Contract Bridegroom

by Sandra Field

  “Celia, don’t—I can’t stand to see you cry.”

  She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Then I won’t.”

  “Here, give me your hand.” But as she stretched out her left wrist, he rapped, “Who did that to you?”

  The marks of Darryl’s fingers were imprinted on her skin. “I—I bumped into Darryl before my appointment. He…was trying to persuade me that I shouldn’t marry you.”

  “You just happened to meet him.”

  “That’s right,” she said, refusing to drop her gaze.

  “If he as much as lays a finger on you again, I’ll have his hide for a doormat.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  He slipped the ring on her finger, his steel-blue eyes blazing. “You’re mine, Celia. Mine. Don’t you forget it.”

  “For three months only. Don’t you forget that!”

  He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them one by one, his eyes fastened on her face. She could no more have controlled her shudder of response than she could have stopped breathing.

  She wanted him. And she was terrified of him.

  Terrified of what he made her feel.

  “But aren’t you the tiniest bit scared of him?”

  Celia smiled at Jethro’s sister. She and Lindy McKelvie had met an hour ago, had been talking with the ease of old friends ever since, and were now eating lunch in a charming colonial restaurant in Georgetown; the diamond flashed on Celia’s finger as she buttered her roll. “If I am, I certainly wouldn’t tell him so,” she said lightly.

  “He’s always been my big brother. He looked after me when I was little and he’s so different from me….” Lindy poked at her salad, her piquant face troubled under its clustered dark curls. “I guess I’ve never really understood him.”

  Welcome to the club, thought Celia. She liked Jethro’s sister, who seemed genuinely happy that her brother was getting married. “He told me your mother left when you were very young.”

  “Did he? He doesn’t like talking about our parents.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Dad was an awful man.” Lindy shivered. “Jethro kept me safe, shielded me when my father was drinking…. I suppose over the years my brother became my surrogate father. It’s a terrible thing, Celia, to be relieved when one of your parents dies.”

  So Jethro’s father had been a man of violence. Celia covered Lindy’s hand with her own. “Don’t talk about it if it upsets you.”

  “Dad was mean to Jethro. I sometimes think he hated him, his very own son.” She looked up, her blue eyes open where Jethro’s were guarded. “I’ve worried about Jethro the last few years. I’ve been afraid he’d never allow himself to fall in love like everyone else, and be happy. I’m so glad he’s met you, Celia—I know we don’t know each other very well, but I think you’re perfect for him.”

  With a sharp prickle of shame Celia remembered the contract she and Jethro had signed yesterday, with its carefully worded clauses about divorce. One thing to deceive her father, who wouldn’t be here to know how false the marriage had been. Quite another to deceive Lindy, with her sweet smile: Lindy, who loved her brother. “We argue a lot,” Celia confessed.

  Lindy grinned. “He told me you had a temper. You do realize there’ll be women who’ll want to put arsenic in your soup when they hear he’s getting married?”

  “I gathered as much.”

  “But you don’t need to worry—he never loved any of them,” Lindy said with uncharacteristic fierceness. “I know that for a fact.”

  He doesn’t love me.

  Celia speared a piece of zucchini with vicious accuracy and said, abandoning truth, “I’m looking forward to seeing Jethro’s Manhattan place.”

  “The loft? It’s wonderful, I love going there. So much less formal than the Paris apartment.” She chuckled. “More formal than the lodge in Vermont, though. I’m sure he’ll take you there…. It’s his retreat, the place he goes when he wants to get away from work and all the people who only want something from him.”

  Celia’s lashes flickered; she was one of those people. But this was the first she’d heard about a lodge in Vermont; she was sure Jethro hadn’t mentioned it.

  “It’s in the Green Mountains,” Lindy said dreamily. “There’s a little stream runs by the house, and the trees are beautiful no matter what the time of year…. You’ll like it there.”

