THE TROPHY WIFE

by Ginna Gray

  The sour-faced housekeeper stomped into the room carrying a tray containing a china pot and two matching cups and saucers. She plopped the tray down on the coffee table and straightened, giving him a sharp look before turning to her employer. "Will there be anything else, Miss Elizabeth?"

  "No, that's all, Gladys. Thank you."

  The older woman sniffed and shot him another look. "If you need me, just call," she said, somehow managing to make the statement sound like a warning.

  "I will."

  Max watched the old prune stomp out of the room with her back ramrod stiff and close the door behind her with a sharp snap.

  "How do you take your coffee, Mr. Riordan?"

  "Black."

  Elizabeth poured the steaming brew and handed it to him, then poured herself a cup and added a dollop of cream. Settling back in the chair, she took a sip, watching him over the rim. "I must say, I was surprised when Gladys told me you were here and that you needed to speak to me. I can't imagine about what."

  "I'll get straight to the point, then." Max didn't believe in shilly-shallying around. Small talk or skirting around an issue was a waste of time and a colossal bore, two things he could not tolerate. When action needed to be taken or something needed to be said, his instinct was to cut to the chase and be done with it. Belatedly, though, it occurred to him that Elizabeth might be put off by his abrupt manner, so he tacked on, "That is, if that's all right with you."

  "Please do."

  "I'm here because I know about your financial situation." Until that instant she'd been the picture of graciousness, even though there had been a flicker of unease in her eyes, but at his words she stiffened. Her dainty little chin went up a notch and her expression turned cool.

  Leaning forward, she placed her cup and saucer on the coffee table, her movements controlled and careful. She straightened and folded her hands together in her lap. Her greenish-blue eyes sparkled at him like ice on a frosty morning. She looked every inch the patrician lady. "May I ask just how you happen to come by that information? It's supposed to be confidential."

  "I'm on the board of directors of your bank."

  "Really? Since when?" she asked, her tone clearly revealing that she didn't believe him.

  "I've held the position for almost a year. When your ex-husband took off, I was asked to fill his seat on the board. Since I'm a major shareholder in the bank, it wasn't that unusual an occurrence. At the time a notice was sent out to all the bank customers announcing my appointment."

  "Oh. I see. I … I must have overlooked it." Or didn't bother to read it, Max thought. But then, who could blame her? She'd had a lot on her plate during the past year.

  "I'm not one of those people who accepts a position on a board and just collects a fat check and sleeps through the meetings," Max continued. "I'm a businessman. I have a vested interest in the financial health of the bank, and I keep close tabs on all my investments. I periodically review all the major accounts."

  He paused to take a sip of coffee, then leveled a steady look on her. "Imagine my surprise when I discovered that your account balances were hitting rock bottom. The bank's records show that Edward Culpepper regularly withdrew large sums from all your accounts. Once I'd made that discovery I checked with our investment manager and found out that your stock portfolio has been stripped to bare bones. You're as good as broke."

  Though her expression remained neutral, he watched the uneasiness in her eyes deepen.

  After a moment of tense silence, she sighed and murmured, "I see. I suppose it was foolish of me, but I'd hoped that I would have more time before my financial situation became common knowledge."

  "It hasn't yet, don't worry. No one at the bank knows but Walter Monroe and me."

  "I suppose you came to inform me that the bank is going to foreclose on the land that I put up as collateral on the loan I took out last spring?"

  Her expression remained cool and composed, but Max could see the fear and desperation in those expressive eyes of hers.

  "Not at all," he assured her.

  Though she didn't move a muscle other than to blink several times, her relief was almost palpable. After his assurance had completely soaked in, she looked at him with puzzlement. "I don't understand. If you're not here to foreclose on my land, then why are you here?"

  "Actually, I came to offer you a possible solution to your situation."

  "Really? Why would you do that? You barely know me."

  "True. However, I'm not here to make a philanthropic gesture," he said in his usual gruff way. "What I'm offering is a deal that will take care of both of our problems."

  He downed the last half of his coffee in one swallow and returned the cup to the tray, then leaned back against the brocade sofa, slung one arm out along the top and fixed her with an unwavering stare.

  "I believe that a marriage between us would be mutually beneficial."

  For the first time since he'd known her, her poise slipped. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. For a moment she was so stunned she could only gape at him. "Wh-what did you just say?" she finally managed in an incredulous voice.

  "I know I've shocked you, but if you'll just think about it for a minute I'm sure you'll see the advantages."

  "Mr. Riordan, I can't possibly…"

  He raised his hand to stop her. "Just hear me out before you say anything, okay?"

  After hesitating, she consented with a dazed nod, and Max continued.

  "For my part, the old monied families of Houston represent a deep well of potential investment resources that I have been trying to tap into for years, with little success. They're a tight group that doesn't easily accept newcomers. I need your social contacts and the benefit of the unimpeachable social position you hold to get my foot in the door.

