THE RELUCTANT BRIDE

by Joy Wodhams

But if anyone could resist Rod's steamroller techniques, she could. And if he resorted to more underhand methods, such as the blandishments she had seen him employ on girls in the office, he would find she was quite immune, thank you very much. Oh, there'd been a time during his first days at Englands when his charm and good looks had had a disturbing effect on her, but she'd soon overcome that weakness. No, if Rod expected an easy fight he was in for a surprise. She took up her fork and flattened a nest of peas with more force than was necessary.

  “You're very quiet, Gabriella,” said Mrs Stevens. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, just work problems.”

  “You must learn to switch off, my dear.”

  Gabriella rose and began to collect the used plates. “I'm all right, really.”

  “I've been watching you. You've hardly eaten and you've been frowning and grinding your teeth.”

  “Grinding my teeth!” Gabriella laughed.

  “Yes, dear. You've always done it, whenever you're upset or worried. I always knew when something had gone wrong at school or you'd had a quarrel with a friend.”

  Gabriella laughed again, avoiding the other woman's observant eyes. “Then it must have become a habit. I can assure you I'm not worried about anything.”

  “You haven't quarrelled with Bernard?” Mrs Stevens persisted.

  Bernard. Of course, there was her defence. Even Rod must accept defeat if she told him she and Bernard were about to become engaged. And it wouldn't exactly be a lie. They had been seeing each other for nearly two years and although neither had raised the subject of marriage it was half understood that one day they would settle down together.

  “Bernard and I never quarrel,” she said.

  “Sometimes,” her mother said drily, “I wonder if you and Bernard ever do anything.”

  “Mum!”

  “Well, he's such a dull earnest young man.”

  “We have a lot in common. Music, books, the countryside. And he's kind. Reliable.”

  Her mother sighed. “You're too young to set such store by those qualities, Gabriella. Not to the exclusion of everything else. You should be looking for someone to bring some excitement into your life.”

  “Like you had?” Gabriella retorted, then could have bitten out her tongue. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be cruel. Forgive me.”

  “It's all right. I do know how you feel about your father. But he wasn't all bad, you know.” For a moment, her eyes soft, Mrs Stevens was elsewhere. She came back, it seemed to Gabriella, with some reluctance. “Will you be in tonight? There's quite a good programme at nine.”

  “Actually, I'm going out at eight thirty.”

  “Bernard?”

  “No, someone from the office.”

  “A man? Then there is someone else?”

  “No, Mum, of course not! We just need to talk. About business.”

  “Just the same, put on a nice dress, dear, you never know.”

  Not likely, Gabriella thought. She wasn't going to give Rod Nicholson any wrong impressions.

  Upstairs she showered, dragged a brush through damp hair, leaving it loose around her shoulders, and pulled on a navy sweater and a pair of jeans that had seen better days. She nodded with satisfaction at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Yes, that was good enough for Rod Nicholson.

  The doorbell rang. It was two minutes to eight thirty. She grabbed her handbag and ran down the stairs.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Punctual as always,” she started to say as she opened the door. The words trailed into silence. Rod had also changed into jeans and a sweater. They emphasized the breadth of shoulder, the narrow hips and long muscular legs. The deep crimson of the sweater brought out the dark, almost gypsy cast of his skin.

  She stared at him, speechless. Why hadn't he worn a suit? She was used to seeing him in a suit. This unfamiliar image was disconcerting. No, more than that. Devastating. The barriers she had erected against him at the office were being breached and a flood of disturbing emotions swirled through her mind.

  He was taking an unfair advantage, she thought with growing resentment. She might have known.

  He looked down at her, his dark eyes taking in the pale hair that cascaded around her shoulders, the baggy sweater, the faded jeans, and a smile chased the sombreness from his face.

  “You look different,” he said. “You look about sixteen.”

  “So -” she croaked. “So do you. I mean – not sixteen. Different.” She took a deep breath. “You'd better come in. Meet my mother.”

