by Liz Fielding
ROMANA’S hair was a golden halo framing her face, balancing the elegant curve of her neck. And her dress was anything but understated. It was as insubstantial as gossamer: floating layers of black silk chiffon that drifted almost to her ankles but didn’t hide them—or the exquisite shoes she was wearing. It was scattered with tiny black jet beads that caught the light as she moved. She wore a jet choker about her throat.
Not that anyone would be noticing her hair, or the dress. They wouldn’t be able to tear their eyes from the plunging neckline.
‘Niall…’ He’d rapped on her apartment door, and when she’d opened it, her bag in her hand, her wrap over her arm, she’d for once been too surprised to say anything except his name. It had come out in a little rush of breath. ‘What are you doing here?’
Losing his head.
Burning his boats.
Or did he mean jumping ship?
‘I’ve come to take you to the ball, Cinders,’ he said, his own breath taking a holiday. ‘Your pumpkin awaits.’
‘Niall, this is kind—’
She lied. She didn’t think he was kind. She thought he had an ulterior motive and she was right. He hadn’t seen her for two whole days and he wanted to be alone with her. To spend ten quiet minutes in her company before the mayhem of the evening. Just to sit beside her in the dark and hold her hand.
‘—but I’ve got a car booked.’ She glanced at the tiny jewelled wrist-watch that had replaced her workmanlike Rolex. As she lifted her wrist he caught the familiar scent of her perfume. Summer Shadow. Summer, autumn, winter, spring… ‘It should be here any minute.’
‘It is here. I told Molly to cancel your hire car. It seemed wasteful to have two when we’re both going to the same place.’
Her flush darkened. ‘Told her? You’re not running Claibourne & Farraday yet.’
‘Maybe you should be telling her that.’
‘And you are certainly not my idea of a fairy godmother—’
‘No? You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say so. And on reflection I believe I may have got the wrong fairy tale.’ This was more like a variation on Sleeping Beauty—only in this case Beauty had woken him with a kiss. He grinned. ‘Cinderella would never have been allowed out in a dress like that.’
‘You don’t like it?’
‘I didn’t say that. I just hope you weren’t trying for understated—because I’m telling you, you’ve failed. Totally.’ And he took the wrap she was holding.
Romana couldn’t stop a little smile tucking up the corners of her mouth as she turned to let Niall drape the soft fabric over her shoulders. ‘No one goes for understated at a full-dress ball, Niall. Celebrity magazine wants its readers to be able to drool over the frocks. What do you think?’ she asked, turning to face him.
‘I think…’ She’d given him a chance to make some crass remark, but the sudden telling heat from his eyes almost burned her. The longer he thought about it, the more she really, really wished she hadn’t asked such a stupid question. ‘I think you should be locked up before you cause a riot,’ he said. ‘But maybe I’m easily impressed.’
She knew that wasn’t true. But she’d won him round. He’d agreed when she’d said she was unique, brilliant, utterly irreplaceable. For a man so difficult to impress such an admission was pure gold. Suddenly charged with energy, confidence and feeling totally in control, she reached up and twitched his tie into line.
‘Shall we go?’ he said, taking her hand.
They sat in the back of the car, not quite touching. Only his hand over hers, never once letting go, connecting them.
‘How’s the decorating going?’
‘The drawing room is finished.’ He glanced at her. ‘I got impatient and hired some help.’
‘What next?’
‘The kitchen needs some work.’
‘Nothing too modern, though. You’ll keep the butler’s sink and the table and the dresser…?’ She stopped.
‘They’re staying. The men start work tomorrow.’
‘That’s going to be tough to live with.’
‘I thought I might go away for a while.’
‘Oh.’ Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so on top of the world. ‘Good decision,’ she said.
‘I’m long overdue a holiday.’
‘Right.’
The car came to halt, but he didn’t move his hand from hers even when the hotel doorman opened the car door. Didn’t let go, didn’t move. ‘Save the first dance for me,’ he said.
‘The first dance?’ They weren’t the words any girl wanted to hear, and Romana’s heart dipped a little further. ‘I won’t have time for dancing,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’ll manage a few minutes later on.’
‘There won’t be a later.’
