Far from it. This McCrary woman can be damn stubborn when it comes to wanting things her way. And believe me … she wants everything her way.”
She opened her mouth in protest. Even in this honey-sweet charade, he’d found a way to slam her. But two could play at that game. Let him finesse his way out this. With the image of Lacey LaBonne in mind, Tess smiled and retorted, “Leave it to a Westcott to think that fidelity is an unreasonable request.”
He crooked a brow in clear discomfort. He had to remember Lacey’s “gloryin’ in the spotlight” less than an hour ago—ranting about the postponed trip to St. Lucia. “Aw, honey, we’re not going to discuss that on camera, are we?”
“Not if you don’t want to … honey.” To their audience, she said, “See? I let him have his way now and then.”
Their banter won a few grins. Tess began to relax. Maybe they could pull this off.
Overriding a chorus of questions—many concerning the role fidelity would play in their marriage—Cole went on with unperturbed self-assurance, “Tess and I might not see eye-to-eye about everything, but my father believed we’d never be happy without each other. He tried for months to persuade us to put aside our differences. The stipulation in his will was his final attempt to force our hands.” His mouth curved in that wry smile Tess was coming to know. “I suppose Westcott men can be as stubborn as McCrary women.” His gaze shifted to her—a warm, worshipful gaze. “Thank God for my father’s stubbornness. He knew Tess wouldn’t want to see me homeless. She can’t find it in her heart to turn me down now.”
She would have backed away in sheer self-defense if he hadn’t been holding her pinned to his side, his muscular arm corralling her. My, oh my! The man was too good at lying—and not only with his words. Her very heart thumped out a warning. Beware! Beware!
The reporters, she realized, scribbled madly on their notepads. Cameras flashed from all angles. The excitement level had risen palpably. At least, Tess believed it had. Or maybe it was only her own chaotic response to this silver-tongued scoundrel…
“Tess,” came the next question from the teeming mass of reporters, “how did you feel when you learned about the stipulation in Harlan Westcott’s will?”
“Surprised.” She hoped they didn’t ask her too many questions. She was still unreasonably shaken … and not nearly as good at lying as her alleged fiancé was.
“How long have you known Cole?”
She glanced at him uncertainly. When in doubt, she’d always believed in sticking as closely as possible to the truth. “We were young teenagers when we met.”
“How did you meet?”
“His boat capsized in the river near my house. We met in the woods.” A sense of irony provoked her to add, “I believe I had a strong impact on him, right from the start.”
Acknowledgement sparked in his eyes, and she knew that he, too, was remembering that BB. “She really did get under my skin. Made a lasting impression.”
The rogue!
“And you’ve been dating since then?” a reporter asked, clearly incredulous.
“Not continuously,” Cole replied. “We went our separate ways for years. But, as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He threw her off-balance with yet another meltingly tender stare. “When I saw her again, I knew she was the only woman for me. It just took me a while to convince her of that.”
Amid murmurs of amusement—and the ridiculous pounding of Tess’s heart—another reporter piped up, “Why no engagement ring, Tess?”
She stared at the reporter blankly. With a three-day engagement period, why would anyone expect an engagement ring? Of course, with the story Cole had just fabricated, no one knew that she’d basically met him for the first time two days ago, other than the day she’d shot him.
Cole didn’t disappoint, though. “She hasn’t picked a ring out yet. We have the choice narrowed down to twenty three.”
More laughter rippled around the
m.
From the back of the room, someone called out, “What can you tell us about the curse your father added to his will?”
The abrupt change of subject jarred Tess.
“Curse?” Cole repeated. She felt him stiffen, but he smiled with his usual charm. “Just a private joke between my father and me.”
“Is it true that the curse was placed on both families by a McCrary daughter in the nineteenth century when she was prevented from marrying a Westcott son?”
“I believe I did hear a version of the same tale.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Westcott, Ms. McCrary,” said the stocky reporter who had earlier introduced himself to Lacy LaBonne. “I did a study of your family histories dating back to when that curse was written in 1825.” Everyone fell silent. “Did either of you know that since that time, not one Westcott marriage or romantic relationship has lasted beyond a year, and not one McCrary family has remained together without losing a loved one to tragedy?”
