Vengeful Vows (Marriage At First Sight Book 3)

by Yvonne Lindsay

  Much of the tension that had been apparent on Peyton’s face when they’d returned from their honeymoon had eased, but she was clearly very driven. It was a trait Alice both identified with and admired, but she knew firsthand that that drive had to be tempered or it would take over any chance for true happiness.

  Peyton brought her conversation back to the point of her being there. “So, as you can see, our lives are busy. But no less busy than your life must have been with your much larger family and juggling your children’s needs with the demands of the Horvath Corporation after your husband passed away.”

  “We women do what we do.” Alice shrugged.

  “That’s true,” Peyton agreed. “Which is what I wanted to speak with you about. I want to talk about women in business. About the balance of life and work and how that affected your decision-making.”

  “Affected my decision-making? You mean emotional versus rational, that sort of thing?”

  Peyton looked slightly uncomfortable. “I guess, yes. We are emotional creatures, aren’t we?”

  “You’re testing me, aren’t you?” Alice said with a little laugh. “Okay, I’ll give you your interview, Peyton. I respect you for both asking me directly and for coming to me, face-to-face, to conduct it. I should have expected as much from you.”

  “Expected as much?”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of your successes in your field, young lady. I should be flattered, I suppose, that you wanted to interview me, too. That you thought my life worthy of inclusion in one of your articles. Although, I have to say, this is a shift for you, isn’t it? Women in business instead of your usual David versus Goliath style of reporting?”

  Peyton shifted in her chair. “Yes, it is. But you have to admit, it’s a subject dear to a lot of women’s hearts.”

  Alice smiled. It was clear that Peyton was only revealing half of her intentions. Perhaps by offering Peyton her trust, it would convince the girl that she truly was a part of the family. And if it didn’t? Alice rubbed absently at her chest, a habit she still found herself indulging in even now that her heart was so much better.

  If Alice had miscalculated, it might mean she’d made the first serious mistake of her life and endangered the happiness of both her much-adored grandson and the little girl he had taken responsibility for. But Alice Horvath didn’t make mistakes, she reminded herself. She relaxed her features and put a smile on her face.

  “Ask me your questions, my dear. And then we can enjoy lunch together and get to know each other a little better.”

  * * *

  Peyton wondered if a butterfly caught in a net felt the same as she did right now. This interview was no different from anything she had done before, so why did she feel like a rookie reporter covering her first school event and worrying if she’d get the names right? It was ridiculous. She smiled back at Alice and took out her notepad and pen from her leather bag.

  “No recorder?” Alice asked, raising one brow.

  “I prefer to make notes as I go, but if you’d rather I record, I can do that using my phone.”

  “One of the reasons I don’t usually grant interviews is because I have a deep dislike of being misquoted. At least if you have a recording, there can be no mistakes, correct?”

  Peyton averted her gaze. There was something about Alice’s tone that made her uncomfortable. As if she was being challenged. Or maybe it was merely her own guilt that was making it seem so. She pulled her phone from her bag, put it on the coffee table between them and selected the voice recorder app.

  “There we go,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “No mistakes.”

  “Thank you, my dear. It’s good of you to indulge an old woman.”

  Now there was a trap laid before her if ever there was one. Peyton couldn’t help it; she laughed. “You may be older than me, Alice, but you’re likely as sharp as you ever were.”

  She met Alice’s blue eyes across the table and saw the glimmer of humor reflected there; she also noted the subtle nod of her head.

  “More people would do well to remember that. Now, ask me your questions.”

  Peyton skimmed through what she mentally called the fluff questions, all of which appeared to bore Alice if her lackluster responses were anything to go by.

  “Don’t you have questions with more meat to them? I thought you wanted this article to be as hard-hitting as your usual work. Or are you targeting a new audience?” the older woman asked her with a dash of acerbity to her tone.

  Peyton was a little taken aback. This was her interviewing style—fluff to soften up her subject before rounding out the interview with the serious questions that gave her the kind of answers she really wanted. The technique had served her well in the past, lulling most of her interviewees into a sense of security before she got to the point of what she wanted to know. Alice, it appeared, was not one of those people.

  “No, it’s not for a new audience. This will be as serious a work as anything I’ve done before, perhaps even more so,” she replied, feeling slightly defensive.

  “Then kindly get to the point.”

  Alice’s words were delivered with a smile but Peyton was left in no doubt whatsoever that she was treading on thin ice.

  “So, Match Made in Marriage. What drove you to establish the company and how successful is it, really?”

  “I believe I already mentioned to you once, I have a knack for introducing people to one another. It made sense to formalize that with a company that specialized in creating introductions.”

  “But they’re not just introductions, are they? Not when people meet for the first time at the altar,” Peyton pressed.

  “You approached us. You know the format.”