  If it was Jethro’s retreat, she wouldn’t get the chance. With some determination Celia changed the subject to her unsuccessful hunt for a wedding dress. Lindy’s face lit up. “I know a couple of wonderful boutiques not far from here. We could go after lunch if you liked.”

  But although they found some very attractive gowns, Celia knew none of them was quite right. She said goodbye to Lindy a little after four and went home. Her father was resting, Melcher said, and Mr. Lathem was out. After telling the butler she was going for an hour’s run, she changed into her Spandex shorts and a top and set out, jogging down the broad avenue toward the heart of Washington, where she looped around Capitol Hill, then headed west down the Mall. Her stride settled into an easy rhythm.

  She loved running the length of the Mall, past the Smithsonian Institutions. The Hirshhorn sculpture garden was still full of tourists, the sound of traffic muted by its plashing fountain. The flags around the Washington monument snapped in the breeze; paddleboats dotted the waters of the Tidal Basin. She could have gone north up 17th Street, toward home. But she wasn’t ready to go home yet.

  Keeping to the sidewalk that circled the basin, she passed the cherry trees whose blossoming was a time of festivals and renewal. Her father wouldn’t be here in the spring to see their clustered pink and white petals, she thought, and felt her throat tighten with tears. She had to marry Jethro. She had to. Her father was more important than her own feelings; for three months she could put up with anything.

  If only it were that simple…unfortunately, another huge part of her knew she should never have started this deception. She should have realized how many other people would be involved, people like Lindy who dearly loved Jethro and would be devastated when the divorce went through so soon after the wedding.

  It was the story of her life, Celia thought moodily, heading north toward the Lincoln Memorial. Act first, think later and to heck with the consequences.

  She looped around the lake in the Constitution Gardens, where the dahlias were starting to look bedraggled. Feeling her body begin to tire and sweat beginning to dampen her top, she dodged through the pedestrians on 23rd Street. A vendor was selling hot dogs on the corner. Her mouth watering, she kept running. She’d surpassed herself today. Nearly two hours. Although she’d pay for it tomorrow, it had felt good to reclaim parts of the city that was her home; and better still to be out of the house.

  She couldn’t run forever. Sooner or later she had to go home and see her father and Jethro, pick up the tangled strands of a deception for which she was wholly responsible.

  Breathing deeply, she paced herself and before she reached the iron gates of Fernleigh, slowed to a walk. Once she was in the grounds, Celia circled to the back door, stretching out her calf muscles against the stone wall, checking her pulse rate. Then the door burst open and Jethro demanded, “Where the hell have you been?”

  Her fragile peace evaporated. She grabbed her left heel, bringing it up to her buttock. “Buying a wedding dress, can’t you tell?”

  He seized her by the elbows, his eyes raking her sweat-damp hair and heaving breasts. “You told Melcher you’d be gone an hour.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “This isn’t Collings Cove, Celia—this is the big city. Do you want your father worrying about you? Being afraid you’ve been kidnapped or mugged?”

  “Jethro,” Celia said through gritted teeth, “you sound just like him. Don’t you dare try and control me—I won’t have it! I’m twenty-seven years old, I’m streetwise and I’m not late for dinner. So lay off.�
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  “There’s something you’re not getting,” Jethro said with menacing clarity. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

  “Then quit telling me what to do,” she flared. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the one who was worried.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Would you?” he said. “Don’t overestimate yourself.”

  She hated it when he used that tone of voice; hated it, too, that mere words could hurt her so deeply. “Pardon me…I’m only your fiancée, after all.”

  “You have to be the most infuriating woman I’ve come across in my whole life,” Jethro said, and kissed her hard on the mouth. His hands roaming her hips, he muttered against her lips, “You taste of salt and those shorts should be outlawed.”

  It’s you who should be outlawed, she thought, and pushed against his chest. “I need to shower before dinner and see my father. Let go!”

  “He’s resting.”

  She frowned up at Jethro. “So? I’m his daughter—if he’s asleep, I’ll leave.”

  “Let him be…you’ll see him at dinner.”

