The Bride of Santa Barbara
Angela Devine
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
‘OK, BETH. This is the most important day of your life. You’re getting married today. So let’s have a really big smile.’
With a hesitant tilt of her lips Beth turned to face the photographer. Behind him she could see the towering blue hills that rose like a painted backdrop behind the city of Santa Barbara. Above them the sun was just beginning to rise, sending a faint pink glow along the ridge-tops and lighting up the palm trees and white stuccoed houses on the waterfront. The air was still moist and fresh with no hint of the heat that would blaze out later in the day. A gentle breeze blew from the land, sending a sound like wind chimes rippling through the masts of the yachts in the marina and ruffling her veil. She stole a swift glance behind her and saw that the ocean was taking on the same rosy pink hue of the sky. It was a perfect day for taking photos and a perfect day for a wedding. Feeling half shy and half foolish, Beth let her thoughts dwell on the prospect of marrying Warren. All the doubts of the last three years would be swept aside in one glorious moment. The uncertainties would be gone forever...
‘You’re frowning slightly, honey,’ warned the photographer. ‘I want a really big smile. Radiant. Joyful. Yes, like that.’
Finally Beth pushed away her doubts. A wistful look crept into her light blue eyes and a hesitant half-smile played around the corners of her wide mouth. She concentrated on happiness and suddenly her whole face lit up. Her lips parted into a beaming grin and the cleft in her chin grew more accentuated than ever.
‘That’s great!’ exclaimed the photographer. ‘Any time you want a job as a professional model, you just come straight to me. Now can you lean a little against the railings of the launch? Yes, like that. I want to catch the background of the harbour behind you.’
The varnished deck of the motor launch was bobbing gently under Beth’s feet and the long white dress hampered her movements. But, looping her train cautiously over one arm, she did her best to obey his orders.
‘See if you can actually sit up on the railing a little,’ he urged. ‘I want your curls fluttering in the breeze and the veil blowing out behind you. That’s fine.’
Darting a swift glance over her shoulder, Beth saw the pearly pink curve of a sail gliding towards them across the water like the outstretched wings of a bird. She scrambled into a precarious position on the railing, pushed the lace veil out over her right shoulder and ran her long slim fingers through her blonde curls.
‘Like this, Michael?’ she asked.
‘Great,’ agreed the photographer. ‘Now if you could just— ‘
But what he was going to say Beth never found out, for at that moment there was a terrific thud and the cabin cruiser plunged sharply beneath her feet as if an earthquake had struck. She snatched wildly at the railing, missed and fell into the harbour with a terrified shriek. A torrent of salt water poured into her mouth. Flailing wildly, she tried to fight her way back to the surface. Normally she was a good swimmer, but then she did not usually swim in a wedding-dress. The folds of material were rapidly filling up with water and dragging her down, the veil was wrapped tightly around her neck and her lungs felt ready to burst. One of her white satin shoes slipped off her foot and she kicked wildly, trying to free the other one. All around her there was nothing but an explosion of bubbles and green blurry water and inside her chest was the beginning of a searing pain. Suddenly strong arms appeared from nowhere and dragged her to the surface. She opened her mouth and took in a long, choking gulp of fresh air. Her wet veil felt like a strangling rope around her throat and she fought with a new vigour to try and free herself. Then to her relief the encumbrance was suddenly torn loose and flung away. Beth became aware that somebody’s strong arm was flung over her left shoulder and holding her tightly under her right armpit. For an instant she lay motionless with relief in that reassuring grip. Then she saw her veil beginning to fill with water and sink beneath the green surface of the waves.
‘Oh, no, my veil!’ she gasped, struggling wildly to try and grab it. ‘I can’t lose that.’
‘I’ll buy you a new one,’ promised a deep masculine voice.
