The Bride and the Bargain

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  Molly took the baby to the couch and sat down with him. But her wide eyes followed Amelia as she called Paula and blurted out their latest disaster. The other woman arrived again in a flash. She calmly took Timmy and had him quieted by the time Amelia had pulled on shoes and headed out the door.

  It took three different buses before Amelia finally arrived at the address the police officer had given her. Another hour went by before she made it past the gargoyle of a woman guarding the front desk, and then it was only to see the arresting officer.

  Of Jack there was no sign.

  “I want to see my nephew,” she insisted when the officer just put a sheaf of papers in front of her to read and sign.

  “These things take time, ma’am.” He didn’t look unsympathetic, but he did seem swamped with interruptions. People stopping by his cubicle with questions or comments. Phone ringing almost nonstop.

  Hating the feeling of being out of her depth, she read the papers—the listing of charges and her responsibilities if—if—Jack were released to her. She scribbled her name where she needed to and handed the forms back to the officer.

  “Wait out in the lobby,” he told her. “We’ll call you soon.”

  More waiting? She nodded and made her way back through the labyrinth of cubicles to the gargoyle and the hard chairs lined up along the walls there.

  She sat down, closing her eyes in an effort to block out the voices all around her. Oh, Daphne. I’m just not good at this.

  “Miss White?”

  Amelia opened her eyes again to see the gargoyle addressing her. Only there was a glint of kindness in the woman’s eyes this time. “If you’d come with me?”

  Her stomach in knots, she followed the uniformed woman back through the labyrinth. Only this time they didn’t stop at the arresting officer’s cubicle, but continued past to an elevator. Up two floors and when the doors opened, the gargoyle extended her hand. “They’ll take care of you from here,” she said.

  Amelia stepped off the elevator into a corridor with thick carpet and paneled walls. Hardly the tile and modular cubes of the lower floor. She wrapped her hands more tightly around the leather strap of her purse and cautiously headed along the hall. It opened out after several yards into another lobby area, only this one didn’t have a counter hidden behind safety glass and metal detectors. It had a wide desk with a pretty woman sitting behind it. Enormous planters filled with ficus trees were positioned around the upholstered chairs.

  Amelia swallowed the alarm that kept growing inside her and headed toward the desk. She wanted to get Jack and get out of there. Period.

  “Miss White?” The woman greeted her before Amelia moved two steps. “You can just go in that office there. To your right.”

  Afraid of what she might find, the first face she saw was her nephew’s.

  Relief swept through her, making her positively weak. She dashed forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close. “What are you doing scaring me to death like this?”

  He wriggled out of her arms, looking grim and avoiding her eyes. There were two others in the office. A man in uniform with about five pounds’ worth of medals pinned to his breast, and a tall redhead wearing the kind of suit Amelia knew she’d never in her life be able to afford.

  No nun’s habit there.

  The woman’s striking appearance made Amelia painfully aware of her own faded jeans and washed-out blue T-shirt.

  She focused on the uniform. “What is all this? Can I take my nephew home now?”

  The man nodded. “I’m afraid Jack will have to appear for a hearing, but we’ll notify Ms. Matthews here and it can be done as discreetly as possible.”

  Amelia’s gaze darted to the woman. Ms. Matthews. She doubted that anyone dressed so expensively was court appointed. “Who sent you?” Suspicion raged rampant inside her, though it defied all logic as far as she was concerned.

  The woman’s demeanor was brisk but not curt as she confirmed for Amelia that the illogical sometimes won out.

  “I’m Mr. Gray’s attorney,” she introduced herself. “Marissa Matthews.”

  Chapter Eight

  The knots inside Amelia jerked even tighter. She recognized the woman’s name perfectly well.

  Grayson’s watchdog whom he’d set on Daphne months earlier.

  “How did he—”

  Marissa cut her off smoothly. “Your friend Ms. Browning informed him what had happened.” She looked back at the officer, extending her long, elegant hand. “Captain. Always a pleasure. Your discretion is most appreciated.”

  The man was still beaming when the attorney nudged Jack ahead of them and they returned to the elevator.

  The moment the doors closed, Amelia whirled on the woman. “I suppose that police captain knows just who Mr. Gray is?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Is he having us watched or something?”

  “Of course not. I told you. Paula Browning—”

  “How did she tell him? His number isn’t exactly listed.” It was a monumental understatement.

  “He was phoning you, Amelia.” Marissa’s cultured voice was calm. “She informed him where you were. Of course he wanted to assist in any way he could, so he sent me. I don’t ordinarily handle these types of things, but I’m not entirely without experience.”

  Did it matter?

  In Amelia’s experience, attorneys had never been a big success for her. But if Marissa had eased the way for Jack, she could swallow her pride and be grateful, despite the way the woman had once threatened Daphne in her letter.

  Not that the bite went down very easily.

  The elevator opened and the three of them left the building. Amelia couldn’t even muster surprise at the distinctive BMW waiting for them.

  Jack was saying nothing at all, of course. But his eyes widened slightly when the attorney stopped alongside the car and gestured for him to get in the backseat. Only Marissa stopped Amelia before she could follow him in. “Take the front. I have my own car.”

