The Inconvenient Bride Series 1-3

by Sharon Ihle

  Shylo dried her tears with the back of her hand as she pondered a new story, and finally inspiration struck. She stepped away from Dimitri, kept her head low, and whispered, "I'm sorry for making such a fool of myself. I don't know what came over me, except to say that I was thinking of my friend, you know, the one who... died."

  Dimitri recalled the earlier conversation. "You mean Colleen Pappas's daughter?"

  "Yes." She'd counted on him believing her story but never considered that he might actually exhibit the compassion she saw in his expression or the concern she heard in his voice. The lump in her stomach moved up to her throat.

  "I was just remembering how my, ah, friend and her little sister were separated from Colleen when they were quite young. After their father died, the girls were put in an orphans' hospital, even though they tried to convince the authorities they had a mother somewhere."

  Dimitri's thick dark brows shot up. "How terrible. In Greece, putting a child into an orphanage isn't even considered until every living relative, no matter how distant, has been sought as a substitute parent. Did your government not try to find the mother, or perhaps some other family member?"

  "The Children's Aid Society said they searched for Colleen, but when she couldn't be located, they labeled my friend and her sister as orphans and took them away."

  "This would never happen so easily in my country. Someone, an uncle or cousin or even a neighbor, would have taken those children in before they allowed the government to do such a thing."

  Compassion, concern, and understanding? Shylo could see the outrage in her heart reflected in Dimitri's eyes, and for one reckless moment she found herself thinking of telling him the truth, of testing him beyond her impostor status and basking in his commiseration as just plain Shylo McBride. She couldn't do that, of course, so she continued her story about her "friend" and pretended the compassion he offered was meant for her.

  "Things are different here, I guess. A lot of folks, especially in your bigger cities like New York, look on orphans as... well, less than decent, honorable citizens."

  "Less than decent? Please explain what you mean by this."

  Shylo lowered her chin, unable to look him in the eye as she spoke of the stigma that had hung over both hers and Cassie's heads all their lives. "A lot of kids start out as orphans because they've never had real families; most folks here call them bastards since, you know, the mother just turned up one day with a baby and no husband?" He nodded solemnly, sparing her the embarrassment of explaining further. "Because of that, decent folks just kind of look on all orphans as bastards, no matter what kind of home they had before they turned up alone."

  "That is the way your friend was looked upon?"

  Shylo stared up at him, again biting back the urge to say, "No, that's the way I was seen." And again she had to avert her gaze before she could go on. "Yes, that's how they thought of her. She and her sister were adopted by a farmer and his wife who didn't have any children, but since they considered the girls bastards, they didn't treat them like new members of the family. More like servants, I guess, 'cause they never got to go anywhere with their new 'ma and pa,' not to town, and not even to go visiting the neighboring farms. They were adopted to help work the farm. Period."

  Dimitri muttered a curse in his native language. "I am sorry for your friend and for you because you've shared her grief. This young woman was lucky to have someone like you, Miss Folsom. I hope she realized that before she died."

  The lump in Shylo's throat swelled, making swallowing nearly impossible. Worse yet, Dimitri was smiling at her in the oddest way, making her feel as if something were amiss, as if she'd forgotten to button her jersey or comb her hair. His expression held the same compassion as before, but now it wavered with a dash of uncertainty or perhaps even embarrassment. When he plucked the handkerchief from his coat pocket and offered it, Shylo—who hadn't even been aware that she was crying again—not only understood his discomfort, but shared in it as well.

  "Thanks for being so kind and understanding," she said, taking his handkerchief and regaining her usual firm control of herself. "But I'd just as soon not talk about my friend or her troubles anymore. Why don't you tell me about your life in Greece? How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

  Although she tried to listen to what Dimitri said, Shylo heard only a few key phrases as he spoke—that he was an only child, that his family hailed from Thessaloniki—wherever the hell that was—and that he had more than a passing interest in archaeology. She was far too captivated by his smooth yet somehow disturbing voice, by his beautifully carved and increasingly fascinating mouth, and by those wildly expressive eyes to pay attention to anything beyond the very basic information he offered about himself.