Lean brown fingers thrust aside her wet curls and she caught a glimpse of keen dark eyes. Then her rescuer began to swim in a strong, effortless side-stroke, dragging her after him. Raising her head, she saw the gleaming white stern of a yacht dead ahead of them. When they reached it, the stranger shouted to somebody on board and a rope-ladder came splashing down into the water beside her. By now Beth was shivering with cold and shock and her first fumbling attempts to get a grip on the ladder were in vain. With an impatient oath the man in the water grabbed her by the back of her dress and hoisted her almost bodily over the stern of the yacht. A moment later he had hauled himself up beside her.
‘Are you all right?’ he demanded.
Beth opened her mouth to speak but was seized by a paroxysm of coughing. With an involuntary gulp she ducked her head over the rear of the yacht and was violently sick into the water.
As she straightened up, shuddering and gasping, she saw a sight that took her breath away. On the green surface of the water where the motor launch had been bobbing only moments before, there was nothing but a single red lifebelt surrounded by a few scraps of floating wreckage.
‘What happened to our boat?’ she demanded, her voice sharp with alarm.
‘It sank,’ replied her rescuer. ‘And you’re lucky you didn’t go down with it.’
‘But Warren and the photographer...where are they?’
Her voice was shrill with fear and the stranger grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her round to face the south.
‘They’ve swum to the wharf,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, they look fine.’ Beth followed his pointing finger to a spot where the grey outline of Stearns Wharf could be seen jutting out into the water. Sure enough, Warren and Michael had already climbed out on to the wooden planks of the wharf and were wringing the water out of their soaked clothing. As she watched, Warren turned and made an obscene gesture towards the yacht.
‘You reckless, destructive bastard!’ he shouted across the water. ‘I’ll sue you for this.’
‘We’ll see about that!’ muttered the stranger grimly. ‘Benson, take us ashore at the Yacht Club and phone the police.’
He turned back to Beth and held out his hand.
‘My name is Daniel Pryor,’ he said curtly.
Something in his manner was as threatening as if he were pointing a loaded gun at her. Yet, not knowing what else to do, she shook hands.
‘I’m Beth Saxon,’ she replied.
It seemed ridiculous to be standing there exchanging such formal greetings when they looked like a pair of typhoon victims. Beth’s white high-heeled shoes had been lost, her sodden veil was somewhere at the bottom of the harbour and her beautiful dress was soaked with salt water. She stole a swift glance at her rescuer. He didn’t look much better. His brown, curly hair lay damp and sleek against his head, and his white polo-shirt and white yachting shorts clung closely to his muscular frame. He was about thirty-five, with a hawk-like nose, dark eyes, a square jaw and a powerfully built physique, all of which seemed hauntingly familiar, although quite unknown to her. Although he was not conventionally handsome, Daniel Pryor was the kind of man who would always stand out in a crowd. The kind of man Beth inst
inctively distrusted.
The skin on the back of her neck rose in goose-bumps that had nothing to do with the cold, as she realised whom he reminded her of. Her sister Kerry’s ex-husband Greg. A ruthless, irresistible sensualist who had swept her sister through four years of passion, excitement and misery before abandoning her for another woman. Involuntarily Beth stiffened as Daniel took her arm.
‘You’re cold. Go below to the cabin and dry yourself off,’ he ordered brusquely. ‘There’s a bathrobe of mine down there that you can put on. And when we get ashore we’ll see about having your dress dry-cleaned.’
Hating herself for the strange, fluttering thrill that his deep voice woke inside her, Beth obeyed without any argument. But, as she clambered awkwardly down the hatch in her wet dress, a maelstrom of confused feelings seethed inside her. Uppermost were shock and disbelief. This couldn’t have happened! And yet it had happened or she wouldn’t be here dripping a dark trail of sea-water along the carpeted floor. All the same, the reality of the accident still hadn’t sunk in. She felt numb, as if she were watching a blurred video about someone else. Some girl who had nearly drowned. That thought made her stiffen in horror, recalling those terrifying moments underwater before Daniel Pryor had saved her. Once again she felt the urgent grip of his powerful arms, the way he had thrust her upwards to the life-giving air. And, in spite of her misgivings about his raw animal magnetism, relief and gratitude flooded through her.
