His Convenient Virgin Bride

by Barbara Dunlop

  “I know you can be reckless. I’ve heard you’re irresponsible. But honest-to-God, Stephanie—”

  “What?” she shouted.

  “You are not going to compete in show jumping while you’re pregnant with my baby.”

  She stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “What makes you think I’m competing?”

  He gestured out the picture window. “You’re here.”

  “I’m coaching Wesley.”

  Nice try. “With Rosie-Jo?”

  “Wesley’s riding her.”

  “No, he’s not.” The woman was caught. She might as well own up to it.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Rosie-Jo is your horse.”

  “She’s also a once-in-a-lifetime jumper. She’s not taking a year off just because I’m forced to.”

  Alec stopped. A chill of unease spread through him. “You’re not jumping?”

  “Of course I’m not jumping, you idiot. It’s dangerous.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “To stop me from jumping?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand, Alec.” She gave her head a little shake. “Where did you get the idea…?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I saw you on television this afternoon. You were here. You had Rosie-Jo. The reporters—”

  “And you jumped to a conclusion.”

  “Apparently.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Where were you?”

  “Chicago.”

  “And you flew all the way to Cedarvale?”

  “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Phone me?”

  “I tried.”

  “Trust me?”

  Alec didn’t have an answer for that. How could he trust her? He barely knew her.

  “It’s my baby, too, Alec.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not going to hurt our baby.”

  Alec drew a breath. He supposed he knew that now. But he had no way of knowing that back in Chicago when the evidence had stacked up against her.

  The hotel room telephone jangled.

  Stephanie kept him in her sights with a censorious expression as she crossed to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  She paused. “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Okay…I know…Thank you.”

  She hung up the phone then turned to Alec.

  “What is it?”

  “Word’s getting around. You’ve just been included on a VIP reception invitation for tomorrow night.”

  She waited, and Alec wasn’t sure what to say.

  “What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

  He knew what he should say, knew he should get his butt back on that plane and leave her the heck alone. But now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He found his emotions making deals with his conscience.

  He promised himself it would only be for a day or two. He’d get them a suite, so they both had privacy. He wouldn’t let her get close, wouldn’t let her depend on him. He wouldn’t do anything to mislead her.

  But when he spoke, his voice came out soft and deliberate. “I guess I’ll stick around and be your husband.”

  “This way,” Stephanie said to Alec, pointing to an aisle that stretched between two racks of clothes in the exhibition hall in the basement of the hotel. For the first time in weeks, she felt lighter, almost happy. She’d always enjoyed the social events around major jumping competitions, and she woke up this morning vowing to enjoy them this weekend.

  It would be odd hanging out with Alec, odder still that people would know they were married. But at least she’d have a dancing partner.

  She supposed there was always a silver lining.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Alec stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the exhibition hall entrance, staring in obvious disbelief at the racks of costumes, hats, shoes and accessories.

  “Our party’s a 1920s theme,” she offered, halting beside him.

  He gazed deliberately around the barnlike costume rental setup. “They bring all this in for horse jumping?”

  “Tonight isn’t the only theme event. And with this many wealthy people in one place, it’s a prime opportunity for fund-raising.”

  People were starting to pile up behind them, so she snagged his arm and tugged him forward.

  “You mean I have to dress up in a costume and give away my money?” he asked.

  “You really don’t get out much, do you?” she couldn’t help teasing him.

  “Not like this,” he told her, gazing around the jumble of merchandise taking up about a quarter of the cavernous room. “I’m more a dinner at Palazzo Antinori or a cruise on the Seine kind of guy.”

  “A closet romantic,” she reflexively observed, then cringed at the unfortunate choice of words.

  His expression turned serious. “No, Stephanie. I’m not a romantic of any kind.”

  She sensed some kind of a warning in his words.

  “Over there.” She cheerfully pointed, changing the subject as they made their way past a suit of medieval armor and a shelf of colored wigs and sparkling Mardi Gras masks.

  Alec leaned in close, his tone still dire. “I don’t want you to…” He obviously struggled for words.

  She refused to prompt him. She really didn’t want to pursue this line of conversation.

  “To get caught up—”

  “In the 1920s?” she wedged in.

  “In our marriage,” he corrected.

  She let sarcasm color her tone. “You afraid I’ll mistake a dance for a declaration of undying passion and devotion?”

  He backed off a little. “You seem…”

  “What?” she demanded.

  He shrugged. “Happy. Animated.”

  “And you attribute that to you? Wow. That’s some ego you’ve got going there Alec.”

  “It’s not my ego.”

  “Right.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Forget I said anything.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.”

  “You’re faking, Alec. I get that. I’m faking it, too.” She might have let her emotional guard down for a moment, but she wouldn’t make the mistake of enjoying herself again.

  He searched her expression. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” She nodded in return. Just flipping fine. Bad enough she had to fake a marriage. Now she wasn’t allowed to smile while she did it.

  She put her attention on the costume racks again, now simply wanting to get this over with. “You might as well pick something?”

