Shotgun Marriage

by Day Leclaire

  “Any kind you’d like. We’d hoped to make the occasion as special as possible by offering a full selection, something the couples would remember for the rest of their lives.”

  “I imagine it would be difficult for them to forget,” he murmured. “Let’s try this room.”

  He thrust open the first door and stepped inside. Ella followed, her breath catching in dismay. It was the “blue room,” an elegant, rather formal parlor filled with dried flower displays, walnut end tables and blue silk-covered furniture. In front of the drawn drapes stood a podium behind which a justice of the peace conducted a generic wedding ceremony.

  Rafe shot her a quick look. “What is it?”

  Was she that easy to read? “Nothing,” she insisted with a shrug.

  He muttered a nasty-sounding word in Spanish, something she suspected she was better off not understanding. “I don’t believe you, Ella,” he stated flatly. “Tell me what bothers you.”

  “It’s just...” She released a tiny sigh. “It’s just that whenever my Great Aunt Mavis visited, we’d all come in here to talk.”

  “It brings back uncomfortable memories?”

  “Only because I had to be so...good.”

  His expression lightened unexpectedly. “I can see where that must have been a strain.”

  She made a small face. “Don’t laugh. I had to sit on the edge of that couch with my back straight, my hands folded in my lap and my ankles crossed for hours on end. Talk about torture! You try doing that at five years of age.”

  “At five I was hunting jaguar with my friends in the jungles of Costa Rica.”

  Shock held her rigid. “Your parents allowed you to do that?”

  “There was only my father. My mother had died a number of years earlier and he hadn’t yet remarried.”

  She glanced at him, curious. “I remember Shayne mentioning them. Your father came from Texas, didn’t he?”

  “A Texan with French grandparents. An interesting combination, don’t you think? My mother was half Tico—Costa Rican. I’ve always suspected that my father escaped from his former life by marrying her. All I know for certain is that he didn’t give a damn about anything, except growing coffee.”

  “That’s why Spanish is your first language, isn’t it?” she guessed shrewdly.

  He shrugged. “It was the predominate language spoken.” Before she could ask any more questions, he drew her from the room. “Since this place has such bad memories, we’ll go elsewhere.”

  He opened the door to the next salon and Ella stared in disbelief. “When did my parents do this?” she marveled, crossing the threshold. “It’s like we’ve stepped into a different era.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  And it was. Huge wrought-iron holders stood in all four corners of the room, studded with thick white candles. Heavy chains held a chandelier made from a wooden wheel hub suspended from the ceiling. The only lighting in the room came from the massive stone fireplace and the countless candles scattered atop every available surface. They walked further into the room, the wide oak-pegged flooring echoing with each step they took. Between the tapestries hanging from the wall and the weaponry mounted above the mantel, it felt as though they’d wandered into a scene from the Middle Ages.

  A minister rose from his seat by the stone hearth, the lenses of his wire-rim glasses reflecting the firelight. “Good evening and welcome. Would you like to be married?”

  To Ella’s relief, the tension faded from Rafe’s face. Whatever concerns had plagued him earlier had apparently been laid to rest. “Yes, we would,” he replied. “But we need a minute first.” Not waiting for a response, he drew her off to one side.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked.

  “You know what’s wrong, amada. We can’t marry like this. You’d always regret it.”

  She hardly dared ask. “My parents?”

  “They should be here,” he confirmed. “Would you like to send someone to notify them?”

  “You’re certain you don’t mind?”

  “I don’t approve of their decision to hold another Cinderella Ball after what happened last time. But they should be present when their only daughter marries.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. “Thank you, Rafe. I’ll send for them right away.”

  He turned back to the minister and surrendered the envelope Dora Scott had given him. “We’ll marry as soon as the Montagues arrive.”

  After sending the message, Ella came to stand at his side. “They should be here in just a few minutes.”