  “Fine,” she said and yanked the door open. Jethro made no move to stop her, she noticed; and on impulse ran upstairs to her father’s suite rather than her own. Tapping gently on the door, she let herself in. Ellis was sitting by the window, a magazine open in his lap. “Ah…Celia.”

  “I just wanted to check on you before dinner,” she said lamely.

  He looked at her attire with displeasure. “I wish you wouldn’t run through the streets dressed like that. You shouldn’t be out jogging at all.”

  “I just went around the Mall…I was quite safe.”

  “I’m glad you’re marrying Jethro—he’ll keep you in line.”

  She said with a touch of desperation, “Surely keeping me in line isn’t what marriage is all about?”

  “You haven’t changed one bit, Celia—this city’s a dangerous place and you haven’t even taken off the ring Jethro gave you—you’re asking for trouble.”

  She said in a low voice, “I have changed. Five years ago I wouldn’t have been here with you, Father. I’m trying…I’m really trying.”

  For a moment Ellis looked at a loss for words. Then he said stiffly, “Well. I suppose so. Now that you’re here, I might as well tell you I’ll be keeping to my room a fair bit this week. Resting up for the big day.”

  “Are you feeling worse?” she asked in quick alarm.

  “I said I’d be resting, Celia.”

  She knew it was useless to push him. Briefly she pressed her cheek to his wrinkled face. “Why don’t you have dinner served here rather than sit for so long in the dining room?”

  “Jethro will be in New York tomorrow until late Friday—business matters—as I’m sure you know. So I’ll be taking my meals in here while he’s gone.”

  She hadn’t known. Three days without him, she thought with enormous relief; a relief that almost masked the hurt that her father wasn’t offering to share his meals with her. “Just look after yourself,” she pleaded, patted him on the sleeve and left him alone.

  In her own rooms, she showered and dressed in pale cream trousers with a matching angora sweater, leaving her hair loose. By the time she hurried downstairs, her father and Jethro were already in the dining room; instantly she knew they’d been saying something not for her ears. She paused, looking from one to the other of them. “Okay—what’s up?”

  Ellis said impatiently, “We were discussing arrangements for the wedding.”

  He was lying; she knew it. “In that case, I’d better hurry up and find a dress,” she said. “I’d hate to have to wear my jogging shorts.”

  Her father sat down at the head of the table. “I was asking Jethro where you’d be spending your honeymoon.”

  Jethro said, “We hadn’t yet discussed—”

  “No honeymoon,” Celia interrupted, panic-stricken. “Not while you’re ill, Father.”

  “I want you to take at least three or four days,” Ellis announced.

  “I’ve got a luxury cruiser in the Caribbean,” Jethro drawled. “If you prefer, we could take the Concorde to Paris…. or is there some other romantic hideaway you’d like, darling?”

  You know what I’d like, she thought. I’d like to throw the nearest plate at you. “But your business,” she said artlessly, “you’ve been away so much lately.”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m taking the shuttle to the city tomorrow until Friday. A honeymoon’s no problem—just name the place.”

  She was caught. Well and truly caught. “In that case, I’d love to go to your lodge in the Green Mountains.”

  Jethro’s eyes narrowed. “How—you had lunch with Lindy today, didn’t you?”

  Finally she could say something truthful. “I really like her. And she painted such a glowing picture of the lodge.”

  “Then the lodge it’ll be.”

  She’d made him agree to something he didn’t want to do: no small achievement. But the result was that she’d be spending three days alone with him in the middle of the woods. Oh God, thought Celia, sitting down at the table, will I ever learn to think before I open my mouth? “We’ll come back on Tuesday, Father, and no arguments.”

  “Very well,” said Ellis.

  At least Jethro would be away until Friday. Three days without him.

  Three months as his wife.

  She could do it. Of course she could.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CELIA and Jethro were to be married at eleven on Saturday morning, to give them time to get to the lodge before dark. Celia was dressed and ready by eighteen minutes after ten. She didn’t want to sit down and crease her skirt and she couldn’t bear watching her bedside clock tick off the minutes with such agonizing slowness. So she crept out of her room, feeling like a thief in her own house, and tapped on her father’s door.

