Prince of Delights

by Renee Roszel

  Pulling her car to a screeching halt, she jumped out and ran into the shop, searching for her mother. Then, re­membering Minny had asked to be met behind the store, she found the rear exit, and went in search of her injured mother.

  "Mother?" she called, distraught, fearing Minny had passed out from the pain and was lying in some gutter. This alleyway, though, was quite clean and clear of re­fuse, except for Sunny's two trash cans and the church's Dumpster. Angela hurried over to look behind it. No Minny.

  Upset and frustrated, she started back to the shop, only to come to a stumbling halt. Tarrant was standing there, resplendent in his dark gray morning coat. When he saw her, his expression grew startled. "Angela?" he asked.

  She felt horrible. He would think she was spying on his wedding! "Tarrant, I—" She cut herself off when she saw Eden follow him from the church, looking like a fairy-tale queen in a flowing gown of beige lace and silk. Stunned, she watched as Eden took Tarrant's hands and kissed him fondly. The wedding must have been earlier than the pa­per had reported. It was clear that they were attempting to avoid reporters by sneaking out the rear entrance. Unwill­ing to witness their kiss, Angela turned away. How had this humiliating mistake happened? Where was her mother? What a horrible May twenty-third this was turning out to be!

  Angela wanted nothing more than to run, but she could visualize her mother writhing in pain somewhere. She couldn't desert her in her time of need, no matter how dreadful this chance meeting with Tarrant and his new bride.

  She scanned the alley again to avoid seeing the married couple nearby. Mother, where are you? she cried men­tally. Maybe someone had helped her into the church. De­ciding she'd better check, she forced her legs to take her in the direction of Tarrant and Eden—Mr. and Mrs. Seaton.

  A taxi cruised up, and Angela stifled a sad sigh. Thank heaven they would soon be gone. A car door opened and closed. When she reached the church's back entrance, she heard the cab drive away, and stopped for a moment to regain her composure, grasping the doorjamb for sup­port. Tarrant was gone. He and his bride were off on their honeymoon to Paris, Rome—she didn't remember where. And didn't care.

  "Don't go, Angela," came a soft, deep-voiced com­mand. Suddenly she was almost too weak to stand, for the words had been uttered by the Prince of Delights himself. How could that be? He and his wife had left.

  Twisting slowly around, she was shocked to see Tar­rant, alone in the alleyway.

  "Tarrant?" Her voice was a disbelieving squeak. "What are you doing here?"

  His expression serious, he parried with, "I might ask you the same question."

  Her cheeks grew hot. "Mother hurt her ankle. I'm sup­posed to pick her up here."

  He came toward her. Even though she stood on a step, he loomed above her, painfully handsome and powerful. His eye roving over her neat, but not new, yellow cotton dress, he repeated, "Your mother hurt her ankle—here?"

  Angela grimaced helplessly. "I know it sounds crazy, but she phoned and asked me to meet her here. I really wasn't spying—"

  His resonant chuckle took her off guard, so that she forgot what she had been trying to say. Leaning against the church's stone wall, he shoved his hands into his pockets, appearing casually dignified. "Nothing about you or your mother surprises me anymore. I believe you."

  He looked so princely, so unobtainable, that Angela could only stare sadly. His haunting scent was working its magic, and she found herself hard-pressed to keep from touching him. She knew she had to get hold of herself. Apparently Eden had gone somewhere to change. But why, oh why, did Tarrant have to engage her in idle conversa­tion? How could he be so insensitive to her feelings? Well, she'd be darned if she'd let him see her pain. If he insisted on a meaningless chat, that's what he would get. Strain­ing to be polite, she asked, "So, what time's your flight?"

  His gaze skimmed her controlled features. "I have a story to tell you, Angela. Do you have a few minutes?" he asked soberly.

  Feigning interest in the Dumpster, she shrugged.

  "First, I want to apologize about something," he be­gan. "My mother is a good judge of people. She trusted your mother to be compassionate, just as she trusted you to be honest. I should have listened to her."

