But Charles had gone now. There was no one here they had to fool, yet Marcus was still holding her and there was no way he was releasing her. No way!
‘What’s she forgotten to do?’ Marcus asked again, and it was Ruby who pulled them all together, Ruby who collected herself. She looked to the official who was still standing in astonishment that the wedding could be so rudely interrupted. But this was a senior official who’d obviously overseen some very strange marriages in his time. He rose to the occasion as a good official should.
‘Can we continue?’ Ruby prodded, and the man stopped staring at the closed door and managed a smile.
‘Right. Where was I? Goodness me. I know. I now pronounce you man and wife.’ He took a deep breath and beamed at the pair of them, from Marcus to Peta and back again. The interruption might have been strange and unsettling, but standing before him were a couple whose body language said they belonged. Someone else may have tried to ruin this occasion but Henry Richard Waterhouse, officiating for the City of New York, was here to marry these people and marry them he would.
‘That’s it, folks,’ he said. He closed his book. ‘Except for the last bit. The best bit. My favourite part of the day. And here it comes.’ His beam widened. ‘You may now kiss the bride.’
No.
The word rose unbidden. No. But he didn’t say it. Somehow he managed to cut it off. Somehow…
Marcus stared down at Peta and, for heaven’s sake, he saw panic there. It was the same panic he felt himself.
They were staring at each other, stunned, as if neither could believe it had come to this. That this wild planning had suddenly landed them in this place, where there was nothing to do but for Marcus to lift his hand, to tilt her chin, for his eyes to lock with hers.
And for his mouth to lower on to hers.
He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t…
He lied. He wanted to do it more than anything in the world.
And it was only a kiss, he told himself fiercely. It meant no more than their signatures on a piece of paper.
It was only a kiss.
But then his lips touched hers and it was much, much more.
His world changed, right there.
It was as if some sort of short circuit had shut down his brain. Cool, calm Marcus Benson who did nothing without thinking it out, whose world was a series of well planned, carefully orchestrated moves, who never let himself be shifted outside his zone of complete control…
Suddenly he was no longer in control. No. He hadn’t been in control since he’d met her, he thought desperately, but he was much more out of control now. His lips met his bride’s, and the electricity surging between them felt as if it could slam him into the far wall.
But only if she came, too, he thought, stunned, because there was no way he was letting her go.
He’d put his hands on her waist to draw her close to him-just a little-not to pull him hard in against her. But the warmth of her body was suddenly a fierce, molten link. The fire that surged in that link between them was unbelievable. His hands felt as though they belonged exactly where they were. They were forged into position. As if they’d found their home.
And her mouth… His mouth…
She tasted…
She tasted of Peta, he thought, with the tiny part of his brain that was left available to do any analysis at all. She tasted of nothing he had ever experienced before. She was so soft and yielding, and yet there was such strength.
He could taste the woman of her. He could feel the part of her that yielded to him and yet did not. That found her home in him and yet… And yet… And yet stayed her own sweet self.
She was curving in to him and he knew she was as bewildered as he was at this feeling. This feeling he could hardly begin to analyse. He had nothing to compare it to.
Peta…
It was too much. He was past thinking. He was oblivious to the small group of onlookers-to Ruby and Darrell and the city official, all looking on with bemusement. All he knew was how her lips tasted. How his heart lurched.
How the barren wasteland of his heart suddenly seemed a far-off memory.
Peta…
‘I’m sure you’ll be very, very happy.’
The official’s words broke in to the moment. Somehow. The man was beaming and waiting to grip Marcus’s hand, to claim the privilege of kissing the bride, of moving on to the next ceremony…
He didn’t hurry them. But this kiss had lasted a long time.
Marcus moved back. A little. Not much. His hands remained on Peta’s waist. He stared at her, dazed. She gazed back and his confusion was mirrored in her eyes.
‘I didn’t…’
‘I’m sorry…’ They spoke over each other and the moment somehow broke.