He wasn’t staying? As she made a move his hand fastened over hers. ‘The first dance,’ he insisted and, taking her agreement as read, stepped out of the car—her hand still in his as he helped her out, his arm beneath her elbow as they entered the ballroom.
Romana immediately went into a huddle with Molly over last-minute changes to the running order of the evening. Niall had details of own to attend to and, having changed the seating arrangements so that he was beside Romana, he went in search of the master of ceremonies for the evening.
‘You are so predictable, Niall Macaulay,’ Romana said when, having toured the room with India and Flora, greeting friends, thanking contributors to the charity, she joined him at her table.
‘Then you should have put me here in the first place.’
‘You could have seen me from over there,’ she protested.
‘I could have seen you, but I couldn’t have heard you, or…’ he leaned closer so that he had a breathtaking view of her enticing cleavage ‘…enjoyed the delightful scent you’re wearing.’
‘It’s new. I’m promoting it,’ she reminded him.
‘You’ve sold me. Shall we dance?’ She glanced at the dance floor. It was empty. ‘Someone has to make the first move,’ he prompted.
‘It should be India,’ she hedged.
‘She’s busy winning friends and influencing people.’
‘You’re up to something,’ she said, as he took her chair and she stood up.
‘Of course I am.’ He glanced at the MC who, primed with folding money, had been watching for his move and now approached the microphone.
As they reached the centre of the floor the MC said, ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Romana Claibourne and Mr Niall Farraday Macaulay—members of the two great families who founded Claibourne & Farraday—who have gallantly volunteered to open the ball with a waltz.’ There was a ripple of applause, a few whistles. ‘But first Mr Macaulay is going to claim a special lot he bid for at the Claibourne & Farraday charity auction this week. A kiss from the lovely Miss Claibourne.’
Romana couldn’t believe it. She’d thought they were beyond this. That if they could be nothing else they were friends. But he was going to throw it all away for a PR stunt. Just to show her that anything she could do, he could go one better.
And he was right. Nothing…nothing…would stop the editor of Celebrity from putting this picture on the cover.
It would probably make most of the morning newspapers too.
This was her field and he was upstaging her. Having agreed that she was unique, brilliant, he was now showing her that he was better, that he could make a front-page story that would wipe out everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.
He was a Farraday first and last, and even as she was trying to find the words to express her feelings he put his hand to her waist, drew her closer and for a moment looked down into her face. He had won and there was nothing she could do to stop him from claiming his prize.
His kiss. The store.
Around them a slow handclap began, and Niall finally lowered his lips to hers.
It would have been awful under any circumstances. A slow, lingering kiss that just went on and on, with an audience of a thousand w
hooping and clapping guests. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst of it was that her lips were responding with a heat she couldn’t disguise. She was betraying her true feelings, every tender desire, as she kissed him back. She never wanted it to end. Because after it had ended there would be nothing.
But at last it was over. All her hopes, all her longings. Gone. Blown away. And the tears that welled up, spilled down her cheeks, left her with nothing. Not even her self-respect.
As the music began the ballroom and the crowds all faded away. They danced because they were supposed to dance. She felt so brittle she was sure she would break in his arms. But people didn’t break. Hearts didn’t break. They just felt that way.
Niall had finally shown his true colours.
For a few sweet moments she’d basked in what she’d thought might—just might—grow into something special.
She should have known better. The man was a Farraday. His heart might be broken, but he wouldn’t let that get in the way of a business deal.
He stopped. The music was still playing but he’d stopped dancing, and she looked up, met his gaze head-on. ‘Is that it?’ she demanded. ‘You’ve had enough? Did you get full value for your money this time?’
‘That was just a down payment, Romana.’
‘Oh, no. One PR stunt per night…’
‘PR stunt? That wasn’t a PR stunt, Romana. It was a public statement of intent. A statement to every Claibourne & Farraday in the world that I will not allow some stupid feud to keep us apart. A very public signal of a merger between you, Romana Elizabeth Claibourne, and me, Niall Farraday Macaulay, and a personal guarantee that Louise is in the past—where she belongs. She’s a beloved memory, but not one that will ever come between us again.’