  Angela wanted only to get away from his confusing presence. It was clear that, being a practiced gentleman, he was tossing her a complimentary bone, and that hurt her pride. Wishing she could disappear, she mumbled, "Whatever. Listen, I've really got to go find my mother…."

  "Look at me," he ordered gently. When he had her un­willing attention, he began, "Last night, hours before dawn, Mother woke me, in tears, and told me everything. She admitted that a sailor named Lyon was my father, and that she'd tricked Noah into marrying her, then con­vinced him that I was his child. She told me that all these years she'd felt a gnawing guilt about it, but rationalized her deceit because her growing chocolate assets replen­ished the dwindling Seaton fortunes—money in exchange for an heir, so to speak.

  "She could never rid herself of the guilt for her lie. That's why she'd always told me the best marriages were partnerships—not built on foolish emotions, but from honest contracts for mutual support and gain." When Tarrant took Angela's hands, she squirmed a little, hating her immediate reaction to his touch. But she couldn't bring herself to move away as he went on, "And last night, when you told her that Minny was sure Noah knew her secret and loved her anyway, it set her to thinking."

  "Thinking?" Angela asked, her voice weak. "About what?"

  "Her marriage philosophy. She realized she had loved Noah—practically from the beginning—and their mar­riage had been a good one, not the sham her guilt had forced her to believe it was. You did her a great service by allowing her to see that."

  Something in his face changed slightly, and his eyes darkened with emotion. Angela regarded him closely. "How are you taking all this news?" she asked.

  "As far as I'm concerned, I'm Noah's son. But it's ironic to find that my own mother used deceit to get a man to marry her. It's even stranger to learn that she did it for me." Sadness glistened in his eyes. "She must have cringed every time I talked about deceitful women."

  "You didn't know," Angela soothed, wanting to take him into her arms, comfort him, but knowing she had no right.

  "I suppose I'll have to make do with that," he mused. "But we're both glad the truth is out. Mother told me she always wished she could have told Noah the truth. As it was, she used him, and because she could never forgive herself for that, she couldn't believe Noah would forgive her. And she kept her painful secret."

  "Poor Delila." Angela sighed.

  "Yes. It was hard on her. But I have to admit one thing. Your mother's dreams may not be on track, but her heart is. She's taken a great burden from my mother's soul."

  Angela felt a small, melancholy smile lift her lips. "Do you mean that my mother's meddling actually helped someone?"

  "Yes. Thanks to Minny, Mother finally realizes Noah loved her and would have forgiven her anything." He shook his head and smiled sadly. "So, on the eve of my wedding, she decided she had to tell me that she now knows people should marry for love. She didn't want me to make a mistake because of her foolishness."

  "Mistake?" Angela repeated the word without under­standing.

  Tarrant scanned her face, and a twinkle sparked to life in his eyes as he taunted softly, "Aren't you curious about where Eden went?"

  A shiver of anxiety ran up Angela's spine at the re­minder of his bride. "I assume she went to change." A forlorn note had crept into her voice, and she winced at the sound.

  With an enigmatic smile, he agreed, "Yes. But there's more."

  She grew very still, wondering at his odd tone. "Where did she go?"

  "To Texas."

  "Texas?" Angela whispered, confused.

  "Did I mention Eden and I aren't married?" A thor­oughly dashing grin blossomed on his lips as he watched her eyes widen in surprise.

  "You're not?"

  He laughed softly
. "By some crazy mix-up, the church is being fumigated. During the confusion, Eden and I had a chance to talk."

  Trembling, Angela listened in stunned silence as he went on, "Having had a number of hours to think about my mother's confession, I finally realized I couldn't go through with my marriage to Eden. I told her we'd been wrong to think we could be happy without passion. With­out being in love. She admitted her ex-husband had called her several times, wanting a reconciliation, and she had a feeling the mistaken fumigation was an act of fate—that we'd both been given another chance to find real happi­ness. So Eden's gone to Texas to see him. I wish her all the best."

  With a fleeting smile of recollection, he added, "I told the poor confused guests the wedding was off and that the bride had decided I would make a better friend than a husband. While reporters scurried for phones, we escaped out the back. I wanted to see Eden off—and seek out the woman Hove."

