The Bride Wore Red At The Ladies Club: Arabella's Story (Cosmic Hot Shorts Book 4)

by Susan Stephens

  One day?

  Yes. That suggested there would be more days ahead of them, and despite what she felt now, she couldn't be sure of that.

  "I was helped along the way by some good people," Jack said, startling her with the revelation. She had thought, having swerved his past, he wouldn't want to return to it. "They restored my faith in human nature—" He stopped and his lips firmed again. "At least, they restored my faith in some human nature," he amended.

  And then he told her about scavenging in bins, and the chef who had helped him, and the priest who'd been such a good man, making sure he had a roof over his head and enough food to eat, as well as ensuring he had a good education. This was a man to whom Jack still felt indebted, she learned.

  "That's why I bought the estate," he explained. "I thought I could do something similar for other kids—kids who weren't as lucky as me. So, now you know," he said.

  Arabella shook her head. "I think I've only scratched the surface where you're concerned, Jack Castle, but at least I understand why you're so driven now."

  "And why I'll stop at nothing," he said, bringing her into his arms. "And now I'm going to take a shower. But first..."

  She went willing into his arms as Jack kissed her again.

  "But first?" she prompted when he released her.

  "I want to tell you, not just how much you mean to me, but how much I love you."

  After what Jack had told her about his childhood, she was shocked into silence. She assumed that love for him was a huge deal.

  "I mean it," he said. "I love you, Bella. I've loved you from the first day when you hammered on my hood—" His mouth tugged in a smile, but then he frowned. "Even before that," he admitted. "I've loved you since I watched you hesitating between those two stores—dowdy or glamor? Which would it be? I desperately wanted you to buy the red dress, and when you turned away, I had to know why. In that moment I decided I would buy the dress for you, and that you would wear it just for me."

  "Oh, Jack..."

  "You are not allowed to get emotional,' he instructed. "You'd better know that I'm going to keep on buying you red dresses until you tell me to stop."

  "Don't stop," she whispered.

  "Shower," he said with a reluctant sigh.

  "Jack—" She caught hold of his arm.

  "Yes?" he said, turning back to her.

  "I love you too."

  Curving a smile, Jack brought his fingertips to his lips, then placed them against her mouth. "I love you," he echoed.

  "Sorry—the call is from whom?" She had to stick a finger in her other ear. The line was bad, and Jack sounded as if he was standing under Niagara Falls.

  "Jack's lawyer. And I need to speak to him in person, please."

  "I'm afraid you can't do that just now. He's not here." Which was true. "Can I take a message?"

  The female voice was faintly hostile, and there was an unspoken question hovering in the air: who was Arabella, and what was her relationship to Jack?

  "If you could just ask Jack to call me."

  The hostility ratcheted up several notches. "Is there anything you can tell me so he knows what the call is about?"

  There was another silence on the end of the line, until finally the lawyer said, "You could tell him that I've got the signature he needed. I got it just before the man in question was taken away by the police."

  "Oh. That does sound dramatic." And familiar, Arabella thought, feeling dread creep up on her. "I'll be sure to tell him," she confirmed tensely.

  "That's not the end of the message."

  "Oh?"

  "You need to tell him that I'm leaving it to him to get the other signature, but he needs to get it soon, or the deal won't go through. Tell him not to worry, and that I'm mailing him a copy of the document. I'm sure the hotel will print it out for him."

  "What document is this, please?" Her voice sounded very small, Arabella thought as she swallowed on a dry throat.

  "The contract of sale for the Old Hall?"

  When she didn't speak, the lawyer added impatiently, "Jack will know what I'm talking about."

  Her hand was shaking as she replaced the hotel phone in its nest. This time in Paris with Jack wasn't real. It was a fantasy, a ruse to win her trust so she would sign over the house to him.

  She wouldn't discuss the call with him, she decided. She was having enough trouble just functioning, and she really couldn't bear to be humiliated again.

