The Jilted Bridegroom

by Carole Mortimer

  Re-read this classic romance by USA Today bestselling author Carole Mortimer

  Nurse Sarah Williams is fleeing to the south of France to try and heal her broken heart. But when a half-naked, gorgeous Griff Morgan crosses her path, suddenly her trip gets a lot more interesting!

  The infamous investigative journalist wears his cynicism towards the female population almost as well as he wears his towel! His bride-to-be was a no-show at their very public wedding, and Griff wants to lick his wounds alone. But he can’t get beautiful Sarah out of his mind…

  Originally published in 1992

  The Jilted Bridegroom

  Carole Mortimer

  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

  A MAN’S shirt lay in the hallway.

  A pair of trousers along the passageway to the bedrooms.

  A pair of black socks, one in the doorway of the spare bedroom, the second actually inside the bedroom.

  And outside the door to the adjoining bathroom lay a pair of—

  Sarah, who had followed this trail of clothing, looked up with a start of surprise as the door opened in front of her, her eyes widening still further as she took in the fact that the man standing in the doorway only had a towel draped about his hips to hide his nakedness, his dark hair still damp from the shower he had obviously just taken, although he looked as if he had been drying his tousled hair with another towel that now lay draped about his neck.

  It was difficult not to stare at him, his body deeply tanned, dark hair growing across his broad chest and down beneath the towel, his shoulders wide, his body tapering to his tautly muscled stomach, the dark hair on his legs clinging damply to his skin where he hadn’t taken the time to dry himself properly.

  Sarah’s gaze returned quickly to the grimness of his face, an incredibly handsome face, despite his obvious displeasure and puzzlement at finding her here.

  She wasn’t too happy about being here herself—but that was another story!

  It was a ruggedly hewn face, his tawny-coloured eyes having a knowledge in them that spoke plainly of cynicism towards a life that had been seen and experienced rather than just read about. His nose was long and straight, laughter lines beside those incredible eyes and the sensuality of his mouth. Although the mouth wasn’t smiling now, and his chin, with that intriguing cleft in its centre, was set at an arrogant angle.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded in English—because her French was non-existent!—infusing much more bravado into her voice than she actually felt. Who was he?

  ‘Never mind who I am.’ He was as English as she was! ‘What do you think you’re doing in here?’

  What was she doing here? This was Virginia Major’s villa in the tiny village of Aribeau in the south of France, a sprawling one-storey building, the comfortable lounge, kitchen, and three bedrooms all surrounding the small courtyard, baskets of sweet-smelling flowers adorning the wooden beams out there, the lounge itself overlooking the private swimming-pool and landscaped garden.

  And, as far as Sarah was aware, there should be no one else here just now, Virginia Major having left several days earlier, stopping over briefly in London during the weekend, for her brother’s wedding, before going on to Southampton to join a cruise ship.

  The man standing in front of her looked about them with narrowed eyes at her continued lack of response. ‘I can’t see that anything is missing,’ he sighed. ‘But perhaps you had better empty out your pockets anyway, just in case.’ He looked irritated by the situation—as he saw it!

  And as Sarah now realised he saw it! ‘I’m not a burglar!’ she defended indignantly; if anyone could be called an intruder here it was him!

  ‘No?’ he derided tauntingly, his expression one of scepticism. ‘I can’t think of any other reason for your being in the villa.’

  ‘Can’t you indeed?’ she bit out angrily.

  She was resentful enough of being here without having to deal with intruders who acted as if they owned the place. And she knew he didn’t do that; it was because the widowed Virginia Major had no one else to ask that Clarissa had volunteered Sarah in the first place!

  ‘And just what do you think this is?’ she challenged, holding up the brightly coloured watering-can she had been clutching in her hand during the whole conversation.

  Dark brows rose. ‘A weapon?’ he suggested derisively.

  ‘A plastic watering-can!’ Sarah scorned disbelievingly.

  ‘Hm, perhaps not a weapon. At least,’ he added mockingly, ‘not one that’s likely to be very effective.’

  Not against a man who looked as powerful as he did, anyway, she conceded impatiently. ‘I told you, I’m not a burglar,’ she snapped irritably, her eyes flashing deeply green.

  Really, she had just wanted to get the job over and done with and get out; this man was just delaying her.

  ‘Then what are you doing walking around the house with it?’ He still looked suspicious of her motives.

  Sarah sighed her impatience, sure she shouldn’t be the one on the receiving end of the questioning. As far as she was aware, she had the only key to the villa in her shorts pocket, entrusted to her by Virginia Major while she was away.

  But this man had to have got in somehow, and she hadn’t seen any signs of a forced entry when she’d let herself in earlier.

  Because of that she had to accept the fact that he might have obtained a key from someone, and if he did happen to be a friend of Mrs Major’s she could hardly order him out of the place. Although if he refused there was no way she could make him leave anyway, he was so much bigger than her.

  ‘Well?’ he prompted at her lengthy silence, somehow, even dressed in only a towel as he was, managing to look very tall and powerful.

  She gave him a disparaging look. ‘Aren’t you getting cold, dressed like that?’ She felt uncomfortable carrying on a conversation with a complete stranger who was almost naked, even if he didn’t seem in the least bothered by the fact himself.