‘There’s no need to apologise to each other.’ The official was still beaming, his hand out to take Marcus’s and there was nothing for it but to release Peta. To let the moment go. ‘A man need never apologise for kissing his wife, and vice versa, and you have a lifetime ahead to do just that.’ He gripped Marcus’s hand and shook while Marcus fought desperately for normality. For sanity. Then the official turned and kissed Peta, breaking the contact even more. Giving Marcus room.
Letting reality in.
Then, the formalities over, the official stepped back and smiled some more. ‘There. All done. I’m sorry for the interruption to the ceremony but it doesn’t seem to have spoiled the moment. Congratulations.’ He glanced at his watch-surreptitiously, but it was a message for all that. ‘There’s some papers for you both to sign in the outer office, but that’s it. Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Benson. Welcome to your new life.’
The world took over. Of course it did.
Over the next hour Marcus moved on automatic pilot. He signed the register. He accepted congratulations. He faced the press. He shielded his bride as best he could and he smiled. He ate a meal-heaven knew what it was-in the restaurant Ruby had booked to celebrate the occasion. He listened to Darrell’s shy speech and he smiled.
He smiled.
By his side, Peta smiled as well, and her smile seemed just as forced as his.
Finally the formalities were over. ‘Darrell and I will take a cab home,’ Ruby told her boss. She reached into her handbag and hauled out a pouch. ‘These are your air tickets, your passport and all the documentation you’ll need for the next few weeks. Your plane leaves tomorrow morning at nine a.m.’
‘Mine goes tomorrow night.’ Peta had chatted during the meal but she’d sounded strained and the strain was still evident in her voice.
‘We took the liberty of changing your flights,’ Ruby told her. ‘You had a small taste of publicity today. With the short notice, the press contingent was limited. But Marcus’s wedding is going to hit the headlines tomorrow morning, and you’ll hardly want to be around for the fuss. The society tabloids have been trying to matchmake for Marcus since he made his first million.’
‘And now he’s hooked.’ Darrell’s smile matched Ruby’s. ‘That’s great.’
But it wasn’t great. ‘I didn’t hook anyone.’ Peta glowered. ‘He climbed on the line all by himself.’
‘And he can climb off again in two weeks,’ Ruby told her. She gathered her handbag and looked to Darrell. ‘Shall we leave these two-fishermen?-together?’
‘Sounds good to me.’ Darrell grinned. He took Marcus’s hand and shook-hard-and then he grasped Peta’s hands and pulled her in for a kiss to both cheeks.
‘You keep wiggling that hook,’ he said gently. ‘Marcus is the best mate in the world and he needs you more than he knows. So wiggle until he’s firmly caught. All the love in the world to you both.’
Then they were alone. The restaurant had alcoves that were separate rooms, giving absolute privacy. Ruby and Darrell had disappeared and Marcus was left with his bride.
The sensation was…unbelievable.
If only she wasn’t so lovely, he thought, a little bit desperately. Or a lot desperately. If only she wasn’t
so vulnerable. So helpless. So-
‘I need to get this gear off. I feel like something that’s climbed off the top of a cake.’
Maybe vulnerable wasn’t the right word. Maybe vulnerable was a façade that went with the dress.
And she was right. This was silly. They needed to get back to normal. Remove the traces of bridal. But Marcus was aware of a faint tinge of regret in her voice-maybe because it struck an exact chord with what he was feeling. They were moving back into the real world and it hurt.
Maybe he could delay things.
‘Even Cinderella had until midnight,’ he told her. ‘Would you like to extend the fairytale?’
She stilled. ‘To do what?’
‘You’re leaving New York tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘You haven’t ridden around Central Park. Would you like to?’
She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Then she grinned and gestured to her dress. ‘In this?’
