by Janet Dailey
Alisa gave him the information, disliking the imperious look on his face as if he were doing her a favour. As quickly as she could and with as much dignity and composure as she could, she left his side to join her cousin, who as usual, was completely engrossed at the dice tables.
When Alisa had finally dragged him away from the tables, and informed him of her coming marriage to Zachary Stuart, Michael had been shocked and outspokenly against it. He knew a great deal more about Zachary Stuart than he had told his cousin, mostly because he never dreamed that the man would even consider such a proposition as Alisa had put to him, let alone agree to it. His words of warning were wasted when he tried to explain to her that Stuart was a ruthless and merciless man when it came to getting what he wanted, that he could be extraordinarily cruel to those who had incurred his displeasure, and that he had no qualms about making advances towards his friends; women, unmarried or not, willing or not, though it was seldom that the women weren't willing.
But Alisa had turned a deaf ear to it all, confident that she could handle any situation. In her twenty-four years she had learned how to field the passes that were thrust upon her. Zachary Stuart might prove to be a more formidable opponent, she had declared, but he was still just a man, not some all-powerful demon as Michael was trying to make her believe. As a matter of fact, she had found him to be very amenable during their discussion. His occasional jibes and several references to crude subjects had been irritating and disgusting, but certainly nothing that couldn't be handled as long as she didn't let her irritation give way to anger and remained cool and composed. Besides, she was getting Christine, and that was the whole object.
No matter how deeply Alisa buried her head under the silk-encased pillow the persistent knocking wouldn't stop. Drowsily she realized that she had dozed off to sleep after her wake-up call. Bleary-eyed, she stared at her wristwatch on the bedside table–nine-forty-five! It must be Room Service, she decided, with her breakfast. Fighting the sleep that clung to her heavy lids, Alisa crawled out of bed, grabbing the robe that matched her pale blue nightgown from the chair before walking over to unlatch the door and hold it open.
She stared in blinking disbelief at the tall, dark man standing in her doorway. Self-consciously her hand reached up to the lace ribbons that held the yoked neck of her robe together.
'Good morning.' Zachary moved easily past her into the room.
'You said you would call…at ten.' She tried to inject a cold censure in her voice, but it ended up sounding like what it was, a surprised and embarrassed protest.
'I changed my mind and decided to stop instead,' he answered, seating himself in one of the plush blue velvet chairs before returning his attention to her to stare with uncomfortable thoroughness.
'Have you changed your mind about the wedding?' Alisa managed to ask calmly as if his answer didn't matter to her at all. With a great deal of control, she reached for her cigarette case on the bedside table, removed a cigarette, and lit it without any visible trembling such as was coursing through her.
'No.' His gaze drifted over the pale blue robe that curled around her ankles, its soft material clinging to her legs, hips, and waist before stopping at the high yoked neckline with petite capped sleeves. 'I wanted to see what my prospective bride looked like in the morning. I like the peignoir. It's like you, prudishly demure and provocatively sensuous.' She glared at him coldly before seating herself in the chair opposite him, taking great care to gather the robe around her tightly. 'It's a comfort to discover that Miss Perfect can look as dishevelled as any other normal woman in the morning.'
Alisa turned quickly to glance at her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror on the wall. A pale face stared back at her, scrubbed clean of make-up the night before. Her hair was all tousled, and there was a red welt on her cheek where she had lain on her arm.
'Damn! Why did he have to come when she was looking like this?' she thought angrily.
One corner of his mouth lifted in mocking amusement which only made Alisa angrier, although she took pains not to let it show.
'Why are you here, Stuart?'
'I'm your future husband. You should call me Zachary,' he replied with a cynical smile. 'I thought we'd get the marriage licence this morning. I've made arrangements for the ceremony to take place this afternoon at two, which gives us time to catch a flight out of Vegas any time after three.'
For a moment the speed with which he was arranging things surprised her, until Alisa realized his motive.
'You're awfully anxious to get your hands on the money, aren't you?' she snapped bitterly.