  Was that a note of censure or warning in Alice’s voice? Peyton felt a tiny thrill of excitement. Was she finally getting to her? Riling up the ever-serene and much-loved Nagy, who appeared incapable of doing any wrong to her doting family.

  “That’s true—I did. And you delivered exactly what I asked for in my assessment questionnaire. How can you be certain, though, that every match will be a success?”

  Alice narrowed her eyes a moment. “Are you speaking as a reporter now? Or from a point of fear for your own relationship with my grandson? You were unsettled when you arrived back from your honeymoon. Are things not improving?”

  Peyton shook her head. Oh, the old lady was good. She’d managed to turn the tables on Peyton with next to no effort. She girded herself to take back control of the interview once more.

  “We aren’t talking about me and my situation. I’m curious about the science behind the matches you make.”

  “It’s not all science, although since I’ve established the company I’ve enlisted the assistance of psychologists and relationship experts to ensure that we’re on the right track. We’ve had no failures so far, which is more than I can say for most dating options available to people these days. We take a lot of pride in our matches—there’s a lot at stake.”

  “This is true,” Peyton agreed. “A great deal is at stake on many levels, including the legal assurances in the agreements your clients sign. But is it true that, science and probabilities aside, you always have the final say on whether or not a couple are to be matched?”

  Alice’s voice had lost all its warmth when she spoke this time. “As I said earlier, I have a knack for making introductions. The science merely supports this. Our track record now speaks for itself.”

  “So basically, and let’s be totally honest here, you’re it. You’re the one manipulating people’s lives and potential happiness with your matches. And, despite your ‘knack,’ as you call it, you weren’t a hundred percent on track as a younger woman, were you? After all, didn’t you keep two men dangling for your attention before you chose to marry Eduard Horvath?”

  Peyton knew she was taking a risk by raking up that old coal, but sh
e wasn’t here to pussyfoot around. Alice sighed and straightened her skirt over her legs.

  “You didn’t set this interview up to discuss Match Made in Marriage, or my past,” Alice said pointedly.

  “The matchmaking business is a part of who you are as a businesswoman, but if you’re uncomfortable talking about Match Made in Marriage we can move on to something else. Okay, as far as I can tell, Horvath Corporation has a very high staff retention rate. But no workplace is ever perfect. Tell me about the people you’ve fired. Who were they, and why did you fire them?”

  “Telling you who they were would be a breach of confidentiality,” Alice responded smoothly.

  But Peyton didn’t miss the stiffening of the woman’s spine.

  “Without stating specifics, then. What kind of thing would lead you to release a staff member?”

  “Theft and disloyalty are generally the only reasons I have been forced to let people go. And it never failed to surprise me that despite all the benefits we offered, together with very competitive salaries, there’d always be a few who thought they could dip their hands in the pot, so to speak.”

  “How did you deal with it?”

  “How does anyone deal with theft? The consequences are clearly spelled out in staff employment agreements. The offender is terminated.”

  “And what process of investigation do you follow? Surely people are assumed innocent until proved guilty?”

  Peyton held her breath. She still vividly remembered the day her father had come home from work, furious that he’d been dismissed without a chance to defend himself.

  “The staff member is generally put on leave with full pay until an independent investigation is conducted. Depending on the outcome of that investigation, they either return to work or they go on to find work elsewhere.”

  “And what about the rumors I’ve been told, that you’ve interfered with some former staffers’ ability to find other work?”

  Alice’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t address rumors.”

  “Okay, let me rephrase that. Have you ever interfered with an ex-employee’s ability to find other work in their field?”

  “I believe this interview is over.” Alice rose to her feet. “I look forward to seeing your article when it goes to print. Will you furnish me with an advance copy?”

  And give the old lady time to file an injunction preventing its publication when she saw what the article truly held? Peyton smiled and shook her head.

  “That’s not my usual practice. I can’t be seen to make an exception. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Oh, I understand, Peyton. Be careful where you tread.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said for you to be careful where you tread. You don’t know what you may inadvertently step into. Now, let’s adjourn to the dining room. I believe our lunch is ready.”

  Peyton watched the woman as she walked slowly and carefully across the room. The interview had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth—there were still so many questions Peyton wanted to ask. At least Alice hadn’t kicked her out, but she had the feeling she’d come mighty close to it. Best not to poke the tiger any further today.

  One thing, however, was crystal clear. She needed to wrap up the feature and get out of this marriage—this family—as quickly as possible.

  Fifteen

  Galen watched Peyton as she got ready for bed that night. There was something about her bedtime routine that he found unbelievably sexy. He rose from the bed and walked toward her where she sat at the bedroom vanity, brush in hand. He was only wearing his cotton pajama bottoms.

  “Let me do that,” he suggested.

  She didn’t protest as he took the brush from her hand and began to run it through her hair. But rather than relax her, as it usually did, she appeared to grow even more tense.

  “How did the interview go with Nagy today?”