‘The best fairytales end in full glamour,’ he said cautiously, still unsure of what he was doing. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘I don’t trust anyone offering fairytales,’ she told him but the smile that went with her words was suddenly almost cheeky. ‘Prince Charming always seemed a bit of a pansy to me.’
And suddenly he found he could smile, too. Properly. He could drop the mask of indifference. She was asking nothing of him in the long term. She wouldn’t cling. He could stay with her and then walk away, his good deed done for life.
‘If I promise not to be a pansy…’
‘I doubt if you could be a pansy if you tried.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘So what about it? Do you want to have fun?’
Fun. The word hung between them. He stared down at her and he knew instinctively that the word was as foreign to Peta as it was to him.
Fun. Ha! But she was looking up at him and her head was cocked as if listening to an echo that was so far away she could hardly hear.
‘You want us to have fun?’
Did he? What was he getting himself into? he wondered wildly. If only she wasn’t wearing that dress.
But she was and there was no choice.
‘Yes,’ he told her. ‘Yes, I do. I want us to forget all about the Benson financial empire and the O’Shannassy farm and the likes of cousin Charles. For this afternoon you’re wearing a fairytale dress and I’ve never been married in my life. Can we wave our wand and make it last a bit longer?’
And then a decision-and that smile that could heat places in a man’s heart that he hadn’t known existed.
‘Okay.’ His beautiful bride tucked her hand confidingly in his arm and held. Claiming the proprietorship that he’d claimed when he’d given her his name.
‘Okay, Mr Benson,’ she told him. ‘For this afternoon I’ll stick with the fairytale. Me and my non-pansy Prince Charming. You and your lopsided Cinderella with the fat foot. Imperfect but game. Let’s take ourselves out into New York and have fun.’
CHAPTER SIX
HE TOOK her to Central Park.
Robert dropped them at the Grand Army Plaza as a carriage drew up, a magnificent horse-drawn coach with wonderful greys snorting in their traces. The driver raised his hand in salute to the bridal couple and Marcus beckoned the man closer.
‘You looking for a fare?’
The man beamed. ‘Do you and your lady want a ride?’
‘We surely do.’
‘How far?’
‘We’d like to see the whole of Central Park-as long as it takes.’
‘Well now.’ The driver grinned some more and scratched his head. A crowd was gathering, taking in the sight of this lovely bridal couple.
‘Well now,’ the driver said again. ‘Step aboard.’ He turned to his horses. ‘Come on, boys. Let’s give these folks an afternoon to remember. And, seeing as they’re just married, we might even give them a rate!’
For Peta the next few hours passed in a whirl. She’d been transported into a make-believe world where anything was possible. Where she was beautiful, desirable, loved. Where the sheer slog of daily grind was replaced by magical clothes, a matched pair of greys, the sights of Central Park, people waving at the bridal pair. The sights…
They climbed down occasionally so Marcus could show her things he enjoyed. When her ankle held her back he simply lifted and carried her, to the delight of the bystanders and ignoring her indignant squeaks. She stood on the mosaic that said Imagine while a hundred tourists took photographs. She checked the animals in the children’s zoo and more cameras clicked. She stood on the little bridges and the rocks in the Rambles and Marcus laughed and said why didn’t he have shares in digital cameras?
And then he grinned and remembered that he did.
Through all, their patient coachman waited, smiling benignly. They’d told Robert to leave them for two hours but it was almost three before Marcus was sure his bride had had her fill. Marcus phoned Robert and told him not to wait. At the end he had their coachman drop them off near a little place he knew…
The little place was a restaurant with food to die for. Still in their wedding regalia, they were ushered to the best table in the house. Peta drank wine and ate food that she’d never imagined existed.
She was tired, but wonderfully so. She hardly spoke. All afternoon she’d hardly spoken. She simply soaked it in, as if this was happening to someone else. Not to her.
This couldn’t possibly be happening to her.
But it was. She ate her food, dazed, while Marcus watched her with a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He was playing fantasy, too, she decided and she could hardly object.