But this was followed almost at once by more turbulent emotions. Fear, apprehension, confusion. Why did she have to be saved by a man who woke such uncomfortable memories in her? Nobody had ever known of Beth’s unwilling attraction to her brother-in-law, because she had taken very good care that they shouldn’t. And when Greg, with his brooding bedroom eyes and husky, caressing voice, had finally abandoned her sister, Beth had viewed his departure with relief. After all, his callous behaviour had simply confirmed her view that sexy men were likely to be incredibly dangerous and destructive. But that didn’t make it any easier to cope with another one made in the same mould, especially when he appeared out of the blue like this. Not that she really knew anything about Daniel Pryor. Except that his arms were incredibly strong, his voice was like dark velvet and simply being in his presence made her feel weak at the knees. Yet that was quite enough to set alarm bells ringing in her head.
Beth shuddered as she gripped the cabin door-handle. One thing she was sure of—the sooner she was out of this situation, the better.
The cabin proved to be surprisingly luxurious in spite of its small size. The walls were upholstered in some kind of apricot-coloured vinyl and there was a large double bed with a grey and apricot cover. A strip of tiny lights ran along the cornice near the ceiling and stowage lockers were built into the walls. Pulling open a door, Beth saw that there was also a small en-suite bathroom decorated in pale green marble with a ceiling shaft to let in natural light from the deck above.
With shaking fingers she somehow managed to pull off the soaking wedding-dress and climbed into the shower. Two minutes under a refreshing downpour of hot water revived her spirits a little, but she was still too shaken to comprehend completely what had happened.
By the time she had dried off and wrapped a thick white towelling bathrobe around her she felt a bump as the yacht came alongside a jetty. Hastily rubbing her hair with the towel, she went into the cabin, opened one of the stowage lockers and looked inside. As she had hoped, she found a pair of leather thongs which she slipped on to her feet. A moment later there was a knock on the cabin door.
‘Come in,’ she called.
It was the man who had dragged her out of the water. Daniel Pryor. Unsmiling, soaking wet and with an expression of veiled exasperation on his face. And there was no mistaking the undertone of controlled hostility in his voice when he spoke.
‘If you’ve finished, Miss Saxon,’ he said, ‘I’ll just get changed myself and then we’ll go ashore. Perhaps you’d like to wait for me up on deck.’
‘Y-yes, of course,’ stammered Beth. She looked around in a dazed fashion, caught sight of the wedding-dress still crumpled on the floor in the tiny bathroom. ‘But my dress—’
‘I’ll bring it up with me when I come.’
Climbing up the hatchway on to the deck, she looked over the railings of the yacht and saw that they were drawn up alongside a jetty that formed part of the Yacht Club marina. And, to her alarm, she saw a policeman with a notebook standing at the far end of the jetty.
‘Do you know what’s going on?’ she asked the short, grey-haired crewman who was sitting at the tiller of the yacht. His red, genial face wore an imperturbable look, as if collisions on the harbour were all in a day’s work for him. But at Beth’s question he unbent enough to smile faintly.
‘Don’t you worry, madam,’ he replied in a clipped British accent. ‘Mr Pryor will handle it, whatever it is.’
An almost reverent note crept into his voice as he spoke Daniel’s name and Beth found herself unaccountably irritated by it. She longed desperately to escape from this situation, but there was little she could do except wait. After a couple of minutes Daniel Pryor emerged from the hatchway looking casually well dressed in short-sleeved grey and white striped shirt, matching grey shorts and rope-soled espadrilles. He handed a large plastic bag to Benson and turned to Beth. His face was impassive as he stretched out one hand to her.
‘You’d better let me help you ashore,’ he offered. ‘You won’t be able to climb very well in that outfit.’
Reluctantly Beth allowed him to take her arm and help her over the railing on to the jetty. An involuntary tingle sparked through her at the touch of his warm fingers and she broke away the moment she was safely ashore. To her dismay she saw that an interested knot of spectators was collecting near the clubhouse and watching as the policeman strolled towards them. He touched his cap in a brief gesture of respect.