  His mouth quirked at her obvious unease. ‘Not in the least.’ His stance was deliberately provocative, almost challenging, the towel slipping even further down his hips. ‘Is it bothering you?’ He raised mocking brows.

  ‘Not in the least,’ she echoed coldly. She had seen enough half-dressed men during the last week; it was just that she was alone with this one, and he, as far as she could tell, was wearing only that loosely draped towel!

  He shrugged. ‘You still haven’t answered my question as to just what you’re doing here,’ he reminded softly.

  ‘I would have thought this spoke for itself.’ Once again she indicated the watering-can she still held, annoyed to see that her hand was shaking slightly at the unexpected encounter with this arrogant man.

  ‘Oh, it does.’ He strolled further into the bedroom, having all the grace of movement of a feline. ‘It tells me you have a fetish for plastic watering-cans!’ He was standing very close now, close enough for Sarah to smell the cleanness of his body and the slightly elusive cologne he had rubbed into his flesh.

  Sarah took an instinctive step backwards, unconcerned with how cowardly the movement must look to him. She was only five feet two inches in height—barely reached the man’s shoulders—very slender in close-fitting shorts and a loose green shirt, her face bare of make-up in the hot May sun, her long blonde hair having been bleached even blonder by the hours she had spent out in that sun, secured at her crown with a green ribb
on at the moment for coolness.

  The totally male assessment of her appearance in this man’s golden-coloured eyes as he looked at her made her wish she weren’t dressed with the casualness of a teenager; at twenty-three, she was far from being that!

  And yet what else should she have worn on a hot day in this picturesque village in the south of France?

  ‘It tells you…’ Her impatience was directed as much at herself as it was at him, impatience because she could possibly care what this dangerous-looking stranger thought of her appearance.

  Dangerous?

  Yes, he was, she acknowledged slowly. But not in a violent way. There was an air of power about him, a coldness in his eyes occasionally that spoke of cruelty if necessary. And something about the very look of him told her that sometimes he deemed it very necessary.

  ‘It should tell you,’ she amended pointedly, ‘that I’m here to water the plants.’

  And she wasn’t exactly pleased about having to do it! She had come on holiday with Clarissa and her family as a favour to the other woman, and ended up being lent out to water Virginia Major’s plants as if she were a servant.

  ‘Hm.’ The man in front of her nodded thoughtfully, as if the idea had crossed his mind before now. ‘Why?’ He shot the question at her.

  It was the question she had been asking herself the last five days! Virginia Major was Clarissa’s acquaintance, not hers, and yet Clarissa had felt no compunction about offering her services as plant-waterer. Admittedly she was here with the family on a working holiday, but she had done that more as a favour to her mother’s friend than out of any real desire to come away with the Forbes family. She certainly hadn’t expected to be loaned out to a neighbour Clarissa had got to know only briefly. But Clarissa certainly had no intention of doing this menial job herself, despite being the one to make the offer in the first place!

  ‘So that the plants don’t die, of course.’ She answered the man snappily again, not exactly angry with him, but if he wanted to ask silly questions he was the one who was going to get the sharp edge of her tongue.

  ‘Ah,’ he nodded again, without conviction, ‘I see.’

  Sarah gave a derisive sigh. ‘Do you?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted ruefully, looking for all the world like a puzzled little boy.

  She pursed her mouth impatiently, not at all fooled by his expression; this man was sharply intelligent, she had no doubt of that. ‘It’s quite simple really,’ she said with an implied sarcasm. ‘While Mrs Major is away I come in to check that the villa hasn’t been broken in to, and to water whatever plants I feel are in need of it.’

  ‘It’s very good of you to do that for Virginia,’ he said admiringly.

  ‘Not really,’ Sarah told him drily.

  He arched dark brows. ‘No?’

  ‘No,’ she smiled wryly. Clarissa had got to know their English neighbour only briefly before the other woman flew to England. It was ironic really; they had all travelled over here to spend a month in the south of France, and Virginia Major had left the permanent home she had here a few days later to join a cruise ship that was travelling around the Caribbean Islands.

  At least, Clarissa and Roger and their three children—Ben, eighteen, Sally, sixteen, and Stephen, nine—were here on holiday; Sarah had been asked along to help out Clarissa, who had recently been in hospital for a minor operation and felt she couldn’t cope with the care of Stephen on her own, mainly. This was Sarah’s own holiday from her nursing job, but as she hadn’t actually been intending to go away anywhere, and, as a favour to her mother, she had agreed to accompany the Forbes family to France.

  Not having lived at home with her mother for some years, she had known the Forbes family only vaguely. She had certainly got to know all of them better over the last ten days, wished she had stayed at home to do the decorating in her flat she had originally intended to fill her holiday time!

  She had done nothing but run around after one member of the family or another since their arrival here. She had certainly ended up doing much more than helping out with young Stephen. It had been adding insult to injury when Clarissa had calmly offered Sarah’s services as housekeeper for Virginia Major because the other woman had given her own maid the same three weeks’ holiday as herself, having forgotten all about her plants’ needing watering!