  She turned to lead the way, then, a thought occurring to her, turned back. Rod was following so closely that she bumped her nose against his chest and automatically his hands came up to steady her. Startled, she shied away but his fingers tightened on her arms, seeming to burn through the soft wool to the flesh beneath. She had never been so close to the man before. Usually she kept at least a desk width between them but now, just a few more inches and she would be in his embrace. With horror she felt herself swaying towards him and fought the urge to lay her cheek against that broad chest.

  “I was going to say -” Her breath came with difficulty. “I don't want my mother worried. I'd rather you didn't mention – about the inheritance. About -”

  Rod nodded. “I won't say a word.” Releasing his grip he glanced casually around the narrow hall as if nothing had happened between them.

  Indeed, Gabriella told herself, nothing had. The encounter which had seemed to stretch to an eternity could in reality have lasted only a few seconds.

  “Mum, this is Rod Nicholson.”

  “How d'you do, Mrs Stevens. Gabriella has told me so much about you.”

  Gabriella's lip curled. She had told him nothing. Rod was simply putting his charm to work as usual, even on a woman of her mother's age. Listening to the chatter between the two, seeing her mother's eyes brighten, hearing her laugh almost coquettishly, Gabriella marvelled that a grown woman who had lived for so long with her father could be taken in so easily by such an obvious womaniser as Rod.

  “We're going out for a drink now,” she interrupted, staring hard at him.

  “Drink? Oh yes.” He turned to Mrs Stevens. “I thought I'd take Gabriella to the Poachers Arms. Nice little pub out in the country. Of course, if you'd like to come with us -?”

  “Oh no, Mr Nicholson, I wouldn't dream of it,” trilled Mrs Stevens. “I do know when three's a crowd.”

  Gabriella could have hit her. Instead, she bent to peck her cheek.

  “Bring him back for coffee,” hissed her mother.

  ****

  Rod left her at a small table for two in the crowded lounge of the Poachers Arms and went to order drinks. Lemonade and lime for her. She needed a clear head tonight. She watched as, a head taller than most of the other drinkers, he manoeuvred his way back to the table, collecting sidelong glances from several women on the way.

  I had quite a long talk with Brewster after you left,” he said as they sipped their drinks, “and there are a number of aspects we need to discuss.”

  He sounds as if he's opening a meeting, thought Gabriella, but was grateful. The more businesslike and matter of fact they could keep their discussion the easier it would be.

  “As you heard, we have to remain married for a minimum of five years,” he continued, “and during that time we wouldn't be allowed to sell the business, although we could turn it into a limited company if we felt the tax and other advantages warranted it. I think we should do that, if only to reduce our financial liability should anything go wrong.”

  She stared at him. “You're still talking as if our marriage is a foregone conclusion.”

  “It is.” Rod's face was grim. “You can't argue with the terms of the Will. The only way we can get Englands is to marry.”

  “And you're still determined to get Englands.”

  “You bet I am! It may be shaky and we may have to plough every penny back in for several years, but we both know the potential.” He leaned forward, his dar
k eyes boring into hers. “I want that Company, Gabriella. No one else is going to get their hands on it.”

  “And you're quite prepared to marry to get what you want,” she said coldly, sickened by his display of raw ambition. “However strongly we dislike each other.”

  He picked up his glass and swirled the liquid, looking at her with just a hint of a smile. “I don't think I actually dislike you, Gabriella. I do find you slightly tiresome at times, but I'm sure a little re-education could sort that out.”

  Colour flooded her cheeks. “You're impossible! Of all the patronising chauvinist -”

  “As for you,” he continued as if she had not spoken. “Perhaps your dislike doesn't run quite as deep as you'd have me believe?” He raised one black eyebrow in amused enquiry.