  Shylo was much too busy looking at Dimitri in a way she'd never considered before to care about anything else. She finally saw him in a more realistic light: not merely as one of the players in her grand scheme, but as a flesh-and-blood man.

  A real live flesh-and-blood man. A man who might want to be her gentleman friend if she could figure out how to lead him in that direction. Suddenly she realized she was more intrigued than ever by the idea of approaching her mother with this man on her arm. But how to go about it?

  She knew nothing of courtship, the little dos and don'ts between women and men beyond the scant "social requirements" mentioned in her etiquette book. Of course, since Dimitri was new to America and her customs, Shylo doubted that he knew any more than she did. For all she knew, it was up to her to show him, to urge him on. It seemed to her that if Dimitri were interested in her beyond escorting her to California, he should have made some advances by now, maybe even... kissed her. Perhaps he was waiting for some sign of encouragement.

  Shylo's gaze strayed to his perfect mouth. Something hot and powerful stirred inside her at the thought of touching her lips to his, a feeling so primal it frightened her almost as much as it excited her. Did all women feel this way around men they hoped to charm? Or was this feeling unique to her, this desperate urge to taste those finely carved lips and to once again crush her breasts against the broad expanse of his chest? She didn't know for sure, but one way or another she intended to find out.

  She didn't try to talk herself out of those sudden and completely insane desires. She simply glanced around to make certain they were the only passengers outside on the observation deck—and by now, they were—then quickly pondered what she figured would be the best way to get Dimitri to do his part.

  Gathering up all of her scant knowledge of such things, Shylo sidled closer to him, tilted her head until her lips were in line with his, and then closed her eyes, willing him to come to her with all her might.

  Kiss me, she commanded silently, peeking through her lashes. Kiss me now, you handsome fool.

  Dimitri leaned in close, so close she could smell the rich pine scent of his cologne. Any minute now, she thought, her mouth watering over the realization that she was only moments away from her very first kiss. He lowered his head, studying her mouth carefully.

  Yes. Now he would do it. His magnificent lips parted, moving ever closer. Then he... took her by the shoulders.

  "Miss Folsom?" he asked in a concerned voice. "Is something wrong? Do you have a toothache?"

  Chapter 4

  Late that night after all the first-class passengers had gone to bed and the train was silent save for the rush of its wheels, the curtain to Shylo's sleeping berth suddenly parted and Cassie popped in beside her.

  "Are you awake?" she whispered in the darkness.

  "I am now," Shylo grumbled in return.

  "Sorry, but I couldn't sleep. I got kinda scared over there by myself. Can I stay with you a while?"

  The problem wasn't the size of the bed—she and Cassie had shared much smaller accommodations during their years together—but Shylo had a feeling that her sister wanted to talk. That in itself wasn't the problem, but the hour was. Once they started jabbering in the middle of the night, especially if ei
ther of them was nervous or excited about something, it seemed they usually just kept on jabbering until sunup.

  "You can stay on one condition," she said, even though Cassie had already slipped under the blanket as if invited. "No talking. I've just got to get some sleep tonight."

  "That's fine with me. I'm feeling as beat as a mud-room rug myself." She hugged her sister and kissed her soundly on the cheek. "Good night and thanks."

  "Good night, li'l sis. Don't let the bedbugs bite." Shylo rolled onto her side and snuggled beneath the covers. After a moment of silence, she heard her sister clear her throat.

  "Just one more thing," Cassie said. Shylo groaned. "Did either one of those Greek fellas say anything about my hair? You know, have they noticed what color it is yet?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, they have." Shylo probably wouldn't have told her if she'd just stayed quiet as requested.

  "How in hell did they find out about that? You didn't tell, did you?"