'You could change your mind.' His dark brows raised in challenge. Then, as if he was tired of playing the word game, he stubbed out his cigarette and rose from the chair. 'I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour. From there we can get the licence, have lunch, and then go to the church.'
Alisa stiffened at the commanding tone of his voice. Right now she was in agreement that everything should be done as quickly as possible, but he might as well know now that she was equally capable of snapping out orders.
'Very well,' she said, 'you can book us on a flight to San Francisco this afternoon. Tomorrow morning we'll go to the bank and I'll have a draft made out to you. Then we can stop in Oakland to pick up Christine.'
Zachary smiled lazily at her clipped words, seemingly amused by her attempt to exert authority over him, but he nodded agreement and repeated that he would meet her in the lobby in half an hour.
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Chapter Two
ALISA studied the thick black hair of the man behind the wheel and the dark brows that succeeded in making his eyes appear as fiery black coals. He was wearing a white polo shirt with a loden green sports jacket which accented the olive tan of his complexion. This was her husband.
Amid the fantasy world of Las Vegas with its myriad neon lights and dancing fountains, her actions had seemed quite reasonable and practical. The difference between winning and losing before had depended on the throw of the dice or the turn of the card, but now it had been ironically decided by her signature on a marriage certificate. She had won custody of Christine, but what had she lost?
Would she ever shake off the air of misgiving that had possessed her when the taxi had stopped outside the church the day before? The driver's snickering looks and sly innuendoes had sickened Alisa as Zachary had tipped him generously and sent him on. She had chided her trembling hands for their nervousness as she smoothed the white eyelet lace of her dress over its underlining of pale blue. The matching cloth hat had a tiny artificial bouquet of orange blossoms fastened on the wide floppy brim. Her pale gold hair was smoothly coiled in its austere chignon.
This was a silly, ritualistic ceremony, she had told herself, nothing to warrant this sudden attack of nerves. These vows they were going to take had no meaning. As a witness to three of her mother's weddings, she was an authority on that. Once inside the church, her poise had still been rattled. She had tried to jeer at the woman witness who had quickly shoved a handkerchief in Alisa's hand, whispering 'something borrowed'.
Zachary's voice had been calm and clear as he had made his vows. Whereas Alisa's had been low and tense, revealing her rigid control. That control had almost broken when she stumbled over the words, 'honour and obey' and glanced up into Zachary's mocking eyes. They had laughed at her twice more. Once when he slipped the plain gold band on her finger and again when she had perfunctorily brushed his lips with her own.
His goading had continued, whether directly or indirectly. Yesterday at the airport and later at the hotel when he had booked separate rooms, Zachary had been very specific in identifying her only as his wife, Mrs. Stuart. Even this morning at the bank, it had turned out that her banker was a close friend of his family and she had been once again pushed into the background. Her identity had been lost. Now she was just Zachary Stuart's wife. And he was taking pleasure in making sure she understood that fact. How she hated and despised him for it!
'Yes,' Alisa answered breathlessly, her blue eyes searching eagerly for the auburn head of her sister. But the closed doors and blank windows stared back unwelcomingly.
Alisa waited impatiently as Zachary manoeuvred the car into the driveway and walked around to open her door. Her sparkling eyes and quickened steps betrayed her excitement.
'You really do care about the child.' Zachary courteously took her arm as they reached the porch steps.
'Of course I do,' Alisa asserted, hurrying past the elegant yet severe white lawn furniture that looked as if it belonged in a Victorian garden.
In response to the chiming bells, the door was opened by an elderly woman, her iron-grey hair braided into a coronet on top of her head, her posture rigidly erect.
'Alisa!' Her false smile of welcome was mirrored by the irritation showing in her small dark eyes. 'I was so surprised when you called me this morning and said you were married.' The woman's gaze turned briefly on Zachary. 'This is your husband?' The sarcastic intonation wasn't lost on Alisa.
'Zachary Stuart,' Alisa introduced impatiently. 'My mother's sister-in-law, Marguerite Denton. Where is Christine?'
