Convenient Brides

by Catherine Spencer

  “That doesn’t excuse my keeping the pregnancy from you. I should have told you right away.”

  “What woman in her right mind would have risked her children’s future by confiding in such a man as I was then? Yet when we met again, both devastated by grief, you welcomed me into your arms and your bed with the same sweet gen-erosity which, if I’d not been too consumed with selfishness to recognize it, you’d given yourself to me, the first time.”

  Overcome, he stopped and turned away from her. “I’m making a fool of myself, and embarrassing both of us,” he choked.

  Daring to touch him, she laid a hand against his shoulder. It trembled at the contact. “Not if you’re speaking from your heart, Paolo,” she said softly. “There’s no shame in that.”

  He drew in a great, shuddering breath. “I don’t need you because of the children, or because I lie alone in bed every night, aching for you. I need you because I love you, Caroline.”

  The sun, shining patiently since dawn to little effect, bathed her in a flood of warm, golden light. “Love me?”

  “Love you,” he reiterated shakily. “More than you can begin to know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You are my heart, my life,” he said, turning back and catching her hands. “God forgive me, I’ve known it for weeks and been too proud to admit it. But saying goodbye to you at the airport, watching you walk away, really brought it home to me. Seeing you leave…it nearly killed me, Caroline.”

  “Why didn’t you say something before now, then?” she cried, mourning all the wasted days, the pain-filled hours. “I’d given up hope of ever hearing from you again.”

  “There were difficulties to be ironed out, with the children, and I wanted them resolved before I came to you. We’re a package deal, I know, tesoro, but you’d been through enough. I couldn’t put you through more.” He dropped to one knee before her, and pressed her hand between both of his. “But the worst is over and I’m here now, doing the right thing for all the right reasons, and begging you to give me another chance.”

  She longed to believe him. Wanted to grab the brass ring he was offering, and never let it go. But old heartache made her wary. “Does your father know you’re here, and why?”

  “My father is recovering from triple bypass surgery. But yes, he knows, and if it matters any, he’s in much more mellow spirits now that his health is on the mend. He won’t give you any more grief. As for my mother, she waits anxiously to hear that I’m bringing you home again. But after all is said and done, mio amore, it’s what you want that counts.”

  He gazed up at her, his expression sober, his eyes speaking volumes of uncertainty. “You already know I’m far from perfect, and always will be. As you’ve no doubt discovered for yourself, my faults are legion. But I give you my most solemn word that, if you’ll give me another chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making our marriage something so rare and beautiful that you’ll never regret becoming my wife. One way or another, I will win your love.”

  What point in pretending, when her heart was bursting to speak a truth too long held in abeyance? The time was past for playing mind games.

  “Oh, Paolo,” she wept, the tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you know it’s already yours to keep, for however long we live? I’ve loved you for nine years. I couldn’t stop now, even I tried.”

  His jaw dropped. “How could I have known, when you never said a word?”

  “At first, I was afraid to tell you, in case I scared you off. When you proposed, you did make it clear that ours was to be a marriage of convenience, after all.”

  “Caroline, after all those nights we spent together, you surely knew the terms of the contract had changed!”

  “I…dared to hope. Things seemed to be different. But when you never confirmed it, I thought it was just my imagination. Not only that, but to tell you how I felt, when I knew I was keeping the secret of the children’s birth from you—well,that didn’t seem right, either. Then the truth came out anyway, but in such a way that it ripped apart the fabric of your family’s life. After that, I didn’t think you’d want to hear me say, I love you. I thought I’d left it too late, and you wouldn’t want me at any price.”

  In one swift move, he was on his feet and folding her in his arms. “Not a chance,” he said huskily. “This is where you belong, next to my heart for the rest of time. Marry me, and I will never let you go again. Come home again, Caroline. Your children need you desperately, and so do I.”

  “He’s telling the truth, Zia Momma,” Clemente said, apparently finding Saturday morning cartoons on television not nearly as riveting as reallife romantic drama in the kitchen.