  Amelia reluctantly slid into the front seat and wished that she and Jack were anywhere else as Marissa leaned down and spoke across her to Gray, who didn’t acknowledge Amelia’s presence at all. “It’s his first offense. He’s a minor and the stolen equipment wasn’t technically in his possession, but one of the older boys. With your involvement I can probably get the charges dropped before we even get to the hearing.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marissa smiled briefly. “Stay out of trouble, Jack,” Marissa suggested as she straightened. “Amelia. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other before long.”

  Not if Amelia could help it, she thought mulishly.

  She pulled the car door closed when the leggy attorney stepped away from the vehicle.

  Gray’s thumb tapped the steering wheel. “You okay?” The comment was directed at Jack.

  “Yeah,” Jack assured, his voice flat.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “You’re the guy who’s hot for my aunt.”

  “Jack!” Amelia turned around, gaping at him, but her nephew looked unrepentant, his gaze firmly on Gray’s.

  “Anything else?” Gray pressed.

  “What else is there to know?” Jack’s lips twisted. “Cool car.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Did you?” She added her request to Gray’s, because she truly needed to know.

  “I didn’t steal nothing.”

  “I didn’t steal anything,” she corrected.

  “Neither did I,” her nephew returned, full of sarcastic, wounded male pride.

  “Jack—”

  He looked away. A muscle flexed in his young jaw.

  Oh, yes. She was doing a brilliant job of filling in for Daphne. Caring for Jack for just three short months and he’d taken to hanging out with shoplifters.

  “We’ll talk about this at home,” she warned.

  He didn’t respond and with a sigh, Amelia turned around in her seat, silently fastening her se
at belt.

  She gave Gray a quick look. “Thank you. For trying to help at the station.” She barely succeeded in keeping her voice shy of grudging. “But I could have managed.”

  Particularly since, considering the situation, she was winning such great awards in child rearing.

  “I have no doubt,” he agreed. He drove away from the station, smoothly navigating the trip back to their apartment building.

  Correction. His apartment building, if Tanisha Jones’s gossip could be trusted.

  He parked on the street, blatantly ignoring the no-parking zone and accompanied them inside. Amelia was suddenly so exhausted that she couldn’t summon the will to argue.

  They rode up in the elevator in silence and a portion of Amelia’s mind wondered what Gray thought of the battered interior.

  Paula greeted them at the apartment door when they arrived. Without a single word, Jack slouched across the living room, disappearing into his bedroom with a slammed door.

  “Timmy’s down and Molly’s asleep in your bed,” Paula told her. “She wanted to be near the baby.”

  “Thanks, Paula.” Amelia hugged her friend, blinking back the weak tears that burned her eyes. “See you in the morning.”

  Paula patted her back comfortingly. “Kids do crazy things,” she murmured. “It’s not the end of the world. And don’t be mad at me for spilling the beans to him.”

  “I’m not.” Paula had only done what she thought would help.

  Amelia moved away, going to the kitchen with no purpose other than to put as much distance between her and Grayson—who was showing Paula out the door with all the gracious ness in the world—as she could.

  But standing there hiding made her look as pathetic as she felt, so she pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside. “Can I, um, get you something to drink?”

  “Hospitality, Amelia?”

  She pushed the door and the bottles in the door shelves rattled noisily as it closed. “That attorney is the one you sicced on my sister.”

  “Marissa’s been my counsel for years.”

  “She must have quite an opinion by now of me and my sister.”

  “If she does, she’s paid well enough to keep it to herself.”

  “So why don’t you marry her?”

  He slid off his black suit jacket, looking around the modest apartment as if to find a suitable spot to place it.

  “We don’t have fleas,” Amelia assured tartly.

  His lips tightened. He dropped the jacket over the back of one of the table chairs. “If you’re always going to believe the worst of me, the next few years are going to be pretty miserable.”

  “Years!” She crossed her arms. “Who said anything about that?”

  “I figure at least two years ought to do it. Are all the apartments this size?”

  Two years with the title of Grayson Hunt’s wife? It hardly bore thinking about. “I’d have thought you’d have been curious enough to learn more about this building before you bought it.”

  He just looked at her.

  She flopped her hands. “There isn’t anything larger than a two-bedroom,” she said. “Talk to Stan. Your building superintendent,” she added when he clearly didn’t recognize the name.

  “I have people who manage my holdings,” he said, as if doing anything else was unfathomable. “Would you prefer a judge or a minister?”

  Her mouth parted, not just from the abrupt shift in topic, but the topic to which he shifted. Only no words would escape, so she just stood there like a gaping fish.

  “Minister,” he decided for her. “You don’t look like the civil wedding type.”

  She bristled. That was the kind of wedding that John had wanted and she’d gone along with him rather than cause dissension.

  “We’ll want the children at the ceremony, of course,” Gray went on without pause. “Photographs would look odd if they weren’t. Aside from this regrettable incident, Jack seems well behaved. What about Molly?”

  “Well, she sings at the top of her lungs and turns cartwheels whenever she feels like it,” Amelia said tightly. “My niece and nephew have perfectly fine manners, thank you very much.”