'You must come in and have some coffee.' The woman opened the door wider, completely ignoring Alisa's question as she led them through the darkly panelled hallway into an equally sombre room already set with a silver coffee service.
'You two were married in quite a hurry, weren't you?' Marguerite drawled. She seated herself immediately and began pouring the coffee.
'Once Alisa agreed, I didn't want to give her an opportunity to change her mind.' Zachary glanced down at his already seated wife with a show of fondness that bordered on mockery.
'Did you say you were only married yesterday?' Marguerite's malicious gaze flicked accusingly on Alisa as she handed her a fragile china cup. 'You two haven't even had a honeymoon. I'll be glad to take care of Christine if you want to go away for a few weeks.'
'That won't be necessary,' said Alisa.
'Not that we don't appreciate your offer,' Zachary inserted quickly, a very charming smile enhancing the softness of his words. 'We're more interested in making sure Christine understands that Alisa hasn't deserted her. We want her to know that she's a very important member of our family. You see how it is?'
'Yes, I do.' Marguerite's mouth trembled in ill-concealed anger, staring from one to the other.
'Where is Christine?' Alisa asked again.
'She was terribly overwrought this morning when I told her you were married.' A smug smile brought a bright gleam to the woman's eyes. 'She had settled down quite nicely here. It's unfortunate that she must be disrupted.'
'Where is she, Aunt Marguerite?'
'In her room. I made her lie down for a while.'
'Will you get her or shall I?' Alisa threatened. Her eyes sparkled with penetrating coldness.
'I'll get her.' The woman rose abruptly and left the room. The smoke of her anger was nearly visible.
As Marguerite left the room, Alisa reached nervously for a cigarette, chiding herself for allowing her aunt to rile her. Zachary quickly snapped open his lighter, offering the flame to the tip of the cigarette. Her gaze glittered on his face, irritated that he had stepped in to offer an explanation to her aunt for their speedy marriage. Marguerite hadn't been at all fooled.
Reading her thoughts, Zachary said, 'She may have her doubts as to the reason we're married, but there's no need for her to know for sure. It would only give her another weapon.'
'I can handle her,' Alisa asserted, exhaling slowly the smoke from her cigarette. 'She has no weapon.'
'Your fear of her and your love for Christine.'
Her eyes flashed quickly over Zachary, uncomfortably aware that he was entirely too discerning.
The sedate, even tread of Marguerite's footsteps in the hallway was accompanied by shuffling, reluctant, lighter steps. Alisa turned eagerly towards the doorway, her face brightening momentarily as a child appeared at her aunt's side. Although Alisa's arms opened, they remained empty as she stared at the sullenly lowered head of her sister.
'Chris?' she offered hesitantly, surprised at the complete lack of welcome.
The small brown head with its highlights of coppery red raised slightly, revealing a trembling chin and rebellious brown eyes. Christine's slender arms were tucked behind her back and the corners of her mouth were turned stubbornly down.
'I don't think Christine is very excited about seeing you.' A triumphant smile laughed out from Marguerite's face.
'That's not true!' Christine's head jerked up quickly, fixing her mutinous gaze on her aunt before turning to look at her sister. 'I'm supposed to tell you that I want to stay here, that I don't want to go with you.' Tears began brimming in the brown eyes. 'But I do, honest and truly I do!'
In the next instant, a small wiry body was flinging itself in Alisa's arms.
'Take her!' Marguerite called out shrilly, her malevolent eyes returning Alisa's accusing look. 'She's nothing but a nuisance anyway with her whining and insolence and running through the house. She's a spoiled brat. Just exactly what you'd expect of Eleanor's child!'
'Take Chris to the car, Alisa. I'll handle this.' The smouldering anger in Zachary's eyes nearly took her breath away when Alisa turned a grateful glance on him.