  She would find a reason to go. She had to find a reason to go.

  When Jack came out of the shower and reached for her, she forced a laugh and danced past him. She took a shower in silence, and when she came out again, she maintained that silence. She didn't trust herself to speak. Flashing a reassuring smile his way whenever she thought it necessary had to be enough. She was dead inside. She was ice.

  She dressed in silence, and reached for purse in silence.

  "Bella, what's wrong?"

  "I have to go, Jack—"

  "Go?" he exploded. "You can't go? What's happened?"

  She looked down at his hand on her arm. "Please, Jack. I need to go. Don't try to stop me."

  Lifting his hand away from her, Jack frowned. He started to say something and then fell silent. "Can't I say anything to persuade you to stay?" he said at last.

  "No, Jack. I have to go home."

  "If you're quite sure, I'll call my pilot—"

  "I am sure, but there's no need for you to do that. I don't want you to think I'm not grateful—"

  "What?" Beyond frustration, Jack raked his ruffled hair.

  "I don't want you to think that I haven't enjoyed this time in Paris—"

  "Our time in Paris," he ground out over her. "And I don't want you to be grateful—I don't want you to be grateful to a man ever again! You said you loved me, Bella, and I know I love you." Jack opened his arms in a bewildered shrug. "How can you leave like this?"

  "Quite easily," she said, knowing she would have to be cruel if she stood a chance of leaving Jack. "I'll just put one foot in front of another and walk out the door."

  Chapter Eight

  When she got back to the Old Hall she refused to see anyone, even Tracey, though Tracey called every day, twice a day. "Just to check you're still alive, and the ghost of the Old Hall hasn't got you yet."

  "Not yet," Arabella confirmed each time like clockwork, though today she was glad of the human contact. It was scary up here. Stuffing her phone in the pocket of her jeans, she glanced around. She was upstairs in the attic, looking for something to sell to stave off the creditors. She might have known there'd be nothing left. Harold had gotten here before her. She had approached the bank for a loan, but as the bank was threatening to foreclose on the mortgage, that was a non–starter. And then there was Harold. In jail or not, divorced or not, he was still entitled to half the property, which left Arabella with two choices. She could sell the house and pay Harold his half of whatever was left after the debts were cleared, or she could buy him out—and as she didn't have a penny to scratch her backside with, neither option was open to her.

  And worse, she concluded, sitting heavily on a chest, she longed to hear Jack's voice. He'd rung her every day, but she'd declined his calls. How could she pick up the phone after what he'd done? Did he think she was soft in the head?

  Apparently, yes, he did. How long was it since they'd parted in Paris? Almost three weeks? And she was still pining for him? Shame on you, Arabella Frost!

  Arabella... Delavinci!

  Much better, Arabella concluded, feeling better already. She would reclaim her maiden name as of today. She had once been Lady Delavinci, though everyone who knew her had simply transferred her title to Frost when she married Harold. She didn't give a damn about the title, but she would feel better using her childhood name, rather than Harold's name—though it was the only thing he'd ever given her, she recalled with grim amusement. And Jack wasn't the answer to her problems, either. She had to find a solution.

  Forced to a
ccept that miracles didn't happen, she left the attic rooms when the room darkened as the sun went behind a cloud. There were no Old Masters hanging forgotten on the walls, no secret drawers in the battered old desks, and no jewels that had slipped forgotten behind a chest—and even if there had been, she doubted the money they'd fetch would be enough to touch the debt.

  Pick yourself up! she told herself impatiently as she pulled on her Wellington boots and grabbed her battered old Barbour from the hook.

  Where...the...hell...was she?

  He'd had enough of this. He had no idea why Arabella had suddenly changed in Paris, or why she was refusing to take his calls now. He only knew that he hadn't changed as far as she was concerned; not one bit. He'd been away on business, but now he was back, and there was only one place he wanted to go, and that was to the Old Hall to find Bella. He didn't know now whether he hated the place or loved it. It had brought him Arabella, but it had also taken her away from him. If she really preferred a house to him—

  He would still have to find her, Jack determined, so he could hear that she had finished with him from her own lips.