  He knew. She'd been a fool to think an experienced man like Rod would have been unaware of her response to his touch. To gain time she drank from her glass. Too hastily. Choking, she had to endure being slapped on the back. “I think you're the most despicable man I've ever met,” she said when she had recovered. “Do you really think I would be prepared to sacrifice myself so that you could have Englands?”

  “It's to your advantage too. And some wouldn't regard it as a sacrifice.”

  “I'm sure you could take your pick from any number of girls,” she taunted. “What a pity it had to be me!”

  “Oh, I don't know.” His dark eyes began a leisurely examination of her face and body as if he were a horse dealer assessing the points of a doubtful mare. “You dress badly. You wear the wrong colours for that pale skin and hair. You frown too often – and by the way, did you know that you grind your teeth?”

  Gabriella made a strangled sound and gripped her glass, fighting the urge to throw its contents over him.

  He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “All the same, I think you do have possibilities.” His eyes swept over her again. “Yes. Definite possibilities.”

  “I wish,” she gritted, “that I could say the same for you, Rod Nicholson. “Oh, I won't deny you're a handsome man and a lot of silly girls would jump at the chance of marrying you, but some people – and I'm one of them – look below the surface.”

  “And you don't like what you see?”

  “No, I do not!”

  “How unfortunate.” He leaned forward, smiling, but the smile no longer reached his eyes. “All right, Gabriella, if my natural charms can't persuade you and you're not interested in Englands -”

  “I am interested in Englands!”

  “But not enough to sacrifice yourself on the altar of marriage?”

  “Not enough to marry you.”

  “Dear me, you realise you're shredding my self esteem?”

  “Nothing could do that, Rod Nicholson!”

  “Quite right, it's pretty bouncy. But let's get back to marriage. What would it take to persuade you to marry me? Everyone has his – or her – price, they say.”

  “Not me.” She wished he would stop staring at her. “Really, Rod, this has gone on long enough. I'd like to go home.”

  “Of course, there's the money,” he said, ignoring her plea. “A not inconsiderable sum, according to Brewster.”

  “What money?”

  “Ben's. Apart from £15,000 to his housekeeper and the other small bequests, it all comes to us. If we marry. Three quarters of a million, give or take a few thousand.”

  Stunned, Gabriella stared at him. The figure took her breath away. With her share she could pay for her mother's operation. A dozen operations. Pay for a nurse, pay for everything she needed.

  “Then there's the house,” said Rod. “Lovely old place. White Gables. Ever been there?”

  Gabriella moistened dry lips. “Yes. I've been there.” Her mind raced. Never for a moment had she dreamed that she and Rod might inherit everything. White Gables. A great longing filled her., To go back. To live again in that beautiful old house where she had grown up.

  But the price was too high.

  If Rod were more like Bernard, someone with whom she could jog along happily without either making any great demands on the other, it might be easier to pay that price. Bernard would make a good husband. Although after two years their physical contact was still limited to holding hands, a friendly arm around her shoulders, a light kiss when they said goodnight that more often than not missed the corner of her mouth, she knew he was the sort of man who, once committed, would stick to one woman for life. Not for Bernard the furtive affairs, the lies, the broken promises, the betrayals that eroded and eventually destroyed so many marriages. That had destroyed her parents' marriage.

  But Bernard couldn't give her White Gables and the money to help her mother. Only marriage to Rod could do that.

  “You've finished your drink,” he said. “Can I get you another?”

  “What?” She stared at him blankly. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

  If she did marry Rod she would have to give up Bernard. They could scarcely remain friends. He would never understand her sudden defection unless she told him the truth and she could hardly do that.

  But what was she thinking? She couldn't seriously be considering marriage to Rod. Could she? He was everything she hated in a man. A conceited fickle womaniser who had no doubt already left a string of broken hearts in his wake.

  She watched him at the bar, conscious again of his effect on the women around him, and contempt narrowed her gaze. If he thought she would become one of his conquests he was sadly mistaken. If she did marry him it would be purely on the basis of a business contract, with the terms laid down as strictly as any other contract.