  He glanced around. “I’m not a fan of costumes.”

  “Yeah? Too bad.”

  He shot her a look of annoyance.

  What? She was supposed to get happy again? “Be a man about it,” she challenged. “Put on some pinstripes and spats. Be grateful it’s not superhero night.”

  His look of horror almost made her smile.

  “You’d look good in red tights.”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “Check those out.” She gestured to a rack of suit jackets.

  For herself, she moved further down the aisle, finding a selection of flapper dresses.

  She started through them one by one. After a few minutes, she came across a sexy, silky black sheath, dripping with shimmering silver ribbons that flowed from the low-cut neckline, past the short hem of the underdress to knee-length.

  With a spurt of mischievousness, she held it against her body. “What do you think?”

  His gaze traveled the length of the garment, eyes glittering with what looked suspiciously like humor. “You show up in that, doll-face, and I’d better be packin’ heat.”

  This time, she did crack a smile.

  She pulled the dress away from her body, turning it and making a show of taking a critical look. “Too much?”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  She could have sworn there was a sensual edge to his tone. But
his cell phone chimed, cutting it off.

  She hung the dress back on the rack, battling a wave of prickly heat that slowly throbbed its way through her system. Faking, she reminded herself ruthlessly. Faking, faking, faking.

  “Alec Creighton,” he said into the phone.

  His glance darted to her for a split second, then he turned away, lowering his voice.

  She told herself to focus on the costumes and give him his privacy. He had his own life, and she had hers. As he’d so clearly just pointed out, this intersection between them was completely temporary.

  Still, she couldn’t help catching snatches of the conversation. She heard him say tomorrow, then airport, then Cedarvale.

  It sounded like he was leaving, and a wave of disappointment surprised and worried her. It was good that he was leaving.

  But then she heard him say her brothers’ names. She blinked at his back, listening unabashedly to the final snatches of the conversation.

  As he signed off, she quickly grabbed another dress, pretending to be absorbed by it.

  “This one?” she asked.

  It was a soft, champagne silk, with a low V-neck, spaghetti straps and covered in sparkling, criss-cross beading. The silk came to midthigh, while a wide, sheer, metallic lace hemline, slashed to points, rustled around her knees.

  “They don’t have anything with sleeves?” he frowned.

  “It’s the roaring twenties,” she told him, trying not to wonder about his phone call. “I’m supposed to look like your moll. What do you think? A wide choker and a long string of pearls?”

  “I think you’ll be the death of me.”

  “What about the red one?” she lifted another from the rack. “It comes with satin gloves and a feather boa.

  Alec’s nostrils flared. “Better stick with the gold.”

  “It’s champagne.”

  “Not the red, and definitely not the black.”

  “Fine.” She put the red one back, wishing she was brave enough to ask about the phone call. Was he leaving? And why had he mentioned her brothers? “What about a long cigarette holder?” she asked instead.

  “Absolutely not. You’re pregnant.”

  “Shhhh.” She glanced quickly around, worried someone would overhear.

  He moved closer, leaning down to whisper. “You’re pregnant.”

  “I wouldn’t really smoke anything.”

  “Don’t even joke about it.”

  “Who was on the phone?” she blurted out.

  “A friend.”

  “Does he know my brothers?”

  Alec’s brow furrowed. “No. Why?”

  “No reason,” she lied, glancing away. “I thought it might be about the Ryder International review. Are you leaving tomorrow?”

  “You trying to get rid of me?”

  She looked back up at him again, puzzling over why he’d hold back the truth about the phone call. If the friend didn’t know her brothers, Alec wouldn’t have mentioned their names. “I need to get Wesley prepared,” she told him.

  Alec’s jaw tightened, eyes squinting further. “I’m staying.”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  He gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment.

  Moving away from yet another uncomfortable moment, she gestured to the rack of suits. “Did you find something to wear?”

  “I’m not wearing pinstripes.”

  “How about a hat?” She selected one with a center dent and a wide, satin band and tried to place it on his head.

  He jerked sideways, out of the way. “How about a suit jacket and a pair of slacks, and I write a check big enough that nobody cares?”

  Seven

  Chandeliers dangled from the ballroom ceiling, while massive ice sculptures and floral arrangements decorated white linen tables. The waiters wore period tuxedoes, and a big band played a jazz tune on a low stage in one corner of the room.

  On Alec’s arm, Stephanie glittered. Her rich, auburn hair bounced in a halo of tight curls to her bare shoulders. It was pulled back on one side by an elaborate, rhinestone clip, which matched her ornate necklace and dangling earrings. Her makeup had been done in a bright twenties-style, and the shimmering, champagne dress clung to her lithe body.

  Alec couldn’t help a surge of pride as people turned to stare. His marriage might be a sham, but he was the envy of every man in the room.

  He leaned down to whisper. “You should dress up like a girl more often.”

  “They’re not looking at me,” she whispered back, smiling politely at the onlookers.

  “Yes, they are.” More people turned to stare.