  And at only her second visit here she had walked into goodness knew what sort of a situation. But this man’s use, minutes ago, of Mrs Major’s first name at least confirmed he knew her well enough for that. Unless she had in-advertently used it herself? No, she was sure she hadn’t, not friendly with the other woman enough herself to be so familiar. And there was the fact that he was English too—that had to be more than coincidence.

  ‘I’m staying in the neighbouring villa you can see slightly down the hillside,’ she supplied irritably, wishing she knew exactly what was going on.

  He moved to the window, the towel slipping precariously as he leant forward to look out at the roof of the pink and cream villa that could just be seen through the trees.

  He turned back to her, grinning rakishly as he retrieved the towel before it could fall off him completely. ‘Another of the idle rich, hm?’ he taunted.

  Her mouth twisted. ‘The family I’m here working for may be,’ she bit out, ‘but I’m certainly not. I’m here to look after their nine-year-old son Stephen.’ But she had also become chief cook and bottle-washer since arriving here! The Forbeses hadn’t needed a temporary nanny for Stephen—they had needed a cook and a maid as well. And she seemed to fit the description! She had already decided she would never be swayed by family affection and help out so-called friends of her mother again.

  ‘So you’re a sort of nanny, Miss…?’ He looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘Williams,’ she supplied abruptly. ‘Sarah Williams. And I’m not a sort of anything, I’m actually a trained nurse on holiday. Or, at least, supposedly so,’ she added drily. ‘I’ve answered your questions; now perhaps you could answer a few of mine.’ She made no move to go through to the rest of the villa, even though there were no more plants to be watered in this room.

  She was very much aware of the precariousness of her position alone in the villa with an almost naked man, but she felt she would be better standing her ground rather than making a move of any sort, particularly one that could look in the least nervous.

  ‘Who are you?’ She looked at him challengingly. ‘And what are you doing here?’

  ‘My name is Griff Morgan.’ He held out his hand to her politely, incongruously so in the circumstances. ‘It’s Griffin really, but even people who aren’t my friends call me Griff,’ he added with a mischievous grin. ‘Virginia calls me Griff,’ he added cajolingly.

  Sarah took the proffered hand automatically, so disconcerted now that she didn’t even notice when he forgot to let go of her hand again.

  She frowned her puzzlement. ‘Mrs Major didn’t mention that anyone was coming to stay at the villa while she was away. In fact,’ she shrugged, ‘that’s the reason I was asked to come here, because there was no one else.’

  Griff smiled, the tawny-coloured eyes warm as his gaze swept across the golden loveliness of her face. ‘That’s because Virginia didn’t know I was going to be here. I didn’t know it myself until yesterday.’ He grimaced.

  Sarah looked at him curiously. ‘What happened yesterday?’

  He gave a derisive shrug. ‘I felt in need of a break,’ he dismissed lightly.

  ‘But—Griff Morgan!’ Her eyes had widened with sudden recognition of the name. ‘You’re the investigative reporter, aren’t you?’ she realised incredulously.

  Most people, in England at least, had heard of the name Griff Morgan; he had made a career out of the type of exposé stories that the general public couldn’t help but notice, sparing that public none of the graphic details.

  Yes, Griff Morgan knew of all the hell life had to offer, had seen most of it first-hand. Which probably accounted for that air of cynici
sm she had sensed about him on such brief acquaintance. And yet he seemed to have maintained his sense of humour too, those laughter lines about his eyes and mouth not a figment of her imagination.

  ‘That’s me,’ he confirmed lightly, dismissing the idea of any importance being attached to that.

  ‘I read the stories on drug addiction you did last year.’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘They were harrowing!’

  Something of the horror flickered in his own eyes, and then disappeared, the amusement instantly back in his expression. ‘They were meant to be,’ he said dismissively. ‘And the answer to the second question you asked me a minute ago is that, for the moment, I’m staying here.’

  Sarah frowned at this knowledge. ‘When you say “staying here” do you mean—?’

  ‘I mean,’ Griff Morgan took up her hesitant speech, ‘that until I decide otherwise I’m going to live at the villa. I always stay here when I can get away,’ he added with a shrug as she still didn’t look convinced. Griff looked amused—at her expense! ‘I’m sure that once Virginia gets back from her cruise she’ll confirm all this for you. In the meantime—’

  ‘In the meantime I think you should let go of my hand!’ She extricated herself with difficulty, having suddenly become aware of a lightly caressing thumb against her palm, the intimacy of the action not lost on her. ‘I really do have to finish watering these plants,’ she added, slightly agitated, a delicate blush to her cheeks.

  He strolled across the bedroom to sort through the crumpled clothes that lay in the open suitcase on the floor. ‘I just fell into bed when I arrived last night,’ he ruefully explained the untidiness. ‘I was a little tired. No—make that exhausted,’ he grimaced.

  ‘Have you been working on another story?’ She found it difficult to keep the avid interest out of her voice, intrigued in spite of herself.

  Besides, it helped take her mind off the rumpled intimacy of the bed behind him, the indentation his head had left on the pillow still there from when he had got out of bed earlier.

  ‘Something like that,’ he said drily.