  “Yes, he is,” her daughter chipped in. “So you might as well say yes, because we got a puppy after you left, and he’s lonely without us. We need to get back to him fast, before he chews another hole in the rug.”

  Disentangling herself from Paolo’s hold, Callie stepped back far enough to rest her gaze on one beloved face after another.

  Her children, so beautiful, so forgiving, that she wanted to fall down on her knees and thank God for the gift of them.

  Paolo, so strong and sure, he made her believe in miracles. How could she not, when three of them stood around her, close enough to touch?

  She took a breath. Held open her arms and felt her heart soar as her children raced into her embrace. “I love you,” she whispered into their sweet-smelling hair. “I always have and I always will.”

  “So don’t cry then,” Gina sniffled. “We decided we love you as well, so let’s just get on with it, then we can all go home. Don’t you know it’ll soon be Christmas, and we’ve been waiting for you to come back, before we put up a tree?”

  She heard Paolo’s stifled laughter, felt his hand at her waist. Looked up and saw the love in his eyes, and the hope. “Well, that won’t do at all,” she said. “It takes time to put up the perfect Christmas tree. Don’t just stand there, Paolo. We’re all starving. Take us to breakfast, then take us home, my love.”

  “I was hoping that would be your decision, tesoro, which is why I have the jet fueled up, breakfast already waiting on board and my pilot ready for take-off as soon as I give him the word. How long will it take you to pack?”

  “No time at all,” she said, leaning into him and loving the strong steady beat of his heart beneath her hand. “Everything I need is right here in this room.”

  His Inconvenient Wife

  by

  Melanie Milburne

  Melanie Milburne says “I am married to a surgeon, Steve, and have two gorgeous sons, Paul and Phil. I live in Hobart, Tasmania, where I enjoy an active life as a long-distance runner and a nationally ranked top ten Master’s swimmer. I also have a Master’s Degree in Education, but my children totally turned me off the idea of teaching! When not running or swimming I write, and when I’m not doing all of the above I’m reading. And if someone could invent a way for me to read during a four-kilometre swim, I’d be even happier!”

  Don’t miss Melanie Milburne’s exciting new novel, Castellano’s Mistress of Revenge, available February 2010 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

  To Phyll Meikle and Ina Shepherd, the Fairy Godmothers

  Chapter One

  SHE hated it when he was late.

  Emily checked her watch for the fifteenth time and sighed. Why couldn’t Danny be on time for once? The doorbell sounded and she flew to her feet, swiftly checking her reflection in the hall mirror as she rushed past. Taking two deep, calming breaths, she opened the door with a big welcoming smile plastered on her mouth.

  ‘You?’ She stared at Danny’s older brother in shock. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Damien Margate’s dark eyes swept over her red cocktail dress and back to her face before he responded coolly, ‘Danny can’t make it. I’ve come in his place.’

  Emily’s mouth dropped open and a fluttering feeling of panic stirred deep in her stomach.

  ‘He’s…he’s not…hurt or som
ething, is he?’

  Damien shook his head as he moved past her and into her tiny flat.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said with a cryptic edge to his voice.

  Emily’s eyes flew to his, her expression guarded.

  ‘But I don’t understand. Danny knows how important tonight is to me. Why hasn’t he phoned and told me himself he can’t make it?’

  Damien shrugged in that detestably aloof way that had annoyed her the first time she’d met him.

  ‘Like you, I am not always party to my younger brother’s intentions. I realise how insulting it must be to you to have to tolerate my presence instead of his, but as I’m here now you can make up your own mind about whether you wish to be accompanied by me.’

  She opened and closed her mouth, not trusting herself to speak. Her eyes travelled over his tall figure, imposing in the black dinner suit, his classic bow-tie perfectly sym-metrical with his collar points. Danny would’ve still been tying his as he rang the doorbell. But then, Danny was nothing like Damien.