  Up to now, it hadn’t occurred to Alec to wonder how Stephanie had made it to twenty-two as a virgin. But now it sure did. He also realized men would be lining up to take his place the minute he was out of the picture.

  It was not a pleasant thought.

  “They’ve heard,” she told him in an undertone.

  “Heard what?”

  “About us. That we got married.”

  He disagreed. “It’s you.” Still, at the mention of his temporary position, he couldn’t stop himself from curling his arm around the small of her back.

  “Oh, sure,” she mocked. “Really give them something to talk about.”

  “I could give you a kiss.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Just playing my part.”

  “Play it from over there.” She quickly sidestepped out of his embrace.

  He followed, snagging her around the waist once more. “And how will that be convincing?”

  “Give it your best effort.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” he drawled.

  “Stephanie,” purred a woman in a floor-length, peacock-blue, sequined gown. She swept in front of them with a flourish, looking to be about sixty-five, though very well preserved. Her streaked blond hair was decorated with blue feathers, and she brandished a matching fan like a weapon.

  “Mrs. Cleary,” Stephanie greeted with a smile, and the woman’s gaze immediately jumped to Alec. She raised her sculpted brows.

  “This is my husband, Alec Creighton,” Stephanie supplied smoothly.

  Alec liked the sound of that. He let his hand slip to hers, and he stroked the pad of his thumb across her diamond ring and the matching wedding band.

  Stephanie jolted her hand away. “Mrs. Cleary is the president of the Brighton Fund-raising Committee.” The tone told him he ought to be impressed.

  “A pleasure, Mrs. Cleary.” He gave her a warm smile and used his newly freed hand to shake with her.

  She checked him over carefully. “Please, call me Bridget.”

  “Bridget,” he obliged.

  “I hear congratulations are in order.” The words were more an accusation than a tribute.

  “Indeed, they are.” Alec drew Stephanie firmly to his side, feeling her soft curves beneath the sexy dress. There was no law telling him he couldn’t enjoy his acting role. “We’re looking forward to starting a family.”

  He felt her stiffen, but how could she complain? He was simply smoothing the pathway for the inevitable announcement of her pregnancy.

  “Stephanie?” came a second voice, a younger woman this time. “Are you going to introduce me?” She offered Alec a gleaming white, perfectly straight orthodontic smile.

  She looked to be in her late twenties and wore a bright purple, beaded dress, and a matching headband. She held a long cigarette holder, and her blond hair was upswept in a riot of curls. Her lashes were dark with heavy makeup, and she wore fishnet stockings with high-heeled, black shoes accented by an oversize silver buckle on the sexy ankle strap.

  In another time and another place, he would have smiled right back at the undeniably beautiful woman. She was the stuff of erotic dreams. But Alec found he preferred Stephanie’s more understated look. And it wasn’t just the fake husband in him speaking. Interesting.

  “Rene,” Stephanie greeted, her voice slightly tight, features carefully neutral. “This is my husban
d, Alec.”

  There was a proprietary inflection on the word husband. Nice.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Alec the husband,” Rene giggled as she extended the back of her hand, wiggling her fingers in an obvious invitation.

  He ignored the hint, and shook her hand instead of kissing the back.

  She gave a mock pout with her jewel-red lips.

  A tall, thin man appeared. He wore an outrageous purple velvet coat with leopard-print trim and matching slacks.

  “Rene,” he admonished, from beneath a broad brimmed hat. Then he glared a warning at Alec.

  Alec had to bite down hard to keep from laughing. It was tough to take a man seriously when he was dressed like a sitcom pimp.

  “Alec Creighton,” he said instead and extended his hand. “I believe our wives know each other.”

  The man’s eyes went round.

  “Wife?” Rene cackled. “That’ll be the day.”

  “My apologies,” said Alec. Then he smiled warmly down at Stephanie. “But I highly recommend it.” He glanced back at the man. “You should think about asking her.”

  The man looked like a deer in the headlights.

  Alec could feel Stephanie’s body vibrate with repressed laughter.

  “What do you think, sweetheart?” Alec asked her.

  “Dance,” she sputtered, grabbing Alec’s arm and turning him away from Rene.

  Alec quickly took the lead as they wove their way through the crowd. “You are bad,” Stephanie accused.

  “They deserved it. So, who is she?”

  “She’s the princess of the circuit. Her father owns a stable of jumping horses.”

  “Big deal. So do you.”

  Stephanie snorted out a laugh. “Not like he does.”

  Alec drew her into his arms and swung her into the latest song in a Duke Ellington tribute. “You’re not intimidated are you?”

  “By Rene?” Stephanie easily followed his lead.

  “Yes.” He waited. He’d learned to recognize it when she was stalling.

  She paused. “Maybe once. She’s been glamorous since she was twelve.”

  “You’re glamorous now.”

  Stephanie coughed out a laugh. “Not like her.”

  Alec let his hand trail along the smooth silk of Stephanie’s dress, letting the tactile memory remind him of exactly how gorgeous she’d looked walking out of her hotel bedroom earlier. She’d positively taken his breath away.