  Five years. Could she cope with this man for five years? Living in the same house, keeping up the pretence of a normal marriage? No, don't think of it as a marriage. Think of it as a formal merger. Of course, she warned herself with a flash of grim humour, she would have to guard against Rod turning it into a takeover.

  She picked up a drinks mat from the polished table and spun it idly. Heads – the advertisement for Lowenbrau lager – she married Rod. Tails – She marvelled at how rapidly her thought processes had brought her towards accepting the possibility of such a marriage.

  If she could just talk it over with her mother. But in spite of everything her mother still believed that true love was the only basis for marriage. She would be horrified if she knew that Gabriella was considering marrying just to get her hands on a fortune and a house. Even more horrified to learn that she was doing it partly for her sake. And there was no one else. No, the decision would have to be Gabriella's own. And while her initial reaction had been an absolute No! she could now feel herself weakening by the minute.

  She watched Rod come back from the bar, a glass in each hand, registering despite herself the tough dark face, the powerful muscular body, the sheer maleness of him. A chill of disquiet coursed through her. A small buried part of her was drawn by his magnetism. She fought it as she had done since their first encounter.

  He placed a brandy before her. “I thought you might like something stronger,” he said and dropped into the chair at her side.

  She cupped her glass and stared down into the golden liquid, conscious of his sprawled length close to her. How could he be so relaxed. They might have been discussing a machine maintenance contract.

  She stole a resentful glance at him and saw that he was smiling. “Something amusing you,” she asked.

  He laughed. “I was just thinking. Here we are, planning to spend the next five years together, and I know nothing of your tastes or interests.” A gleam of mischief lit his eyes. “I don't even know which side of the bed you prefer.”

  Her glass rocked so violently that some of the brandy spilled on to the table. For a moment an unbidden image flashed before her eyes. Rod and herself... Sharply she turned her head, hiding the telltale rush of blood to her cheeks.

  “Have I said something to upset you, Gabriella?” His voice was gentle, enquiring.

  She fought to control the trembling that filled her body before
she turned back to him. “If I did agree to marry y ou there would be no question -” Her voice was unsteady. “No question of – of -”

  “Consummating the marriage?”

  She risked another glance and saw that the mocking gleam had left his eyes. Now he was cool, speculative. He set down his glass and leaned forward in his chair.

  “Do I take it that you're now prepared to consider the proposition?”

  “To – consider it, yes. But that doesn't mean -”

  “What changed your mind, Gabriella? The money? The house?”

  She opened her mouth to explain but the flicker of contempt she saw in his eyes silenced her., How dared he despise her? He had shown quite clearly that he would do anything to get Englands. Let him think what he liked about her own motives. She had never sought his good opinion and she cared nothing for it now. In a few short weeks, if the marriage went ahead, they would both have all they wanted. What else mattered?

  A lamp still burned in Mrs Stevens' room when Gabriella let herself quietly into the house.

  “Still awake?” she whispered, popping her head round the door. Her mother, in bed, spectacles propped on her nose, was reading a romance from the local library. After the life she'd led, how could she enjoy romances, Gabriella wondered, not for the first time.

  “Darling, you're so late,” said her mother but with more delight than reproach.

  “The Poachers Arms was crowded, so we went for a drive.”

  “Such a nice young man. And so handsome! He is unattached, isn't he?”

  “Yes,” said Gabriella. Apart from a few dozen besotted females, she added silently.

  “Could you help me lie down, dear?”

  Supporting the older woman as she inched painfully into a horizontal position, checking that her pills and a glass of water were within reach, noting anew the dark shadows, the lines of strain that day by day were smudging away her mother's fine boned beauty, any doubts Gabriella still had as to the rightness of what she planned were suppressed.

  “We're going to get you well again soon,” she told her fiercely. “That's a promise.”

  “Yes, dear. But what about this young man? Has he asked you out again? Do you like him? Is he interested in you?”