  "In addition," he went on matter-of-factly, "I'll admit that I've reached the stage in life where I want a home and a permanent partner. I like women and making love to them," he added, as though discussing the weather. "But I don't have the time or the patience for the ritual mating dance that men and women put themselves through—the dating, the wooing, the whole courtship thing. You ask me, it's all a waste of time. I'm a good judge of character and I know what kind of woman I like. From my observance of you, I've come to the conclusion that you would be the perfect wife for me."

  He also admired the dignity with which she'd weathered Edward Culpepper's desertion and all the gossip and tittle-tattle that had come afterward, but he saw no reason to bring up such a painful subject. Equally as important, she seemed to him to be a rather distant, self-sufficient woman who would make few demands on his time.

  "On the other hand, there are obvious advantages to you. First of all, I will bail you out of your current financial crisis. I am aware that your farm has failed to show a profit for four straight years. I propose to set up a trust large enough to insure that you never lose your farm. I believe you call it Mimosa Grove, or something like that, right?"

  "Mimosa Landing," she murmured.

  "Right. Anyway, with your permission, I'll also rebuild the Stanton investment portfolio."

  Stiffening, Elizabeth blurted out, "Oh, no. I will never again give anyone else control over my family's holdings."

  "Nor would I expect you to." He gave her a long, steady look. "I know all about Edward's sneaky maneuvering and misuse of power of attorney. That was your mistake. Never give anyone, and I mean anyone, full power of attorney."

  "I know that now."

  Noting the bitter edge to her voice, for once Max reined in his urge to ream her out for being so foolish. "What I propose is that I act strictly in an advisory capacity.

  "Everything that is yours will remain in your name. Therefore, of necessity, you will have to review and sign every document that in any way alters your holdings. I will merely act as your adviser. I, of course, will keep you and your attorney fully informed on every deal I propose. However, I assure you, the final decision on anything involving Stanton money or holdings wil
l be yours.

  "There will, of course, be a prenuptial agreement outlining all the particulars, but that, in a nutshell, is the deal I'm proposing. I'm sure that if you give yourself time to really think about it you'll agree that the marriage would be advantageous to us both." Having stated his case, Max waited for her reply.

  Elizabeth stared at him, flabbergasted. She could barely believe that she'd heard him correctly. This man, whom she barely knew, marches into her home and proposes marriage as though it was one of his business deals. Calm as you please, he suggests that they spend the rest of their lives together—intimately—and acts as though the idea was perfectly reasonable and logical? Was he insane?

  Apparently not. There he sat, without the least sign of nervousness, watching her in that steady way he had, waiting for a reply.

  Maxwell Riordan was an impressive man in any setting. Elizabeth could see why women found him appealing, though he was not truly handsome. His features were too rough hewn and craggy for classic good looks. However, he exuded strength and male vitality. He was the kind of man who would stand out in a roomful of men.

  She guessed his height at an inch or two over six feet. He had the broad shoulders and the muscular physique of a man who was, at least at some point in his life, accustomed to hard physical labor. His large, callused hands bore out that assumption.

  Though olive-skinned with hair as black as a raven's wing, he had azure-blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through you. A scar bisected his right eyebrow and angled across the bridge of his nose and left cheek. His nose had been broken at least once.

  She couldn't fault the way he spoke or dressed. His grammar was correct, although his speech was a bit too gruff and direct for politeness. His clothing was obviously custom-made and tasteful. Yet, for all that, he lacked polish, and there was a definite aura of toughness about the man.

  For her taste, he was simply too much—too aggressive, too dangerous, too … too rawly male.

  "I see," she finally managed to say. "I must say, Mr. Riordan, you have taken me by surprise. I was curious as to what brought you to see me, but I certainly did not expect this."

  "Pardon me if I came across as abrupt. That seems to be a failing of mine, or so people tell me. However, for years I've made my living—and a fortune—by seeing the possibilities and making things happen. As I said before, I don't have the time or the patience for courtship. You captured my attention the first time we met, and since then I've observed you closely."

  A tiny shiver rippled down Elizabeth's spine at that revelation. The idea that he'd been watching her all this time was unnerving.

  "I've also done a little checking. I know that you were faithful to your ex-husband, that you are liked and admired by all your peers, with the possible exception of Natalie Brassard, that is. I know that you are said to be honest, sweet-tempered and gracious. I also know that your domestic staff at both of your homes—housekeepers, gardeners, farmhands—have all been with you for years. That alone speaks volumes."

  "A little checking? It sounds to me as though you've had me investigated," Elizabeth replied with an indignant edge to her voice.

  Max shrugged. "I'm a careful man. But don't worry, everything I learned about you was positive. That's one of the things that make me certain that we are suited."

  "Really?" Beginning to recover from her initial shock, Elizabeth stiffened her spine and sat a bit taller. "Let me see if I have this straight. What you're proposing is that I marry you for your money, and you marry me for my social position and contacts. Oh, and for a permanent bed partner. Is that right?"

  Not in the least put off by her tone, Max shrugged again. "That about sums it up."

  Elizabeth didn't know whether to be amused or indignant. "I see. I'm curious. If I were to agree to this, just how long would you expect such a marriage to last?"

  "'Till death do us part.' Isn't that how the vow goes? However, if you'd like we can put a stipulation in our prenuptial agreement that we will review our situation at the end of five years. That should be adequate time for us to know whether or not we can rub along together. And by then I hope to have your investment portfolio healthy again and I should have made inroads into Houston society.