  ‘I wouldn’t like to take up your valuable time,’ she began with an attempt at sarcasm. ‘I’m sure you’ve got much better things to do than escort me to a literary awards night.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ His eyes travelled to hers, their dark depths unreadable. ‘I had nothing better to do…this evening.’

  Emily felt herself seething. How dare he come here and ridicule her? He knew how much she hated him, especially since he’d expressed his views on her proposed biography of his and Danny’s aunt, Rose. He’d accused her of ingra-tiating herself into the family in order to fabricate a parcel of lies about an old lady who could no longer defend herself.

  ‘No hot date tonight?’ Emily’s mouth curved into a mocking smile as she added, ‘Or did she decide to spend the evening with her husband after all?’

  She knew she shouldn’t have said it almost the second the words had left her lips. His eyes hardened, their dark chocolate depths glittering with suppressed anger.

  ‘I take it Danny’s been filling your head with nonsense again?’ His tone gave nothing away but Emily could sense his usual iron-clad control was wavering. Knowing she’d been able to rattle his cage even slightly made her feel powerful, something she wasn’t used to feeling around Damien Margate.

  ‘I didn’t realise it was a family secret,’ she said recklessly. ‘At least not another one.’

  He closed the gap between them in one stride, one of his hands taking her slim wrist in a gentle but firm hold. She had to crane her neck to get eye contact; he was a good four inches taller than his brother’s six feet and it made her feel intimidated, which, she was certain, had been his intention.

  ‘A word of advice, Miss Sherwood.’ He spoke evenly but a threat lurked behind the words. ‘You might have plans to write a book about a relative of mine, but that doesn’t give you free rein to speculate on my personal life, either publicly or privately. Is that understood?’

  She tried to out-stare him but it was impossible. Her eyes flickered to the knot of his bow-tie and then back to his firm, disapproving mouth.

  ‘I’m not the slightest bit interested in your private life,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘If indeed you have one. Now, please let me go.’

  His hold on her wrist tightened just a fraction to counter her attempt to pull away.

  ‘The way I see it, you have two choices. You can go to this cocktail party on your own, which will set tongues wagging on why you’re not being partnered, or you can come with me. What’s it to be?’

  ‘The tongues will certainly wag if I turn up with you,’ she pointed out. ‘Danny is my boyfriend, not you.’

  ‘Danny is unavailable this evening,’ he reminded her. ‘Won’t being partnered by me authenticate your plans to document my aunt’s life?’

  She wished she could throw his offer in his face but he was right. A member of the family being present would be noted by the press and that in itself would give some sort of credibility to her book. If she went alone it could easily add to the speculation that she’d already alienated the Margate family. One whiff of a problem and her publishers would pull the plug.

  She needed this next book to sell. Her agent was temperamental at the best of times, and since her last biography had floundered ignominiously she really had no choice. But why couldn’t it have been Danny who escorted her? After all, they were known to be an item and that would surely lift her profile.

  ‘Well?’ Damien’s hand on her arm felt like a rope burn. She could feel her skin prickling in reaction to his flesh on hers.

  ‘It seems I have very little choice in the matter.’ Her voice was tight with resentment.

  He let her arm go but his eyes still held hers.

  ‘It matters little either way to me, but I would guess this evening is of paramount importance to you. Isn’t that correct?’

  She’d been nominated for a small award, along with two other biographers. Promotion, particularly self-promotion, wasn’t her thing but her agent had insisted.

  ‘I need the advance buzz. This is going to be an important book,’ she said somewhat breathlessly. ‘People want to know about the private lives of celebrities.’

  ‘They deserve to know the truth,’ he said, ‘not some fabricated fairy story guaranteed to boost sales.’

  Emily gave him a challenging look.

  ‘Why should you care? I’m not planning to write anything about you.’

  ‘I can assure you, Miss Sherwood, that if you so much as write a single word about me you’ll personally answer to the consequences.’