She didn’t want to object.
And then, as the waiter poured coffee and she thought this surely must end, a four-piece band started up. Soft music. Simple. Lovely. And Marcus was rising, still with that queer half smile, quizzing her with his eyes. He knew her secret. He was sharing this make-believe.
‘Would you like to dance?’
Would she like to dance? The prospect was almost overwhelming. Would she?
‘I don’t… I can’t… My ankle.’
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘You can. I’ll take your weight. Lean on me. Tonight we can do anything.’
She rose. There was nothing else for it. Her lovely skirts swished against the floor, swirling around her. Marcus pulled her into his arms, lifting the weight from her ankle so she could hardly feel it. The band took one look at this lone couple on the dance floor and struck up the bridal waltz.
It needed only that. Peta choked on laughter and buried her face in Marcus’s shoulder.
‘Laughter?’ He swung her expertly around the dance floor and somehow her feet followed. As if they knew the way all by themselves. Peta, who’d never had the time or the opportunity to be on a dance floor before this night, seemed to know how without any teaching.
Of course she did. On this night anything was possible.
‘We’re such frauds,’ she whispered into his shoulder and she felt him stiffen. Just a little. And then she felt him chuckle in return, a low, lovely rumble.
‘As long as we both know it.’
‘What time does Robert turn into a mouse?’
He looked startled at that-but he caught the analogy and grinned.
‘He’s fine until at least midnight. But can I just ask if you’ll leave a forwarding address if you do any casting of slippers.’
‘My address is Rosella Farm, Yooralaa, Australia.’ She smiled. ‘Just so you don’t have to do any unnecessary fitting. There’s a lot of women between Yooralaa and New York to be trying on glass slippers on all of them.’
‘And maybe the fairytale wouldn’t hold. Maybe someone would have a smaller foot.’
She stilled and looked down to where her right foot peeked out from under her dress. Her ankle was bandaged. The bridal salon had solved her problem by giving her a right sandal three sizes larger than the left.
‘I must remember t
o drop the left one,’ she murmured. ‘Otherwise I’m doomed. Or you’re doomed. You might end up with a bride who’s two hundred pounds.’
He grinned. ‘But maybe we need to rewrite the fairytale,’ he suggested. ‘In fact, I’m sure we do. We need to rein up a few more mice and order a bigger pumpkin. Because, instead of fleeing alone, you get to take your Prince Charming along. I’m coming home with you.’
For heaven’s sake. As he swung her once more around the dance floor she thought she detected the faintest trace of satisfaction in his voice. What had she got herself into?
‘Hey!’ She pulled back. ‘Let’s not get carried away here.’ She focused then. Really focused, hauling the fairydust out of her head. ‘This isn’t real. I mean, even after midnight, after the two weeks. None of this is real.’
‘No.’ But he didn’t stop dancing. Another turn. He was holding her tight to take her weight, half dancing, half carrying. His head was resting on her curls. Which was sensible. Wasn’t it? He had to hold her to take the weight of her injured ankle. There was no other reason for it, though, she thought wildly. No other reason she was curved into him, her body moving as one with him.
‘Maybe we should go home,’ she whispered.
‘Home?’
‘I mean, to your apartment. I mean… You to your club.’ That was the sensible thing to do. Wasn’t it?
‘I don’t think we can do it tonight,’ he told her. ‘We’re married.’
‘So?’
‘So we have the society pages watching. Do we want them to know we slept apart on the night of our wedding?’
‘Yes!’
‘I’m sure you don’t mean that.’
She thought about it for a bit. Which was really hard. The way her body was feeling… All she was doing was feeling. She had no room for anything else.
‘You mean…because of Charles?’
‘What else could I mean?’
Of course. What else could he mean? Silly girl.
If only she could think straight. If only he wasn’t so near.
‘So…’ She caught herself. ‘You’re saying we need to…to stay in the same place?’
The Last-Minute Marriage Page 9