‘Sorry to trouble you, Mr Pryor,’ he said pleasantly, ‘but we’ve had a complaint laid that you rammed somebody out there in the bay.’
Daniel Pryor’s dark eyes took on a stormy expression and his chin set into a hard line.
‘Perhaps we can go inside the clubhouse and discuss the matter in private,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed the policeman.
Beth scuffled along between them in her overlarge thongs, trying not to think about the disturbing responses which Daniel Pryor’s nearness awoke in her. In any case, she had plenty of other problems to worry about. What really had happened out there in the bay? Had the motor launch really sunk so fast? And, if so, just whose fault was it? And what would happen to Warren if he was responsible?
Reaching the clubhouse, Daniel held open the door for her and ushered her inside. Then, after a quick word to an official, he led her into a private office along with the policeman.
‘Please sit down, Officer,’ he invited. ‘But if you don’t mind we’ll make this as brief as possible. The young lady has an important appointment to keep.’
Beth’s dark eyebrows met in a puzzled line. Do I? she thought. What appointment? But Daniel was already talking again. Striding across the room to a whiteboard that hung on one wall, he picked up a red felt pen and began drawing a diagram, while he explained rapidly what had happened. The conversation immediately became too technical for Beth to follow with its talk of port tacks, starboard tacks, figure-of-eights and wind directions. But the policeman was nodding attentively. In a few moments he closed his notebook with a snap and nodded with a satisfied expression.
‘Seems like an open-and-shut case to me,’ he said, standing up. ‘Power gives way to sail, it’s as simple as that.’
Beth rose uncertainly to her feet.
‘Can I go, then?’ she asked. ‘Is it all over?’
A faint look of sardonic amusement crinkled the corners of Daniel Pryor’s eyes. ‘Were you afraid we were going to put you in gaol?’ he asked. ‘Yes, I’d say it’s all over. Wouldn’t you, Officer?’
‘Yes, I wo
uld,’ agreed the policeman. ‘Unless that other guy wants to take you to court, but in my opinion that would be a plain stupid thing for him to do.’
‘Do you know what’s happened to him?’ stammered Beth anxiously. ‘Warren Clark, I mean, the man who was driving the motor launch. My fiancé. Are you sure he wasn’t hurt?’
‘Well, ma’am,’ replied the policeman with a harassed expression, ‘the last I saw of him, he was on his way down to the hospital to get himself checked out, but it didn’t seem as if there was too much wrong with him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better be going. I have other work to do.’
As the door closed behind him, Beth sank shakily into a chair. Delayed shock was beginning to assault her and her thoughts whirled crazily. I hope Warren’s not hurt, she mused, but if he isn’t why hasn’t he come to find me? And where do I go from here?
‘Hospital,’ she echoed. ‘What on earth do I do now?’
A faint tremor shivered through her limbs and she had to fight down the urge to fling herself into Daniel’s arms and burst into tears. Oh, lord, she thought miserably. If he knew what I was thinking, I’d be so embarrassed, I’d curl up and die. Biting her lip, she darted Daniel a stricken glance and then lifted her head defiantly.
Daniel Pryor stood gazing at her for a moment out of brooding dark eyes, then the grim look around the corners of his mouth suddenly softened. Crossing the room, he laid his hand briefly on her shoulder. His touch seemed to scorch through the towelling bathrobe and Beth shifted uneasily, willing him not to notice the way her pulse-rate suddenly soared and her breathing grew fast and shallow. No doubt, with his aura of power and sensuality, women threw themselves at him all the time. But she had no desire to make a fool of herself. Chemistry, she thought cynically, that’s all it is. And she tried to draw away from his touch.
Her movement attracted his attention. Panic jolted through her as she met that smouldering gaze and then glanced hastily away. She felt her cheeks flushing hotly and yearned for him to say something to ease the strain. But for several moments he remained thoughtfully silent. And, when he did speak, his voice had a harsh edge to it.
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