  "At that point, if either of us wants out, we'll go our separate ways with no hard feelings. You'll have your trust for the farm and the income from your trust and I will have gained the investors that I want."

  "If you have so much money that you can afford to do what you're proposing, why do you need more?" Elizabeth asked.

  "It isn't about the money," Max replied. "It stopped being about the money after I made my first couple of million. It's about the game. Putting together deals and making them come to fruition gets into your blood. The profit you make for yourself and others is secondary."

  "I see," she murmured, although she didn't. Each generation of her family had worked hard and increased their wealth out of a sense of responsibility to future generations, but Max seemed driven. A workaholic who was addicted to wheeling and dealing.

  "I must say, Mr. Riordan, I've received more romantic proposals." Her old friend Wyatt Lassiter, for one, had been proposing to her on an average of once a week for months now.

  "Sorry. I'm not the romantic type."

  "Ah, but you see, there's the rub. I am. I'm sorry, but—"

  "Call me Max," he insisted.

  "Very well … Max. I'm afraid I could not possibly marry for the reasons you're proposing."

  He gave her another of those long looks he was so good at. It felt as if those intense blue eyes were searing a hole straight into her soul. "I take it you married Edward Culpepper for love?"

  "Yes. Yes I did."

  "Hmm. Evidently that's not the magic ingredient for success, is it?"

  The question hit her like a slap, but she held on to her composure. Barely. "I guess not. Still … marrying for money seems so … so crass."

  "Crass? It seems honest, open and mutually beneficial to me. Let me remind you that it has only been in the past hundred years or so that people have married for what they call love.

  "For centuries down through time, marriages were arranged for many reasons other than love. Financial or political gain, family alliances, companionship, security, progeny, et cetera. And the practice still thrives in certain parts of the world. Many of those were and are successful unions. If you marry with realistic expectations, you have a good chance for satisfaction with the union, I'd say."

  "Satisfaction? What about happiness?"

  Max shrugged. "That, too. I expect we'll grow attached to each other as time goes by."

  "And if we don't?"

  "Then we'll treat each other with mutual respect. One thing I can promise you—I'll never be unfaithful. With me you'll never have to endure the humiliation that Edward put you through. I keep my word."

  Max reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and withdrew a business card and a pen. Scribbling something on the back of the card, he said, "My business numbers are on this card. On the back I'm writing the number of my private line at my office. It rings straight through to my desk. Only a handful of people have it. I'm also giving you my home number and my private cell phone number." He handed the card to her across the top of the coffee table. "Take a few days and think over everything we've discussed, then telephone me with your answer."

  I can give you my answer now, Elizabeth thought.

  However, she forced a weak smile to her lips and heard herself saying, "Very well."

  "Promise me that you'll take your time and really think over all I've said," he repeated, as though he'd read her thoughts.

  "I will. I promise." Elizabeth stood up to signal the end of their conversation, leaving Max no choice but to do the same.

  "Good. I'll look forward to hearing from you soon."

  So cold and unemotional, Elizabeth thought as she walked with him to the front door. To Maxwell Riordan marriage was just another business deal.

  When he'd g
one Elizabeth closed the door and with a sigh leaned back against the thick mahogany panel and closed her eyes. She felt oddly shaken. What a brash, unpredictable man. When Gladys had announced him, she had been surprised and puzzled as to why he wanted to speak to her, but the last thing she had expected was a marriage proposal.

  The double doors that led into the dining room slid open and Mimi burst out into the foyer, giving Elizabeth a start. She had been so stunned by Max's proposal she'd forgotten that her friend was still there and had, in all probability, listened in at the parlor door.

  Mimi's wild-eyed look and the first words out of her mouth confirmed that she had, indeed, been eavesdropping.

  "Omigod! Marriage! He actually proposed marriage. I just about peed my pants when he dropped that bomb! It was all I could do not to march into the room and tell him off. The nerve of that man."

  Giving her friend a wry look, Elizabeth pushed away from the door. "Why, Mimi, I thought you said he was a hunk," she tossed over her shoulder as she strolled past the other woman.

  Mimi followed, her stiletto heels hammering out an angry staccato, first on the marble of the foyer, then on the hardwood floor of the parlor. "Yes, I said he was a hunk. Because he is. But that doesn't mean I think you should marry him!

  "Anyway … who the devil does he think he is? The very idea, suggesting that you marry him for his money? And worse, admitting that he only wants to marry you for your social position. And for a convenient lay. I should've walked in and boxed his jaws just for that remark alone.

  "Is the man blind or just plain stupid? Doesn't he realize what a smart, sweet and terrific, not to mention beautiful, woman he'd be getting if he were ever lucky enough—God forbid—to get you to the altar?"

  "You have to admit, he was honest." Elizabeth sat down in the chair she had vacated just moments before and picked up the coffeepot again. "Would you like some coffee? I can have Gladys bring in another cup."

  "No, I don't want any coffee," Mimi snapped. She began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. "I want to know what you're going to do."