Romana heard the subtext. His regret that he had hurt her. His promise that it would never happen again. ‘I love you, Romana, and I’m telling you now that I plan to go on claiming interest on that kiss for the next fifty years.’
‘Fifty years?’ She blinked back the tears that were now more determined than ever to overflow.
‘If you’ll have me.’
‘But—but you hardly know me.’
‘I know everything I need to know. And I recognise the real thing when I feel it.’ He touched her face, brushed away a tear with the pad of his thumb. ‘You are my fairy tale princess, waking me from a death-like sleep. And you know how all fairy stories end, don’t you?’
The music had stopped. Around them the crowds stilled expectantly, unable to hear but aware that something momentous was happening.
‘I’m offering you my heart, Romana. Will you take it?’
For a terrible moment she’d doubted him. But she would never doubt him again. She’d seen beneath the surface, past the hard-eyed businessman to the man. She’d seen his eyes as he’d wiped mayonnaise from her face. And when he’d kissed her before the auction he’d meant it…or why would he have been so angry with her for misunderstanding? He’d spent the night looking through old press cuttings to find out the truth about her mother, driven across town with the cutting. He hadn’t had to do that.
When they’d made love he’d come to release with the name of his dead wife on his lips. But as he’d made love to her, kissed her, caressed her, taken care to ensure her pleasure every step of the way, it had been her name he was saying. Her name.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, please.’ And as their lips touched once more the only sound was the sigh that rippled through the crowd.
Then he said, ‘One more thing. I want you to know that my surrender is total. Heart, body and—’
‘Soul?’
‘Department store.’
She laughed. ‘That sounded like a…Elizabeth? How do you know my middle name is Elizabeth?’
‘I’ve been doing my homework. I wanted you to be sure—as I am—that I have the right woman. And I want you to know that whatever decision is made about the future of Claibourne & Farraday my voting share is at your disposal. I’m trusting you to make the right choice. As I’m trusting you with my life.’ They were centre stage, the object of speculation for a thousand pairs of eyes.
‘Is that everything?’ he asked. ‘Or do you want me on my knees?’
‘You’d do that?’
‘If you insist.’
For a moment she pretended that she was seriously considering it. Then she laughed. ‘Later. We’ll save that until we’re on our own.’ And she grabbed his hand and headed for the exit.
‘But what about all this?’ he said, as there was a sudden burst of noise behind them.
She glanced back, saw India headed in their direction. ‘Molly can handle it,’ she said.
‘We did the right thing.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Romana lifted her hand so that she could see the wedding ring glinting on her hand in the moonlight. Niall reached up and laced his fingers through hers before pushing her down amongst the pillows to demonstrate just how right it was…
Later…much later…she said, ‘If we’d told everyone first they’d have expected a huge family wedding.’
‘You’re right,’ Niall conceded.
‘I mean, it would have given the Claibourne & Farraday wedding department a PR spin that money couldn’t buy, but I didn’t want our wedding to be a PR event.’
‘And a big family wedding might have been a little bit tricky under the present circumstances,’ he added.
‘But we’re going to have to tell them,’ she said.
‘Go home and face the music?’
‘Eventually,’ she conceded. ‘But we should have a honeymoon first, don’t you think?’
‘I didn’t know two people could have such perfect understanding,’ he murmured. Their fingers caught, entwined. ‘But they’ll be wondering where we are.’
‘Maybe we should send them an e-mail.’
‘Oh, that’s a great idea.’
‘I’m full of them. And I’ve just had another one…’
‘Okay.’ Romana sat at the terminal at the internet café, her fingers poised above the keyboard, the diamonds in her wedding ring flashing back the sun and Niall’s arm about her waist. ‘What shall we say?’
‘Best keep it short and simple,’ he advised. ‘How about this? “Just a note to let you both know that the shadowing was a complete success. Married yesterday. See you—eventually. Love, Romana and Niall.”’
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IMPRINT: Special Releases
ISBN: 9781489226686
TITLE: THE CORPORATE BRIDEGROOM
First Australian Publication 2017
Copyright © 2002 Liz Fielding
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Mills & Boon®, Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street, Sydney, N.S.W., Australia 2000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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