The revelations stunned Tess. She’d known that her own branch of the family had suffered an excessive number of tragedies—deaths, injuries, disappearances. Her parents hadn’t remained untouched; they’d lost a child to illness before Tess had been born. But she hadn’t realized that tragedy had been stalking every family related to her, and for so many generations. She also hadn’t been aware of the Westcotts’ difficulties. No marriages had lasted beyond a year … since 1825?
Cole uttered a short laugh. “I’ve never paid much attention to superstition. As far as the Westcott family’s poor performance in the marriage department goes, I’ve been told that it has more to do with character flaws than curses. Though, of course, I can’t imagine what those character flaws could possibly be.” He tipped a winsome, roguish smile at the cameras, and laughter from his audience lightened the mood.
Tess couldn’t share in that laughter. If the reporter’s facts were correct—and she intended to check them—both families had suffered for over a hundred and seventy years!
The curse means nothing, she told herself. Nothing.
“Ms. McCrary, how do you feel about the curse?” prodded Sam.
She forced a smile. “I think it’s a fascinating bit of historical trivia. Stories handed down from generation to generation always interest me.”
“So you don’t believe the curse is responsible for your family’s tragedies?”
“Of course not.” But she felt as if she were lying.
“Isn’t it true that you were engaged to Professor Phillip Mattingly last year, and that he disappeared without a trace while on am anthropological study?”
The air left her lungs, and she felt the warmth drain from her face. Phillip. They knew about Phillip. “Y-yes,” she replied, her voice weak and unsteady, “but I’m sure his disappearance had nothing to do with—”
“What do you believe happened to him, ma’am?”
She stared in distress at the beady-eyed, ruddy-faced reporter. “I don’t know.” Anxiety and desolation swept over her. Had the curse caused Philip’s disappearance? Had he suffered—or was he suffering even now—simply because she’d loved him? Had she been wrong to form an emotional bond … to cast him in the role of her “loved one”?
Cole tightened his arm around her. “That’s all the questions we’ll have time for today. Thank you for coming. Berta will show you all to the door.”
“Were you in love with Mattingly, Tess?”
“If he showed up tomorrow, would you still marry Cole?”
“If he’s listening to this broadcast, is there anything you’d like to say to him?”
Each question stuck in her heart like a poison dart.
Cole drew her to him in a protective embrace; cradled her against his chest; sheltered her with both arms from the prying eyes and merciless cameras. His heart beat forcefully beneath her ear; his body heat engulfed her. “I said no more questions.” Steel had replaced the velvet in his voice. “Bruno and Tyrone, can you please help our media friends gather their equipment and accompany them to the door?”
She heard the grumbles, the disappointed groans and, after a while, the terse urgings to “hurry it along, pal.” She didn’t lift her head or move as much as a muscle. She needed to calm herself, to gather her poise.
She hadn’t been thinking about Phillip at all when she’d agreed to this interview. If he’s listening to this broadcast, is there anything you’d like to say to him? She hadn’t thought of that possibility. But if he were able to watch a television or read a newspaper, wouldn’t he also be able to call her? If that were possible, he would do it. She knew Phillip enough to be sure of that.
No, something terrible must have happened to him.
Because of the curse?
An insidious voice within her whispered, If the curse is real, more tragedies will happen until you marry a Westcott. Her sister Kristen and her fiancé Josh would be marrying next month. They were so starry-eyed. So much in love. So deserving of a “happy ever after.”
Nothing bad will happen to them. The curse isn’t real.
And she would be marrying a Westcott, two days from now.
“Tess,” Cole whispered into her hair, “are you okay?”
She drew in a deep breath and forced a calm she didn’t feel. “Yes, I’m … I’m fine.” Pulling from his embrace, she avoided meeting his gaze. Had she really hidden her face against his chest until everyone had left? “I, um, just hadn’t expected them to know so much about my … my personal life.” She turned away, needing to escape.