  He lifted his eyebrows slightly. “I stand corrected. This Paula. She seems like a decent sort. Do you want her as your witness?” His gaze drifted over her. “I can arrange for someone else if you don’t. We won’t worry about guest lists and such. There’s no time, first of all, and secondly, I prefer to keep it private.” He glanced at her, as if waiting for her to argue.

  When she didn’t, he gave a brief, satisfied nod. “I’ll warn you that there will be a formal reception. Maybe not immediately, but soon. It’ll be expected. You can invite Paula to that if you prefer. You might want to, actually. Aside from my family, it’ll be mostly social and business contacts who’ll be there. Don’t know whether it will be at the shack—the reception hall could certainly accommodate it, but it takes some time for security to run the guest list, and another venue might be easier. It’ll be black tie, though. You’ll have to resign at Brandlebury immediately.”

  That managed to loosen her tongue. “What? Absolutely not!”

  He exhaled, portraying the very soul of patience with a not-very-bright student. “As my wife, you will have plenty of responsibilities without clocking in as a very poorly compensated librarian.”

  Her face felt hot. “What do you know about my compensation?”

  “Honey, there is nothing much about you that I don’t know, now.”

  It was bad enough to think that he’d investigated her to verify her sister’s condition. Did he know every other failure in her life, too? “Please tell me there is something about me that you don’t know.”

  He leaned his hip against one of the stools at the counter and leisurely unbuttoned his cuffs. “I suppose there are a few things,” he allowed. “What are those?”

  “What?” She realized he was looking at the stack of clean diapers that she’d folded and left sitting on the counter. “Surely you’ve seen diapers before. Don’t worry. I’ve washed them,” she assured acidly.

  He grimaced and continued folding the white linen shirtsleeves over a few times, leaving most of his forearms—sinewy and tanned and dusted with dark hair—bare.

  She dragged her gaze from the sight and reached for the refrigerator again. She pulled out a bottle of apple juice that she didn’t really want and twisted it open. “What kind of responsibilities?”

  “Keeping my father’s suspicious nature from rearing will be one.” He shrugged. “Social functions, mostly. Don’t worry,” he added when she paled at the idea, “it’ll mostly be appearance only. Short. Brief. You’ll be the beautiful brunette on my arm. That’s all.”

  She pressed her lips together. Beautiful? Then she mentally shook sense back into her head. Getting her sidetracked was probably some tactic of his to keep her off balance. “You’re assuming that I’ll agree to this farce you’ve proposed.”

  His vivid eyes were steady on her face. “No farce, Amelia. A marriage.”

  “Marriage proposals are usually accompanied by a ring.”

  He went to his jacket, pulled out a small box and handed it to her.

  She swallowed. “Oh.”

  “Open it.” His voice was careless. “Don’t worry. When we reach the end of our agreement, you can keep it, as well as any other…physical assets you acquire. In addition, you’ll be well compensated for your time just as the terms of the agreement spelled out.”

  She couldn’t help herself. Her shaking fingers flipped open the box.

  The ring inside practically leaped out at her, the stones were so huge.

  “Well?”

  Maybe he wasn’t as blasé about the ring as she’d thought. She set the box on the counter where it looked extremely odd sitting next to Daphne’s bright red souvenir salt and pepper shakers. “It’s…spectacular,” she settled for.

  In truth, it was the kind of ring she’d never ever have desired for herself. A wide wh
ite metal—she supposed it was platinum—band that had dozens of stones working down the sides with a mammoth square rock set high in the center. It was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. But it wasn’t at all her. It was too large. Too ostentatious. Too everything.

  But then what did it matter? It wasn’t as if the engagement ring was proffered with undying love. The small solitaire that John had offered had been.

  And look how well that had turned out.

  She supposed it was the passage of time that made the pain of his defection less acute.

  He’d told her she was too settled and boring and plain.

  Grayson claimed she was beautiful.

  The thought circled like an annoying little gnat.

  She picked up the juice bottle again, spun it between her fingers. “Aren’t you even the least bit embarrassed?” Her voice shook and she forcefully injected it with a healthy dose of aspersion. “Not about the ring. But, you know. That you of all people have to resort to hiring a wife.”

  His lips curled, but he didn’t look amused. “Everything in life is business, Amelia. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”

  She paused, watching him. Sitting between them, the ring seemed to wink like a big caution sign. “You really believe that,” she said after a moment. She could tell by his face that he did.

  And it struck her as unbearably sad.

  “It’s gotten me where I am.”

  “Then I feel sorry for you, Mr. Hunt.”

  “Don’t waste your pity,” he assured. “Small ceremony or not, you’ll have to have a proper dress. There’s not really time to get a designer at this point for something original, but I can put Loretta on it. You never know what she’ll pull out of her hat. Are there any particular labels that you prefer?”

  She nearly choked on her sip of apple juice. Somehow she doubted he meant one that instructed Do Not Dry Clean.

  She couldn’t believe this conversation was transpiring. As if she’d already signed that paper of his, consigning herself to the next few years as his wife in exchange for a not insignificant ransom. “Who is Loretta?”