  ‘Oh?’ She gave him a scathing look. ‘Is that supposed to frighten me? If so, I’m afraid it won’t be successful. I plan to write a book about your aunt and nothing you say is going to stop me.’

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘You might have wrapped my younger brother around one of those quick-typing little fingers of yours but I’m another story entirely.’

  Something about him made her uneasy. She hadn’t felt so reprimanded since high school, when she’d forgotten to bring her gym gear to class. Damn him for making her feel so childish and irresponsible. She’d show him! Let him do his worst—tonight was her chance to haul herself out of financial ruin and nothing he could say or do was going to stop her.

  She schooled her features into a guileless smile.

  ‘I understand perfectly, Mr Margate. I am very honoured that you’ve seen fit to accompany me to this cocktail party in place of your brother. I’ll just get my wrap and we can get going.’

  She flounced away to snatch up her purse and wrap, a victorious little smile hovering around her mouth. He might think he could threaten her with his diamond-sharp gaze but she still held the upper hand. There were things about him he had no idea she knew. It gave her a much needed boost of confidence to imagine his reaction when she finally dished the dirt on him and the rest of his family.

  The cocktail party was in full swing when they arrived. Emily’s agent, Clarice Connor, came towards them, a vision in voluminous carmine chiffon, a glass of champagne raised in a toast.

  ‘Darling! How fashionably late you are.’ She air-kissed Emily’s smooth cheeks before eyeing Damien up and down. ‘My, my, my,’ she drooled, ‘the older brother instead. How clever of you, Emily.’

  ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’ Damien extended a hand, his expression shuttered.

  Clarice took his hand, clasping it towards her ample bosom. ‘The pleasure’s all mine. How wonderful that you could come tonight.’ She turned to Emily. ‘Where’s the boy?’

  Emily’s mouth tightened when she saw the sardonic gleam in Damien’s eyes at Clarice’s words.

  ‘He’s—’

  ‘He sends his apologies,’ Damien cut in before Emily could think of something to say. ‘Something important cropped up.’

  ‘Well—’ Clarice waved a careless taloned hand ‘—he’s served his purpose, hasn’t he, my love?’

  Emily felt h
er cheeks storm with colour.

  ‘But how nice that you could make it.’ Clarice simpered at Damien. ‘I mean, with your busy social schedule and all.’

  Damien gave her a slight nod.

  ‘I’m sure this evening will be very worthwhile,’ he said with a cool smile.

  ‘Indeed.’ Clarice turned towards Emily. ‘There’s a journo from the Melbourne Age who wants to interview you. I’ve spoken to him about making an appointment but he insists on speaking to you this evening. I think you should do what you can to promote this new project as much as possible, even if it means mixing with people you wouldn’t normally mix with.’ At that she gave Damien a meaningful look, but he had already turned to speak to someone who’d just arrived.

  Emily watched as the elegant woman approached him, her clinging black dress outlining her stunning curves as she walked across the floor.

  ‘Damien! How lovely to see you.’

  Something in Damien’s face must have warned the woman of the presence of Emily. She gave Emily an all-encompassing look.

  ‘Hello. Are you someone important?’

  Emily didn’t know quite what to make of the woman’s greeting. She flicked a glance at Damien but his face, as usual, was impassive.

  ‘Nerolie, this is Emily Sherwood,’ Damien said. ‘Miss Sherwood, this is Nerolie Highstock.’

  Nerolie’s eyes didn’t quite reflect the smile that hovered about her thin lips. ‘Oh, are you a writer as well? I’m afraid I’d never heard of you until this evening.’

  As insults went it was well aimed. Emily knew she didn’t qualify for the Booker Prize, but her first book had been well received and moderately successful even if her last hadn’t quite made the top ten. Nerolie enjoyed the top ten status her only book had achieved with prima donna fastidiousness. Emily wasn’t one to criticise her success, even if she privately thought it had been a matter of being in the right place at the right time, which in Nerolie’s case had been her agent’s bed.