  He hammered on the front door of the hall and peered in through the windows. He rattled the back door, and even contemplated cracking the glass. But after the last time, and the trouble she'd had getting the antique glass replaced, he knew that would only upset her more. And he would have known if she was here. He would have felt her presence in his bones. And if instinct failed him, he knew for sure that Bella wasn't the type to skulk behind doors. She would more likely fling it wide in his face and order him off her property.

  Acting on a hunch, he headed out along the drive towards the woods they had rode up to when he took her out on the bike. The dell. The magical dell she loved so much. If she was anywhere on the estate, she'd be there.

  Relief flooded him when he saw that he was right. He stood stock still, watching her, drinking her in. She was sitting on the bank above the stream, swishing the water with her Wellington boots. She looked thoughtful, but not defeated. Bella was never defeated. What was she plotting now, he wondered. His heart lifted when she turned to look at him and her face lit up.

  Lifted? His heart bolted from his chest and flew to her.

  "Jack!" Lurching to her feet, she slipped and fell into the stream.

  "Bella!"

  He was at her side in an instant and, dragging her soaking wet into his arms, he hugged her hard. Every inch of her was so wonderfully familiar. She had a body to die for—which he was more than ready to do, if she gave the word.

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded, sorting herself out. "I can't believe I just fell into the stream." Her mouth quirked as they stood confronting each other—"I must look a mess. Huh?"

  He held her turbulent gaze steadily. She still wasn't sure of him. Even when he said, "You look beautiful to me," she just hummed.

  "When did you become a romantic?" she demanded at last.

  "When I fell in love with a redhead."

  Her expression changed—became serious, and faintly hostile. "So, what's your explanation for what happened in Paris?"

  "You wouldn't take my calls, which is why I'm here." He shrugged. "That's all I know."

  "So, why are you here, Jack?"

  "For this—" Dragging her into his arms, he kissed her. It was fire on fire.

  She fought him. He had expected that. But then she gave a little, and then a little more.

  "You are impossible!" she raged, thrusting her hands flat against his chest.

  "Shall I let you go?"

  "Yes!" she flashed.

  "Shall I walk away?"

  "Do whatever the hell you want to do, Jack! You always do." She turned her back on him.

  "What were you thinking about when you were sitting on this bank?"

  She turned back to face him then, and said in a quiet, clear voice. "I was planning how to raise enough money to save the house you want to steal from me."

  "I want what?"

  "Don't act dumb, Jack. It doesn't suit you. I spoke to your lawyer when we were in Paris. She asked me to tell you that she had Harold's signature, and now you had to get mine. Oops. Seems I forgot to tell you. Was that why you took me away, Jack? Was it just to seduce me into signing the contract?"

  "Of course not."

  "Really?" she demanded skeptically. "So you didn't think you could buy me with a dress and one night of amazing sex?"

  He gave her a look. "If I thought you were that easy I'd have made love to you before—but thanks for the compliment…I think. As for the dress? You're more than welcome. You deserve it more than anyone I know."

  "You're doing it again," she protested.

  "Doing what again?"

  "I think you'd better go."

  "I'm not going anywhere," he assured her, standing his ground.

  Jack was the most obstinate man she knew. She had been considering all the worse case scenarios when he turned up, like taking any job she could at the Old Hall once it was sold on, just so she could stay in touch with the place. The bank had foreclosed that morning, so the house would be sold on. The race was over. The battle was lost. "You've won Jack," she admitted. "It's too late to save the house, and the Old Hall deserves better than I can give it, and so do the people who used to work there. They deserve to get their jobs back, and that's something I can't give them."