  The minister inclined his head. “Very well. Before we begin, I’m required to ask that you give careful consideration to what you’re about to do.” His gentle blue gaze held theirs with grave deliberation. “Marriage is a serious commitment, requiring serious thought and consideration. So while we wait for the Montagues, I ask that you face each other and look at your partner. Make sure that your choice is the right one.”

  Ella turned to Rafe, surprised by his stoic expression. He held perfectly still, his features carved into harsh lines, his eyes a dark, stormy gray. And he waited, as if braced for a blow. It was almost as though he expected her to change her mind. Which was ridiculous. She never would. She tilted her head to one side and studied him. Or perhaps he didn’t fear her changing her mind so much as...

  The truth struck with stunning force. He feared that standing in such a reverent setting, she’d finally see what lay behind the mask he held up to the world.

  She almost laughed aloud. Didn’t he realize? Didn’t he suspect? She’d seen behind that mask long ago.

  He was an intriguing combination of elements, his singular background laying the foundation for the diverse set of qualities that had forged him into a man. When it came to his half-sister, Shayne, she saw someone of compassion and integrity. A concerned brother who would do anything to protect the one he loved.

  But she’d also seen the ruthless streak in him. She’d learned from hard experience that he prowled through life like a lone wolf, wary of his fellow man, constantly on the alert for threat or weakness. Few dared cross him and those who did paid a stiff penalty. The fact that he didn’t forgive easily made their marriage all the more surprising. For to marry her he had to first come to terms with their past.

  Still, that didn’t change one small fact.

  Six years ago she’d fallen in love with him, flaws and all, and nothing he had said or done since had altered that.

  She offered Rafe a reassuring smile. “I know the sort of man you are and I’m still willing to marry you.”

  Rafe froze, his hands knotting into fists. If she’d slapped him full in the face, he couldn’t have been more stunned. What the hell did she mean by that—she knew the sort of man he was? Did she suspect? Had she figured out his plan? If so, why would she still be willing to marry him? She couldn’t be so foolish as to ignore the ramifications. Once married, he’d keep her only so long as their passion burned hot. He’d prove to her once and for all that happily-ever-after lasted for about cinco minutos and not a damned second longer.

  Didn’t she understand? What they felt was lust, no more.

  He’d fought for five long years to weed this woman from his life. And like some sort of tenacious vine, she’d wrapped herself around his heart and soul and held on with a strength that baffled him. Vines like that were dangerous. They didn’t allow for mobility. Their roots sank deep into the earth while their tendrils burrowed through brick, stone and mortar, crumbling any and all resistance.

  Still, that didn’t change one small fact.

  He wanted her. It was wrong. He’d regret his actions one day, he didn’t doubt that for a moment. And that he’d pay an eternal penalty for the crime he intended to commit he accepted as just and proper. But at least he’d have brought closure to their relationship. Bitterness burned like acid in his belly. Why bother with lies? He wanted revenge as badly as he wanted Ella. Through marriage, he’d get both. Only on
e thing troubled him.

  Looking into her clear golden eyes, seeing the sweet dreams that sparkled within their depths, he realized that he couldn’t exact that sort of revenge. For Shayne’s sake, he had to bring a certain death to any future Cinderella Balls. But to destroy Ella in the process—

  “We’re here!” Henrietta bustled into the room, Donald following behind at a slower pace. She drew to an abrupt halt when she saw Rafe. “Oh, dear,” she murmured faintly. “Mr. Beaumont! What a...what a surprise.”

  Rafe inclined his head. “Mrs. Montague.”

  “What are you doing here?” Donald demanded with far less civility.

  Before Rafe could reply and end a situation fast becoming a farce, Ella stepped into the breach, catching his hand in hers. “He came for me. We’re going to be married and he asked that you join us.”

  “Amada, perhaps this isn’t such a—”

  “You asked that we witness the ceremony?” Donald interrupted sharply. “Not my daughter?”