  Angela's throat closed with emotion. She stood there, rooted to the step, not daring even to hope.

  "Angela," he began, his voice soft and husky, "I was ignorant about the subject of love until a delightfully ec­centric woman entered by life and pointed out a raven-haired enchantress who had the power to show me the truth." His kiss took her by surprise, telegraphing a long­ing that Angela could feel all the way to her toes. Lifting his head slightly, he vowed, "Darling. I love you. Marry me. Today." He lifted her into his arms, which was a good thing for she had lost her ability to stand.

  Afraid to believe her own ears, she cried, "Oh, Tar­rant… you can't mean—"

  "Of course he does, sweetie!" admonished Minny as she scampered down the steps from the church, arm in arm with an older man clad in overalls.

  "Mother?" Angela gasped. "Your ankle. It's okay?"

  "Why, of course it is. Hello, son," she added with a knowing grin. "I'd like you two to meet my new gentle­man friend, Melvin Smedley—of Smedley's Fumigat­ing." Her impish smile said it all. Act of fate, indeed!

  Tarrant and Angela, faced with yet another sample of Minny's meddling, glanced at each other and then back at the older couple before they burst out laughing.

  "Mother! You hired this man to fumigate the church?"

  "Of course. You children were certainly taking your time discovering you were in love. Something had to be done!" Minny crossed her arms about her billowing frock, adding, "Besides, Melvin has a six-month easy-payment plan."

  Tarrant turned to gaze at Angela, twin devils lighting his eyes. "Bless Melvin's advertising strategy," he said through a chuckle.

  "Well, son, are you just going to carry my daughter around all day?" Minny inquired sternly.

  He slanted her an amused glance. "What would you suggest I do with her?"

  Tugging Melvin forward, she said, "Melvin's truck is right around the corner. I suggest you two go somewhere and get married. Angela, I must say, you're awfully slow-witted for a Meadows. You should have said yes by now!"

  "Mother, we can't get married today." She faced Tar­rant inquiringly. "Can we?"

  "You have no choice, sweetie," Minny interrupted. "It's May twenty-third."

  He grinned at Angela and winked. "I know a judge who owes me a favor. We'll get married today, then do it up right later." Nuzzling her ear, he whispered, "After all, our wedding date was preordained."

  She hugged his neck, unable to believe Tarrant Seaton had actually proposed to her.

  "Come on, you two. You can make goo-goo eyes later," Minny called. "You'll have to ride in the back of Melvin's van with the fumigating tanks. But at least the reporters won't suspect anything."

  Settled among Melvin's disinfecting paraphernalia, Tarrant drew Angela into his embrace. The van lurched to a start, and she bumped her head on a metal shelf. "Ouch!" she cried, seeing an explosion of white and a burst of colorful stars. Rubbing the spot, she wondered if she was going to have these visions every time she bumped her head while in Tarrant's arms.

  "Darling," he said, pulling her into his lap and scan­ning the spot just above her temple. "I don't think it's too bad. How do you feel?"

  With a slow shake of her head, she laughed softly. "Oh, Tarrant, I'm not sure you want to know." Lifting her arms about his neck, she kissed the outrageously sexy cleft in his chin, murmuring, "But it's lucky you're having so much remodeling done in the mansion closets."

  "Why?" he asked with a slow smile, revealing a dash­ing dimple in his cheek.

  "Because, my future husband, you're going to be the father of three little girls."

  "Three? Are you sure?"

  With a demure lowering of her lashes, she teased, "Why don't we just wait and see?"

  His chuckle filled the small space where they sat, and he kissed her deeply, drawing from her a delighted sigh.

  They heard a clattering above their heads and glanced up to see Minny opening a small window that separated the cab of the vehicle from the rest of the van. "You'll have a boy first," she prophesied. "I have the power, don't for­get."

  When the window closed again, they smiled at each other. As Tarrant watched the woman he loved, he vowed seductively, "I have a certain power, too, my love. Would you care to know what it is?"

  With his lips gently devouring hers, Angela was well aware of the answer. Content with her fate, she silently agreed that Tarrant did have a certain power. After all, he wasn't known as the Prince of Delights for nothing….