Shotgun Marriage

by Day Leclaire

  His fingers played a delicious melody across her bared shoulder. “But this can’t happen, mi alma,” he informed her gently. “For how can you go to another man when you have nothing to give him?”

  She stared in confusion. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. You have nothing to offer this man. Do you not realize?” He paused for a devastating instant. “I still hold your heart.”

  “No!”

  “You can’t lie to me. Not after what we just shared. I know the truth.”

  How could she have given so much away with a single kiss? She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand to have him that intimately aware of her deepest most feelings. “Please let me go, Rafe,” she begged, knowing the words were futile even as she uttered them. It was clear he’d already determined the path their future would take.

  He had no intention of releasing her.

  “I can’t,” he said, confirming her worst fears. “I can’t allow you to marry another. It would be dishonest, the marriage a sham. He would come to hate you for it. You must realize that?”

  Her throat closed over and she shook her head, incapable of speech.

  “Listen to me,” he insisted. “What exists between us is something neither of us planned. When I came here tonight, I didn’t expect to look at you and feel what I do.” Shadows carved his face into harsh, uncompromising lines. “Can you think otherwise?”

  “No,” she agreed tightly. “I’m sure you didn’t attend the ball because you still had a romantic interest in me.”

  “Just as I can presume that when you decided to find someone of your own this evening, you believed what was between us had ended long ago.” His wry expression acknowledged the vagaries of fate. “But it hasn’t. It’s still there.”

  Tears of defeat gathered in her eyes. She’d lost. She’d sworn she’d give the Cinderella Ball a final chance, that she’d give love a final chance. And in one devastating move, Rafe had stolen that possibility from her. “So what happens now?”

  “It’s quite simple. We take the same path all the other guests follow in a situation like ours. We marry.”

  He’d suggested as much before, but she still couldn’t believe he was serious. Her hands tightened around the unyielding muscles of his arms. He was pure, indomitable strength, she a fragile barrier in his pathway. Still, she had to summon the fortitude to stop him, to prevent him from carelessly doing that which could not be later undone.

  “No, Rafe. It wouldn’t work.”

  “It would. It’s practical. Logical. And I promise...” His mouth feathered across hers in a tantalizing caress. But even as he wrung a helpless response, his lips were gone, leaving her frustrated and unfulfilled. “I promise, you’ll find our marriage quite satisfying.”

  She looked down so she wouldn’t be swayed by the desire that turned his eyes to silver flames. She had to fight him, had to alter the course he’d set. “After all that’s occurred in the past, how can you even suggest that we build a future together?”

  “This is the Cinderella Ball. A night of fantasy and magic and miracles,” he had the nerve to remind. “I thought that meant anything was possible.”

  “With another man, perhaps,” she flung back. “But not with you. You don’t believe in fantasy or magic, let alone miracles.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “You didn’t come because you wanted what the Cinderella Ball had to offer. You came here to cause trouble. Well, congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”

  He gathered her in his arms, tucking her head in the hollow of his shoulder. He’d held her like this more times than she could count. But never had it seemed so right, so natural. His touch felt more solicitous than provocative, the overt sexuality still there, though muted. And while his kiss had successfully destroyed most of her defenses, his tenderness reached far deeper, to the inner core she’d hoped he’d never breach.

  “Amada, don’t you understand that we have no choice? You may have wished to find a husband, but it wouldn’t have worked. You say you believe in the magic tonight brings to special couples. Can you not believe that magic was meant for us, as well? Is it not possible that—regardless of what prompted me to come—the end result was preordained? We were meant to be together.”

  She lifted her head, forcing herself to reject what little comfort he offered. “If you were a different sort of man, I could believe such a thing could happen. I’ve always considered the Cinderella Ball capable of changing any man.” She broke off, deciding for once to choose wisdom over valor.

  A bleak emptiness settled over Rafe’s rigid features, like winter over a barren plain. “Finish it,” he ordered. “This night can change any man. Any man...except me?”

  She looked at him unflinchingly, sorrow dimming the brilliance of her gaze. “Yes, Rafe. Except you. You’re too hard. Too ruthless and self-contained. You don’t trust anyone. You keep suspicion as your constant companion and hold all emotion at bay.”

  The first natural smile of the evening broke through his grim facade, the sheer beauty of it only adding to her misery. “But, you haven’t mentioned any of my faults. There must be one or two you can think of.”

  “You see?” She attempted to lever herself off the brick wall of his chest. “What I consider negatives, you see as positives.”

  “A most fortunate circumstance.” He tucked her back into the curve of his shoulder. “It’ll bring balance to our relationship.”

  She gave up the struggle to win her freedom and relaxed against him. Her only hope was that sober reasoning would counter the intoxication of desire. “I’m serious about this, Rafe. You’re a man without faith and I haven’t enough for the both of us. I couldn’t bear the eventual outcome.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “And what outcome is that?”

  “That once you’d satisfied your curiosity, you’d be furious with yourself—and with me—for allowing moonlit madness to overrule common sense.”