  Rafe shrugged. “To exclude you would have made Ella... unhappy. And I prefer her wedding be a pleasant memory.”

  Donald didn’t appear convinced, but Henrietta breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s a dream come true,” she exclaimed. “It’s what I’ve prayed for with all my heart.”

  And just like that—completely counter to what Rafe had anticipated—the Montagues gave their full approval. He closed his eyes in exasperation as the two descended on Ella, sweeping her into their arms for tearful hugs and kisses. When they’d finished with her, they turned to him. Henrietta gave him a warm embrace before linking arms with her daughter and crossing to the far side of the room for a private conversation.

  Donald offered his hand. “I’m relieved all this nonsense is over between us,” he said gruffly. “You almost broke Ella’s heart holding her responsible for Shayne’s actions.”

  “I still hold her responsible,” Rafe retorted. “Don’t think this marriage changes my views on that. Nor have I changed my mind about the Cinderella Ball. I marry your daughter in spite of these objections.”

  Donald remained silent for a long moment, his steady gaze holding Rafe’s. “I think I understand,” he murmured at last. “You regard this marriage as a means to several ends, don’t you?”

  Montague’s insight didn’t come as a surprise. As foolishly blind as he might be about the Cinderella Ball, he was still an intelligent man, aware that a person’s nature contained as many flaws as strong points. As clearly as he saw those positive aspects, he also saw the negative. Saw... and accepted?

  “You understand?” Rafe emphasized, folding his arms across his chest. “All of it?”

  Donald released his breath in a long sigh. “Yes, Mr. Beaumont. I’m afraid so. You wish to have my daughter as well as your revenge.”

  “That’s more than your daughter knows. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “She’s in love with you. She’s also a woman who prefers to see only the good in people. She undoubtedly hopes the good in you will overcome your need for vengeance. I, on the other hand, am more realistic.”

  Rafe lifted an eyebrow. It would seem that Ella’s father truly did discern his reasons for marrying. “How do you intend to use this knowledge?”

  “Dad?” Ella interrupted uneasily, leaving her mother to join their conversation. “Is something wrong?”

  Donald slid an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and dropped a reassuring kiss on her brow. “Nothing at all. Just renewing my acquaintance with your husband-to-be. Sweetheart, would you mind sending for refreshments?”

  “Champagne?” she suggested.

  “That would be perfect.” He waited until she’d moved out of earshot before continuing. “And to answer your question, Mr. Beaumont—”

  “Rafe.”

  “If you prefer,” Montague allowed. “What I plan to do is quite simple. I plan to celebrate my daughter’s marriage.”

  “That’s all?” Rafe frowned. “Now it is I who am confused. You will stand by and say nothing?”

  Donald’s regard held calm resignation. “Believe me, I understand what you hope to get out of this marriage. Whether you succeed or not is another story.”

  “Do you doubt it?” Incredulity laced his question.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” came the composed reply. “Because there’s something you’ve neglected to take into consideration.”

  The older man’s assurance gave Rafe pause. Had he forgotten some vital point, missed some minor detail that Montague had spotted? He swiftly analyzed every aspect of his plan, searching for the hidden flaw. His eyes narrowed. There was nothing he hadn’t already anticipated.

  Nevertheless, wisdom dictated he be certain. “What have I overlooked?”

  “You’ve neglected to consider that the head doesn’t always rule the heart. If it did, you wouldn’t be marrying my daughter.”

  It took every ounce of restraint for Rafe to maintain his cool. Fury simmered through his veins, desperate for an outlet. “You’re mistaken,” he snapped. “I never allow emotion to influence my decisions.”

  Ella’s father inclined his head. “In that case, I look forward to having this conversation again at the Anniversary Ball. By then we’ll both know who’s correct.”

  Rafe stiffened. “What Anniversary Ball?”

  “I assumed you knew,” Donald said in surprise. “One year from tonight all the guests who wed are invited to return to celebrate their first anniversary with us. It’s a tradition.”