“Tess.” He caught her arm, and reluctantly she turned back to face him. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see in his eyes, but no levity remained. “This guy, Phillip. Do you…” he paused, looking hesitant and concerned. “Do you think you should tell me about him? I mean, is there anything I should know before we—”
“There’s nothing you need to know about him.” She hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, but she couldn’t talk about Phillip now, especially not with Cole. She couldn’t bear to have him make light of Phillip’s disappearance or mock her in any way.
“You are going to marry me,” he said softly, his gaze somber and watchful, “aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She averted her face by reaching for her purse on a nearby table. “I’ll send you the signed prenuptial agreement this afternoon,” she said, struggling to regain equal footing with him. She’d made such a fool of herself, clinging to him the way she had.
“Good. I’m headed out of town on business, but my assistant will be waiting for it.”
She nodded without comment. Without meeting his gaze. Cole suddenly wished he didn’t have to leave town. The furor of the media and the vulnerability she’d shown had left him feeling edgy. Protective. He had no choice, though. The business couldn’t be put off.
He watched her slip the strap of her purse over one slender shoulder, straighten her gray suit jacket—which exactly matched her eyes—and smooth her vivid auburn hair, though not a strand had escaped the elegant twist. “Tess,” he called after her as she moved toward the door, “what’s your ring size?”
He expected her to turn back to him with a question about their wedding rings, or some pithy comment, or at least the hint of a smile. She did not.
“Five and a half,” she replied, not sparing him as much as a gaze. She then strode from the dining room in her high spiked heels and tailored suit, brisk and untouchable, armed with the cool aplomb of a seasoned executive.
Cole instructed a security guard to escort her to her car.
In something of a daze, then, he headed for his office. Her sudden switch from soft and vulnerable to Iron Maiden had his head in a spin. But the armor she’d drawn over herself didn’t make him forget how she’d huddled in his arms, fighting off tears.
Her vulnerability had to do with Phillip Mattingly. Professor Phillip Mattingly. She’d been engaged to him, it seemed. He’d disappeared.
Were you in love with Mattingly, Tess? the reporters had asked her. If he sh
owed up tomorrow, would you marry Cole? It hadn’t taken a genius to see the pain on her face. It hadn’t taken a psychic to feel her misery.
She still loved the guy.
Just another potential complication, Cole told himself. A possible inconvenience. But as long as she went through with the ceremony this Friday and lived at Westcott Hall for the next five months, it didn’t matter how she felt about another man. It didn’t matter.
Why the hell, then, did he feel as if he’d been sucker-punched in the gut?
*
The first warning of trouble was the Closed sign hanging on the door of the shop when Tess returned. Her mother wouldn’t have closed if it hadn’t been necessary. Foreboding rode heavily in Tess’s chest as she unlocked the door and hurried inside. Had her father learned of her impending marriage and suffered another heart attack?
Before she reached the telephone, she found a note her mother had left near the cash register. Meet me at the emergency room.
Apprehension pulsed through her as she drove. She prayed the crisis was minor. If her deal with Cole had given her father a fatal heart attack, she’d never forgive herself.
“Tess, oh, Tess!” Her distraught mother rushed to her the moment she stepped into the emergency room of the busy urban hospital. The paleness of her face and the fear in her eyes sent Tess’s heart plunging. “You were right. We should have told your father ourselves. A friend of his called him and asked about you and that Westcott boy. Kristen couldn’t stop him from turning on the television and watching the news.”
“Oh, no.” Self-blame sliced through Tess. “I can’t believe he heard about the marriage that way. Did he have a heart attack? Is he—”
“He’s in traction.”
Tess blinked. “Traction?”
“But that’s not the worst of it.” Margaret drew Tess to a private corner of the emergency room and related in an urgent undertone, “Kristen said that after he watched the news, he got into his pickup truck and said he was going to straighten things out with Westcott. She couldn’t stop him, so she called Josh. Josh found him at Westcott Hall.”
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