  "I didn't have to. Dimitri saw it sticking out of your hat back at the Vanderkellen mansion."

  "Oh, shit." Cassie groaned and rolled onto her back.

  "I'm not kidding about that word, Cassandra Mary McBride. You've just got to stop using it or we're going to wind up in a world of trouble."

  "Sorry. That's the last time you'll hear it from my lips, I swear." She giggled at the unintended pun, then asked, "What did you tell Dimitri about my hair?"

  "I said that you tried to dye it bright red because you were thinking of going to work at Pearly Mae's Bawdy House, but it came out purple instead." Without warning Cassie's pillow came out of the darkness and smacked the side of her head.

  "I'm kidding," Shylo cried, both laughing and beating the pillow back. "Honest, and I didn't really say all of that. I told him you tried a little henna and it didn't work right on your hair, but that by the time we get to California it ought to be washed out enough for your regular color to come back."

  "It'd better be—and you'd better not be lying again." Cassie tucked her pillow back under her pinkish lavender head and once again settled in for the night. "Sorry if I disturbed you. I won't talk anymore."

  Awash with love for her baby sister, Shylo reached out in the darkness and squeezed Cassie's hand. Even though weary, she realized that talking with the one person she'd always been able to trust had made her feel at ease again and more like her usual self than she'd been since her daring foray into the Vanderkellen home. She decided to broach a subject that had been weighing on her mind since earlier in the day.

  Shylo leaned in close to her sister's ear and whispered, "Don't go off to sleep yet. There's something I've got to ask you about, and I want the absolute truth."

  Cassie groaned. "What in hell have I done now?"

  "Shush. You didn't do a thing. I have a question, is all, a curiosity over all that romantic stuff you're always going on about. You know, heroes on white horses, kissing and pawing, all that. Who filled your head with that crap, anyway?"

  Cassie was silent for a long moment as she tried to grasp the underlying message in Shylo's inquiry. When she figured it out, and was finally able to speak, her voice was steeped in awe. "Oh, my God—are you getting all mushy over that Greek?"

  "Shush. I don't want the whole train to know about it."

  "Sorry. But did you get to feeling wonderful around him, and do your insides go all funny on you?"

  After muttering the very word she'd insisted that Cassie leave out of her vocabulary, Shylo admitted this much. "I don't know about getting all funny, but I did have some... unusual feelings out back on the observation deck today."

  "Oh, Lord." Cassie's head spun at the thought. "Tell me: Was feeling that way just as wonderful as I thought it would be?"

  "No, of course not." Now it was Shylo's voice that was much too loud. She dropped it to a bare whisper. "They were as frustrating as all get-out, is what they were, but I don't want to talk about that. I just want to know where you heard about all this nonsense."

  "From Ma Anderson, who else?"

  Shylo had to bite her lip to keep from shouting her usual retort—"She isn't your ma"—because Cassie would pout and insist that the woman was the only mother she'd ever known. Even though that much was true, the thought of calling anyone but Colleen "Ma" twisted in Shylo's gut as if she'd eaten a bushel of green apples.

  Calm enough now to speak, Shylo asked, "What did Mrs. Anderson tell you about this... this funny business?"

  Cassie pushed herself up on one elbow and peered down at her sister in the darkness. "Did Dimitri kiss you? Is that why you're asking all these questions?"

  "No, he didn't." She paused to calm herself again. "Well, not quite, anyway. But I think he wanted to."

  Cassie fell back on the bed. "Dear Lord, this is just like a fairy tale come true."

  "Quit making more out of what happened than there was." Shylo's pulse suddenly leapt, making her feel as if it were keeping time with the speeding train. She wondered briefly about the cause but figured she was probably getting all riled up because she was tired of waiting to get a straight answer from her sister. Surely it couldn't have been the subject matter. Or could it?