  “Curiosity?” Sudden anger rippled through him and his hand sought the swell of her breast, carefully palming its weight. “You think this is mere curiosity?” he countered. His gaze held hers as his thumb grazed the straining tip. “You can’t be that innocent, amada.”

  The breath exploded from her lungs in short, uneven bursts. Heaven protect her, but his touch awakened a deep, helpless yearning. She fought for control, to conceal the torturous craving he’d stirred to life, a craving that stripped away the thin veneer of civilized behavior. She grasped his wrist, tugging futilely. She couldn’t think when he touched her, and he knew it—knew it and used her defenselessness to emphasize his point.

  “This isn’t fair!” she protested. “I don’t deny that I want you. How can I?”

  A blistering fever raged deep in his eyes, one that matched her own. “You can’t. It’s as evident as my desire for you.” He urged her tight within the cradle of his thighs to prove his point. “And it makes me just as vulnerable.”

  Ella gathered what remained of her inner resources. She had to stand firm. To give so much as an inch invited disaster. “That doesn’t change the facts,” she argued. “And the fact is that if we married you’d wake up one morning and realize that sex hasn’t rid you of your anger. You’d feel trapped and you’d resent me. Little by little that resentment would grow until it consumed every aspect of our lives. Don’t you understand? I couldn’t live like that, waiting for the inevitable to happen. I think it would destroy me.”

  Tension radiated from him. “You see far too clearly,” he whispered.

  “Then you’ll end this?” Emotion threatened to choke her, relief vying with disappointment. “You’ll let me go?”

  She could see the debate seething within, his face drawn taut from the effort. Slowly he shook his head, an air of implacability cloaking him. “If you had no feelings for me, I might consider it. Despite what you think, I couldn’t force myself on you.” He’d come to a decision, she realized, a decision she didn’t have a h
ope of altering. “But that isn’t the case.”

  “You would sacrifice our future for a momentary pleasure?” She tried one final time.

  His expression turned fatalistic. “The moment is all we have. No one knows what tomorrow will bring. You predict only one possible future.”

  “The most likely one.”

  He didn’t deny it. “I will not allow you to marry another,” he replied instead.

  His calm assertion infuriated her. “You won’t allow...? How do you plan to stop me?”

  “Suffice to say, I will prevent it.”

  “But, I have to marry tonight!” The words were out before she could stop them, revealing far too much by the passion they contained and by the depth of despair they reflected.

  He stilled, fixing her with the full force of his attention. “Marrying tonight can’t be that important.”

  This time she kept carefully silent.

  His brows snapped together. “Dios! It is that important to you. Why, amada? Why is it so vital that you find a husband?”

  “It’s none of your business, Rafe. It stopped being your business a long time ago.”

  His anger dissipated, replaced by a tenderness that almost proved her undoing. “I regret to inform you... That has now changed.”

  “Don’t do this to me, Rafe. Please.”

  “What is wrong?” he questioned gently. “Why this urgency to leap into marriage?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” She made a helpless gesture. “I just have to find a husband tonight and that’s all there is to it.”

  “You have to?” A frown creased his brow and he caught her by the shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened as his eagle-eyed gaze swept her from head to toe. “You are with child? You must find a father? Is that why you’re so anxious to marry tonight?”

  “No, of course not!”

  His tension dissipated. “I’m relieved to hear it. A baby would complicate matters.”

  “Because you wouldn’t want to raise another man’s child?”

  He shrugged philosophically. “By the time you gave birth, the baby would be ours, regardless of how it came to be conceived.”

  His casual acceptance of such a possibility caught her by surprise. “Then—”

  “The complication arises from the problems that still exist between us,” he explained patiently. “We have enough on our plate to deal with, don’t you think?”

  She couldn’t deny it. “Rafe—”

  “Enough, Ella. It’s time to come to a decision. If you wish to acquire a husband this evening, there’s only one possible solution. We will marry. If, on the other hand, you feel there is too much between us, then I’ll walk away. I leave it up to you.”

  “And if I elect to marry someone else?”

  His eyes darkened to a steely gray. “It won’t happen.”

  It would be pointless to argue further. No matter how hard she fought to deny it, he was right. She couldn’t bring herself to marry another. Not after seeing Rafe, being held and kissed by him. That just left one final determination.

  Did she marry Rafe or commit herself to a life alone?

  As though aware of the dilemma she faced, he released her and took a step backward. If he’d said it aloud, he couldn’t have made his feelings any clearer. The choice was hers. He wouldn’t try and sway her any more than he had already.

  The surrounding darkness enclosed him in a tight embrace. She could still make out his silhouette, tall and lean and muscular. But his features remained shrouded, only his quicksilver eyes glittering from the black depths of the night. They held her with a steady calmness, already accepting her verdict.

  If she refused him, he’d walk away and she knew with an instinctive certainty that she’d never see him again.

  And if she accepted him? How would her life change? For it would change, there could be no question about that.

  She closed her eyes. In the end all that mattered was vital fact. She loved Rafe, loved him with all her heart and soul. The Cinderella Ball had wrought its magic after all, offering her a final opportunity to discover “happily-ever-after.” Now it was up to her to take advantage of that opportunity. She just had to reach out and accept what Rafe offered. Just reach out...