  “She’s the queen of stonewalling, isn’t she?”

  “Ah, so it didn’t go well, then.” He kept up the steady strokes of the brush.

  “No, it didn’t. Not for me, anyway. I have some quotes I can use but I didn’t get near to what I really wanted.”

  “Do you want me to try for you? Perhaps she might be more amenable if I ask—”

  “No!” Peyton blurted. “I’m sorry, but no,” she repeated more gently this time. “I will work with what I have.”

  Galen met Peyton’s gaze in the mirror. She showed obvious signs of strain around her eyes and there were shadows beneath them, too. He put down the brush and rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “I only want to help you, Peyton, to make your life easier where I can.”

  “I know that, but you have to understand, I’m used to relying on myself. That way I have only myself to blame if something goes wrong.”

  “Why should anything go wrong?”

  She gently shook her head and gave him a slightly pitying look. “You really have no idea, do you?”

  Her words stung. Did she think he’d never known hardship or sorrow or difficulty? As if she suddenly realized how her words must have sounded, she shook her head again.

  “Look, I’m sorry. Of course you know what it’s like.”

  “Everyone has their battles to face. But you don’t have to face anything alone anymore, Peyton.” His fingers tightened on her shoulders and he leaned down until his face was even with hers. “I’m here for you now. All you have to do is let go and trust me to help you.”

  She lifted a hand to one of his, her fingers lacing in between his and squeezing them. “Thank you. It’s an adjustment learning to rely on someone else. I’m not sure I’m very good at it.”

  “Hey, practice makes perfect, right?”

  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, then shifted her hair to expose the back of her neck and pressed his lips there. A tremor ran through her and she dropped her head forward.

  “It does crazy things to me when you do that,” she said softly.

  “Want me to distract you some more?”

  “Please.”

  The heartfelt plea in that single word made him want to stop and ask more about what had happened today between her and his grandmother. That it hadn’t gone well had been evident in every line of her face and the way she’d carried herself when she’d arrived home a quarter of an hour ago. But now was not the time. Now was all about shifting that tiredness from her eyes and putting life and energy back in them while revitalizing her body to a point where she could forget what troubled her. She’d said she didn’t want his help, but she’d accept this, so he’d give it to her.

  Galen’s hands slid to the straps of her nightgown and gently eased the thin strips over her shoulders and down her arms. The silky fabric of her nightie slipped down her breasts, slowly exposing them to his hungry gaze. He bent his head and kissed a line along her shoulder while his hands slid down, tugging the fabric away from her breasts completely. Her nipples had grown into taut points and the creamy flesh of her breasts rose and fell as her breathing quickened in response to his touch. He cupped her breasts with his hands, massaging them gently and watching his actions in the mirror. There was something incredibly erotic about seeing their reflections in the mirror like this and feeling the weight of her in his hands, inhaling the subtle scent of her fragrant skin and feeling the rising heat that came from her body.

  “Are you playing voyeur tonight?” she asked.

  Her voice was husky, and when her eyes met his in the mirror, they shone with arousal.

  “Do you like that?” he countered.

  “Only if I get to watch, too,” she replied, her voice catching on a hitch of breath.

  Desire surged through him, making his fingers tremble as he touched her, clouding his mind to the point where he could barely think. Her hands closed over his, pressing them more firmly into her soft, malleable
flesh and guiding him to gently squeeze her nipples. Her head fell back on his shoulder, her eyes glittering as she continued to watch their hands on her body. A flush spread across her chest and her cheeks. She guided one of his hands down over her belly to the apex of her thighs. He felt her shiver in response as his fingertip brushed against her clitoris.

  “Again,” she demanded.

  Always a gentleman, he did his best to oblige. She let go of his hand and threaded her fingers up through his hair, her nails scraping his scalp as he circled the nub of nerve endings—occasionally touching it, pressing it, grazing it ever so slightly before letting his hand sweep away to dip into the core of her. She was wet, so wet, and he was equally as hard.

  “Stand up,” he directed. He helped her to her feet and pushed the stool away. “Good. Now put your hands on the dressing table.”

  “You’re so bossy,” she teased.

  He ran his hand down her back to her buttocks and gave her a little slap. Her eyes flared in the mirror and she bit her bottom lip.

  “And you’re cheeky,” he said with a smile as he loosened the tie on his pajamas and let them fall to his feet.

  He stroked himself, letting her watch his reflection in the mirror.

  “Oh no, that can’t be what you plan to do,” she said with a smile and swayed her hips sensuously. “Not when there are much better options available.”

  “I like being a man with options. What would you suggest?”

  “You’re a clever kind of guy. I think you’ve got this, don’t you?”

  He stroked one hand down her spine to the cleft of her buttocks and felt her body grow taut beneath his touch. He stroked the lush globes of her bottom, then delved lower, deeper, to where the heat and moisture of her body awaited his possession.