She clutched Christine to her tightly and hurried past her irate aunt, then down the hallway and out the door. Once in the car, Alisa disentangled the slender arms from around her neck, dried the twin trail of tears from her sister's cheeks, and reassured her that she didn't have anything to worry about any more. After the elfin face had finally managed to portray a hesitant smile, Alisa glanced towards the house. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation of what was going on in there. Even she had been intimidated by Zachary's authoritative voice and she wished she could have witnessed his confrontation with Marguerite.
Through most of her life, Alisa had dealt with things on her own. Her mother had always seemed to be too involved with a beau or husband when Alisa's childhood and teenage crises occurred. She had never known the security of a family unit. Dale Patterson had made her mother ecstatically happy and they had both attempted to draw Alisa into the circle of their love. But she had grown too cynical for her young years to accept their offer at the time. Alisa had been appalled when her mother had informed her that she was going to have a baby at the age of thirty-seven. Although Alisa had loved her new sister dearly, she was never quite a part of the new family, always standing back increasing her reserve unless she was alone with Christine. It was on her sister that she had poured out all the love that she couldn't safely give to anyone else.
The knowledge that Zachary was in that house doing battle with the aunt she despised was a new sensation to Alisa. The glow of gratitude was still on her face when Zachary came striding out of the house carrying a small suitcase in one hand. Not that she had needed him to fight for her, she reprimanded herself quickly. After all, she was quite capable of handling Marguerite herself. But, as much as she hated his mocking arrogance, Alisa knew she would never forget his show of kindness.
As he slid into the driver's seat, Alisa studied the stern lines of repressed anger still in his face. A shiver of fear scared away the softness she had felt earlier while she shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to be the recipient of his anger.
Sliding the key into the ignition, Zachary glanced at the pair, Alisa watching him with an outward calm and Christine peeping at him from the security of her sister's shoulder. His hands rested on the steering wheel as the banked fire of his gaze swept over them.
'I picked up a few things for Christine. The rest will be sent on to our home.'
Alisa's jaw tightened at the possessive coupling of her and Christine to him. The corners of his mouth twisted upward at her noticeable stiffening.
A trace
of animosity beamed through Christine's brown eyes as she studied Zachary. 'She said you didn't like little girls.' Although her chin trembled, Christine spoke quite forcefully. 'She said you wouldn't want me around and that you'd be packing me back if I did anything bad.'
Zachary's eyes flared briefly at Alisa.
'Christine is referring to Marguerite,' Alisa smiled, coolly dismissing his accusing look with a hint of contempt.
'Your aunt was wrong, Chris.' He met Alisa's disdainful stare with an amused smile. 'I like little girls very much, especially when they grow up to be big girls as pretty as your sister. And I'm sure your sister will do everything she can, regardless of what you do or how bad you are, to make sure you never go back to your aunt.' With mocking arrogance, his eyes travelled over Alisa, taking in the creamy perfection of her face and neck and the becoming way her beige plaid jacket clung to her curves. As if satisfied with what he saw, Zachary turned away, started the car, and began backing it out of the driveway.
'She said you would want Lisa all to yourself, that you wouldn't want me hanging around her,' Christine persisted, needing all her fears to be smoothed away.
'I'll tell you what we'll do.' His eyes never left the street ahead of them as he replied in a gentle, though amused voice. 'I work during the day so you can have Alisa all to yourself then. At night-time when you have to go to bed, then Alisa will be with me. How's that?'
'Fine.' But there was a hesitancy in the child's voice that brought Zachary's gaze around to glance at her curiously. At the compelling question in his eyes, Christine added, 'My daddy had to work, too, but sometimes he did things with Mommy and me. We had a lot of fun.' The fervent unasked question brought a slow spreading smile to his face.
'I think the three of us could have a lot of fun, too. Don't you, Alisa?'
A cold, burning anger was welling up inside Alisa. The newly implanted seed of softness towards the dark-haired man who was her husband had rapidly succumbed to the killing frost. She could see through his ruse of reassuring words to her baby sister and read the laughing assertion that despite any claims by her to the contrary, she was dependent on him, that she needed him for the sake of the child. He should feel subjugated to her. That was the way she had planned it, that he would be under obligation to her.