  She’d seen very little of him all week; he’d kept himself sequestered in his rooms and hadn’t encouraged her to visit him. She could only conclude he was feeling worse. No time to waste, she’d thought on Thursday when she’d finally found the perfect wedding dress; Saturday was none too soon for the ceremony.

  When she walked in, Ellis was struggling with the clips on his black bowtie. He saw Celia in the mirror; his mouth dropped open and his tie fell onto the mahogany bureau. He said faintly, “Marian…”

  Marian was her mother’s name. Celia’s heart skipped a beat. She faltered, “Do I look like her?”

  “In that suit…your hair…yes, you look like her.” He straightened to his full height, years somehow seeming to drop from his age. “She was the most beautiful woman I ever saw.”

  Celia’s throat tightened with emotion. “You know what? I still miss her. After all this time.”

  Ellis said gruffly, fumbling to pick up his tie, “I didn’t do well by you after Marian died, Celia. I couldn’t bear to talk about her, so I didn’t allow you to talk about her, either. That was wrong of me.”

  Celia stepped closer, seeing her own reflection in her father’s mirror. Taking her courage in her hands, she said, “I thought you didn’t love me any more.”

  An old pain flickered across Ellis’s face. “I loved you. I just didn’t know how to tell you. And that was wrong of me, too.”

  “Do you love me now?” Celia whispered.

  He turned so he was facing her; because she was wearing high heels, her eyes were level with his. “Yes,” he said. “Very much. Why else do you think I keep trying to keep you safe?”

  So she’d been right. Love had always been the motive behind his protectiveness and control. “I can keep myself safe,” she said steadfastly, “and I’ll always be here for you. Because I love you, too.”

  And suddenly she was in his arms, weeping as though her heart would break, feeling him hold her close. He muttered against her cheek, “Marian was like you in so many ways. She never let me get away with anything…I wanted her to fly to Chicago, but she loved being on the road. We had a huge argu
ment before she left. She took the car…and died in a collision with a drunk driver. I’d give my soul to take away that argument.”

  “So every time I rebelled, you had to insist you got your own way,” Celia said, raising her head. “That makes such sense to me now…what else could you have done?”

  “But it pushed you away. I could see that. Yet I couldn’t stop—the more you rebelled, the more I tried to control you.”

  “If I wasn’t marrying Jethro,” Celia said, smiling through her tears, “we might never have had this conversation.”

  “Humph,” said Ellis. “He’ll make you a good husband, Celia. He’s a man for the long haul.”

  With a huge effort she kept her gaze level. “I’m glad you like him.”

  “Far superior to Darryl Coates. I know I encouraged you to date Darryl all those years ago—I’m very glad it didn’t go anywhere. His recent divorce, all the dirty linen dragged through the courts…a disgrace.”

  Divorce. Celia dropped her eyes, taking the tie from her father’s fingers and carefully adjusting the clips round the collar of his starched shirt. Ellis added, “Darryl came to see me a couple of days ago. Did his best to stop your marriage by telling me a lot of scurrilous gossip about Jethro’s past. I told him Jethro was ten times the man he’d ever be, and that you were very much in love with your future husband.” He directed a self-satisfied smile at the mirror. “Sent him packing.”

  A small part of her had to admire Darryl’s nerve. “I wish I’d been a fly on the wall,” she said.

  Her father’s laugh creaked like an unoiled hinge. “He left in rather a hurry.”

  Grinning at him in the mirror, she said, “I’d better go and fix my face—my mascara’s all smeared. So much for waterproof.” Impulsively she hugged Ellis again. “Thanks, Dad,” she gulped. “Don’t you ever forget I love you.”

  Ellis cleared his throat. “We’ll talk more about your mother when you’re back from your honeymoon,” he said. “If you like.”