  Shaking off the last thought, she quickly explained what happened. "Me and Dimitri were just talking about nothing in particular one minute, and then in the next, I kind of looked at him and saw that he was looking at me looking at him, and, well... it's kind of fuzzy after that, but somehow we got closer and closer to each other, and then..." Shylo couldn't stop the shudder that coursed through her at the memory of how close they'd really come to an actual, passionate embrace.

  "And then?"

  "Then... he asked me did I have a toothache."

  Cassie, who'd been holding her breath, burst out laughing. "That was all he did?"

  "Pretty much, and be quiet about it." She sighed. "Next thing I knew, Dimitri grabbed me like he thought I was about to faint or something, dragged me over to a chair, and sat me down, then went to get me a drink of water. By the time he got back, half a dozen passengers had come out on the observation deck to watch the country whiz on by, and I never got a chance to get him alone again."

  "Sorry." Cassie plumped her pillow and settled down on it once more. "But that don't sound like a romantic escapade to me. Nothing much happened, so I still don't understand what it is you wanted to know."

  "What I want to know," Shylo said, nearly forgetting to whisper in her exasperation, "is why a person with my kind of smarts—you know, someone who doesn't believe in all that love and romance mush—went and got so damn mad because Dimitri didn't kiss me.

  * * *

  Three nights later, after an evening meal of wild turkey and sirloin steak, Dimitri and Ari joined the other male first-class passengers in the smoking car and settled down to enjoy a cheroot and a snifter of cognac.

  After taking a long sip, Ari slowly shook his head and muttered in Greek, "I cannot understand the troubles you are having with this American female. I thought you knew all there was to know about courting a woman."

  Dimitri was far from excited over this topic of discussion, but he'd brought it up himself in the hopes of finding a clue as to how to proceed with the most exasperating female he'd ever met in his life. "I'm afraid that here in the United States, I am not so sure of myself, Uncle. Sometimes Shylo looks at me as if I'm not even there, and then at other times, I could swear that she seems a little..." Aggressive? Brazen? "Forward, I suppose. She has practically invited me to take liberties with her person."

  Ari shrugged. "If that is so, perhaps you should take them. We are in a wild, uncivilized country, my son. The people and their ways are different here. Perhaps you've gone so far as to offend her by remaining such a gentleman."

  Dimitri thought back to the dinner parties he'd attended and to the chivalrous conduct exhibited by the American gentlemen he'd observed. He took a deep puff of the cheroot and let the smoke curl off the end of his tongue as he said, "I don't think I've done anything to offend the you
ng lady, Ari. I just don't know how to proceed."

  "My advice, in that case, is to behave as you would at home. Perhaps our cultures are not all that different when it comes to matters of the heart. Proceed as you would if you were courting one of the fair damsels at your university."

  Dimitri eyed his uncle, weighing his next words, and then took another sip of cognac. "I suppose that now is as good a time as any to inform you that I don't know how to go about courting one of them, either."

  Ari's eyebrows, thick like his nephew's but gray like his eyes and what little hair he still possessed, bunched with surprise. "Surely you jest. There must be at least one serious encounter you can pull from memory."

  "Sorry to disappoint you, but no, there is not. The field of archaeology is largely confined to men, and since my main interests lie there, even meeting suitable women is difficult for me." He snubbed out his cheroot. "In fact, the only woman I've ever met who actually seemed interested in such endeavors is Sophia Schliemann, and she, of course, is married to my archaeology professor, Heinrich Schliemann. I'm afraid that my life at the university is rather like that of a monk."

  Although he could see how much this information disturbed his uncle Ari, his practically cloistered existence didn't bother Dimitri at all anymore. The entire sum of his experiences with the opposite sex consisted of a few shared laughs and an occasional easing of mutual "tensions" with this one or that one. But even the latter encounters, while usually pleasurable physically, had been largely unsatisfying. There was something in them that Dimitri found demeaning, not just to any woman who agreed to accommodate him, but to himself in the building of a relationship fostered for the simple slaking of lust.