  Slowly she opened her eyes, her decision made.

  “Yes, Rafe,” she whispered, extending her hand. “I’ll marry you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ONCE Ella had agreed to marry Rafe, he didn’t give her a single second to reconsider. Perhaps he didn’t dare. Sweeping from the shadows, he captured her hand and escorted her toward the bright lights of the house.

  It was late, Ella realized in surprise, taking note of the almost deserted garden. Far later than she’d suspected. The crowd had thinned during the time she’d been secluded in the glade, until only a trickle of couples remained. She peeked at Rafe. Thank heavens he hadn’t been serious about finding a wife among the guests. The choices would have been limited.

  As limited as her choices for a husband, came the disconcerting thought.

  “Where do we marry?” he questioned briskly, as they entered the dining room and skirted the buffet tables.

  “We have to get a license first. There’s a county clerk stationed in the library with the necessary applications.” She cast a wistful glance at the wide selection of delicacies they bypassed. Nerves had prevented her from eating very much today and she was beginning to feel the effects. Perhaps she could nibble after they were married. She slanted another look at Rafe’s set features.

  Or perhaps not.

  Rafe hesitated outside the dining room to get his bearings and then turned down the appropriate hallway. Opening the door to the library, he ushered her inside. They found the county clerk stationed behind a massive oak desk wearing a name tag that read, Dora Scott. In front of her she’d propped a sign that had originally announced, “For faster service, feed me hors d’oeuvres.” But at some point during the evening, the word “don’t” had been squeezed in as an afterthought and underscored twice in heavy black ink.

  Rafe studied the sign and grinned. “Don’t feed you hors d’oeuvres? You’re certain?”

  Dora returned his smile, falling for his charm as thoroughly as every other woman Ella had ever known. “Not if you want my help. That sign seemed like a brilliant idea at the beginning of the evening. But as the night’s worn on, it’s drifted from brilliant to uncomfortable to downright nauseating.”

  “Perhaps we could arrange for something to ease your problem,” Rafe suggested. “Would that be acceptable?”

  The clerk sighed in relief. “You take care of that for me and I’ll have your forms processed in triple time.”

  “Done.”

  Rafe crossed to speak to one of the white and gold liveried attendants stationed in the hallway. While he made the arrangements, Dora whipped through her paperwork. By the time she’d finished, a small bottle of pink medicine rested at her elbow.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” she told Rafe gratefully. She held out a blue and white envelope. “Give these forms to whomever officiates at your wedding ceremony. There’s a souvenir certificate inside that you can keep. But it’s not real. That comes later in the mail.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Ella murmured.

  Dora fixed her with a curious gaze. “You’re the Montagues’ daughter, aren’t you?”

  A flush mounted Ella’s cheeks. “I guess the application I filled out makes it a dead giveaway, doesn’t it? A name like mine has a tendency to stand out.”

  “It is rather unusual,” Dora acknowledged with a sympathetic smile. “Will your parents be surprised when they discover you’re getting married?”

  Ella glanced uncertainly in Rafe’s direction. “You could say that.”

  Shocked and horrified might be closer to the truth. When she’d agreed to marry, she hadn’t taken their reaction into consideration. Now she wondered how on earth she’d explain it to them. But then... />
  Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult after all. They knew how she felt about Rafe. They had every confidence in the magic of the Cinderella Ball. And more than anything, they wanted her to be happy. Besides, it would only take three simple words to reassure them: I love him.

  Once she’d told them that, their fears would be allayed.

  “Well, good luck to you,” Dora was saying. “I’ll give you one piece of advice before you go, if you don’t mind.” She grinned. “Or even if you do mind.”

  “Which is?” Rafe asked.

  “Do right by each other and you can’t fail.”

  For a fleeting instant darkness shadowed Rafe’s features. And then it was gone. “Sound advice,” he said in an equitable tone. But the words sounded as short and clipped as exploding bullets.

  “I thought so, or I wouldn’t have offered it. Now go get married and let me polish off this pink stuff.” Dora brightened. “If it works, maybe I can enjoy some more appetizers.”

  Laughing at her expression, Ella slipped a hand in Rafe’s and left the library.

  “Where do we go next?” he asked.

  She hesitated, her brows drawing together in response to the terse nature of his question. What had happened to upset him? she wondered in dismay. He’d been fine until... Until Dora had advised that they do right by each other. Would that advice be so difficult to take? Did the memory of past events still stir his anger?

  Did he still blame her for what had happened to Shayne?

  “We go upstairs,” she finally said. “The wedding ceremonies are conducted in the salons off the ballroom.” She slowed her steps, forcing him to slow down, as well. “Rafe, we don’t have to go through with this. No one is forcing us to marry. If you need more time to consider, I won’t be upset.”

  “We’re getting married. Now.” He indicated an archway. “Through here?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed, realizing the futility of any further discussion.

  He didn’t speak again until they’d reached the appropriate rooms and even then it was only to say, “We appear to have a choice of services.”