  In a lightning-swift move, Rafe pivoted to insure Ella didn’t overhear their conversation. “Shayne?” he demanded softly. “She knew of this ball?”

  Compassion darkened Donald’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Rafe. She did.”

  “That’s where she was going the night... ?”

  “I’m sorry,” Montague repeated, regret and sincerity implicit in his voice. “If it’s any consolation I swear to you that Ella didn’t know of those plans. We heard about the accident after the fact, but decided not to tell her.”

  “I half expected Ella to call,” Rafe admitted. “Not that I would have put her through to my sister.”

  “And Shayne? I heard she’s recovered. How is she doing?”

  “As well as can be expected.” It wasn’t a precise answer, but it was the best he could give.

  “I hope you understand why we didn’t tell Ella. It wouldn’t have solved anything, only added to her burden.” A hint of censure crept into his tone. “It’s a burden she’s carried for five years. Undeservedly so.”

  Rafe just stared at him. He felt cold, as cold as an arctic wasteland. When would he get it right? When would he save those in his care instead of destroying them? He couldn’t stop his gaze from tangling with Ella’s. She was a pure golden flame, promising to warm even the most frozen heart. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. There was only one small problem. To warm a heart, there first had to be a heart.

  “I cannot do this,” he whispered.

  “You can do it. And you will do it,” Donald retorted in a forceful undertone. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, my boy. I have my own reasons for wanting to see this marriage go through.”

  Rafe stared rigidly ahead. “Which are?”

  “She wants you. Why, I can’t say. But not once has her love faltered over the past five years. Can you claim as much?”

  “You know my plans,” Rafe said, ignoring the question. “So you must realize this marriage will not fulfill her dreams.”

  “That’s a possibility—one I’ll deal with if it happens.”

  “When it happens.”

  “Perhaps. Time will tell.”

  Rafe kept his gaze fixed on Ella. “Then so be it. You will accept the consequences of your inaction?” he queried in a stony voice.

  “Just as you’ll have to accept the consequences of your action.”

  Rafe inclined his head in acknowledgment and without another word, crossed to Ella’s side. “You may begin,” he informed the min
ister, capturing her hand in his.

  The ceremony turned out to be relatively painless. The only glitch occurred when it came time to exchange rings. “I’m sorry, amada. I don’t have a ring for you,” Rafe confessed.

  Ella nodded as though she’d anticipated as much. “You didn’t plan to marry when you came here.”

  He refused to lie. “No.”

  “We have rings on hand,” the minister offered. “You could use them until you’re able to purchase the genuine article.”

  After a momentary hesitation, Ella shook her head. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not.”

  Reaching into the folds of her gown, she pulled out a thin golden rectangle—one of the tickets to the ball. The truth struck Rafe, as undeniable as it was painful. She held his ticket. Before she’d ever discovered the purpose of his visit, she’d stolen the gilded wafer from the basket as a keepsake.

  He knew then what she intended to suggest, knew and wanted to shout a harsh refusal. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be that cruel. For her sweet act left behind a crushing impression. No one had ever made such a romantic gesture before. Not for him. He fought a silent battle between a restless yearning for the impossible and bitter acceptance of the actual, struggling all the while to maintain an impassive front.

  Heaven protect him from sentimental angels.

  Ella warmed the ticket between her palms for a long minute then glanced at him. “Do you happen to have your pocketknife with you?”

  “In my tux?”

  His irony didn’t divert her. She simply smiled. “If memory serves, you carry it everywhere.”

  Giving in without further protest, he reached into his jacket pocket and removed the folded knife. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked politely.

  Anticipation turned her eyes the color of sunlit honey. “Yes, please. Could you cut this ticket into two, one piece a little larger than the other?”

  “And then?”

  “I’m hoping they’ll be malleable enough to roll into rings,” she said with devastating simplicity.