  Jack held up his hands, palms flat. "Stop right there. You say I've won?" His frown was so deep it cut canyons in his face. "How have I won, Bella? I'm defeated. You've defeated me. Without you I'm nothing but the orphan I always was—the man without a home, or a family, and without anyone to love. I don't have anyone to build a future with but you. If you think that's winning, then I don't know what more I can say to you—and as for the Old Hall deserving better than you can give it? How can anyone give back more than you?"

  "It's too late, Jack," she said again. "The Old Hall belongs to the bank now."

  "But all you ever needed was the money to put things right—"

  "Aren't you listening to me, Jack? I said it's too late."

  "It's never too late," he argued fiercely.

  Shaking her head in exasperation, she turned to go.

  "I can buy anything—everything Bella," he called after her, "except the one thing I need, which is you."

  She stopped and turned. "Even if you gave me the money to pay off the debts, I would be forever in your debt, Jack, and I'm done with being in debt."

  Turning on her heels, she strode away, head down, hands thrust deep in her pockets. He thought about going after her, but he'd said enough for now. And he'd seen her. He had to be content. She'd been through the wringer, and if anyone needed to cool off, it was Bella. He would give her all the time she needed.

  Okay, so maybe not all that much time, he conceded as he watched her walk away.

  She couldn't sleep that night after seeing Jack. Everything had fallen into a big black hole. The future of the Old Hall wasn't hers to decide. It would rest in the hands of the new owner. She didn't even know how long she could stay here. She hadn't heard a word yet. Maybe she could get a job as she had planned, she mused, thumping the pillow as she tried to find a comfortable position; that was if the new owner didn't bulldoze the place...

  On that unhappy thought, she drifted off to sleep, and woke bleary–eyed and exhausted to hear someone knocking at the door. Grabbing her robe, she threw it on and belted it. Stumbling downstairs still half asleep, she opened the door to the mailman. "Yes?" she said, staring at the box in his hand.

  "I've got a delivery here for a Ms. Delavinci?"

  The mailman looked as puzzled as she felt. "Oh, yes, that's me," she said, remembering.

  The poor man had been delivering mail to the house since shortly after she'd married Harold. No wonder he didn't recognize the name. "Sorry," she said, realizing she was keeping the mailman waiting. "Where do I sign?"

  She carried the box into the kitchen, the only room in the house—apart from h
er bedroom—that she could afford to keep cozy and warm, and that was thanks to the Aga that ate up all the scraps of wood she could find.

  She peeled back the tape and opened the box, then froze when she saw the contents. She knew immediately who'd sent it. The red dress was so achingly familiar, and appeared to be an exact copy of the one she'd seen in the boutique window, but this time there were some envelopes sitting on top of it.

  She read the contents of the first envelope with surprise. It was a letter to say that the bank had cleared the mortgage after the sale of the house. She sighed wistfully. The sale of the house had gone through even faster than she'd thought. No surprise really. Whoever had bought it would have picked it up for a song from the bank.

  She laughed when she read the contents of the second envelope. This one contained the news that both Harold and she would receive the same miniscule amount of money from the bank after all the debts had been cleared.

  But at least she was free from debt. That was a cause for rejoicing.

  There was one more envelope. She studied the bold script suspiciously. It was addressed to Ms. Bella Delavinci. Hmm.

  She studied the contents with a growing sense of disbelief. She was the new owner of the Old Hall! But how could that be? It appeared that she owned it outright, free and clear of debt.

  She owned the Old Hall?

  She had to read the papers again just to be sure, but there was no mistake.

  There was no mistake. Jack Castle had bought the house from the bank and put everything in her name.

  Her mind blanked for a moment. She couldn't take it in. And then she frowned as she wondered how she was going to manage the repayments to Jack alongside the general maintenance of such a large property.

  "So now I'm in debt to you forever," she murmured, almost jumping out of her skin when the phone rang.

  "Can I come round?"

  "I think you better," she told Jack.

  Chapter Nine

  Jack stood smiling on the doorstep. He looked pleased with himself.