by Day Leclaire
He took a long drink of coffee, as though debating how much to say. She suspected it would be as little as he could get away with. “The ranch is in need of repair. I can handle the structural changes, but not the rest.”
“What rest?”
His mouth compressed. “It’s a bachelor residence. There isn’t a female within miles. The place needs a woman’s touch.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re getting married so you’ll have someone to coordinate throw pillows?”
He slammed his mug to the table. “No! I need someone who can create a ho—” With a muttered oath, he looked away, tension vibrating along every line of his body.
“A home?” she finished in a gentle voice.
“Yeah.”
He hadn’t meant to admit so much. Dusky color rode his angled cheekbones and his features had compressed into taut lines, etched there by more than the sum total of thirty-one years. No doubt they’d been a hard thirty-one years, filled with disillusionment and pain, his face weather-beaten into the sort of creases women found irresistible on men and dreaded seeing in their own mirrors. He thrust a hand through his hair, combing the sun-kissed streaks on top into the crisp nut-brown strands beneath.
“I gather you prefer more than a housekeeper or interior decorator?”
“A lot more.”
“And what are you willing to give in return?”
He didn’t like the question. “What do you want?” he asked warily.
“That isn’t what I asked. I assume you’re offering a home and basic creature comforts.”
“I’m not a rich man,” he warned.
She regarded him steadily. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t need riches, isn’t it?”
He returned her look. No doubt his years of wrangling had helped him sum people up with swift accuracy. “Lay it out for me, Marianna. You’re after something. What is it?”
She thought about it, sitting so quietly even the bells on her mask fell silent. He wanted a wife to create a home for him. He’d offered to provide physically for that wife. But what about her emotional needs? What about his? “Will we share a bed?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
He answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“And you expect a woman to hop into bed with you after such a short acquaintance?” she asked curiously.
“We’ll be married.”
“So you gift her with your worldly possessions and she gifts you with her body and a home. That’s your idea of a marriage?”
“If you’re looking for more than that, you’re sitting at the wrong table.”
“No love? No affection?”
“I’ll treat you well. I’ll never hurt you, at least not intentionally.”
He was lying. She sensed it with every instinct she possessed. He was a man in desperate need of love, though he’d undoubtedly deny it, just as he’d undoubtedly fight long and hard to hold it at bay. So the real question was... Did she have it within her to give him that sort of unconditional love? It was an even greater risk than the one she’d taken nine years ago. Then, he’d been open and carefree, all too willing to surrender his heart, to give every bit of himself to a woman. She couldn’t be certain that man still existed, that once he uncovered her identity, he’d ever come to trust her enough to allow love into his life again.
“Are you interested?”
He asked the question as though her response were of no particular interest. But his hands were clenched around his coffee mug and his eyes were carefully blank. That, more than anything, gave her hope. He was a man determined to keep love out of his life, and yet he’d come to the Cinderella Ball to find a bride capable of creating a home for him.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup. “I don’t recall askin’.”
“Now who’s playing games?” She didn’t give him time to respond. “Do you want to marry me or not?”
He paused for an infinite second. “Okay, fine. But you have to do something for me, first.”
“What’s that?”
He leaned across the table toward her, his eyes an incandescent blue, full of fierce determination and tightly controlled passion. “Take off your mask.”
CHAPTER TWO
To my Long-Lost Bride,
I’m counting the days until I see you again. It’s been almost a year and I can’t get you out of my head—or my heart. Your brother sent the annulment papers, but I don’t care what they say. You’ll always be my wife, the woman who will bear my children, my Forever Love, the person I’ll adore until the day I die. You are my sweetness in an often bitter world.
I’ve been working hard these long, lonely months, saving every penny. I know one of your brother’s concerns was that I couldn’t support a wife. But I’ve been smart. I invested my earnings and am planning the perfect home for you. It won’t be much to start, but it’ll be all ours.
The Anniversary Ball is just a week away. It’s to celebrate the first anniversary of those who married at the Cinderella Ball, and even though our marriage was annulled, I know you’ll be there and that this time when we become man and wife, no one can part us. Keep fighting, Shayne. And come back to me.
Until I hold you in my arms again...
TO CHAZ’S private amusement, the bells on Marianna’s mask clattered together in discordant protest. “Take off—”
“Your mask. Yes.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Problem?”
“I’d rather not,” she admitted.
Something about such devastating honesty had him regarding her with acute suspicion. “And why’s that?”
“What does it matter what I look like?” It was her turn to clench the coffee mug with white-knuckled desperation. “I don’t recall your mentioning that as part of your requirements. You wanted someone who’d turn your house into a home, who’d be willing to live with you in Colorado, who’d—”
“Sleep with me.”
It was a wonder the cup didn’t shatter in her hands. Did she find the idea of being intimate with him so overwhelming? He’d soon ease her past that particular concern.
“Yes,” she acknowledged. “And to sleep with you.”
He stood and approached her side of the table. “Don’t you think we should have a peek under the masks to make sure we can face each other over the breakfast table every morning?” he asked.
She held him with inky dark eyes, eyes that stirred memories he’d sooner forget. “And if my looks don’t appeal, we go our separate ways?”
Dammit! Did she think him so heartless? “I didn’t say that.”
“So it’s not whether or not I can make a home for you that’s important. It’s whether or not I’m attractive enough to have in your bed?”
He stooped beside her, taking her hands in his. “Honey, in case you didn’t know... It doesn’t much matter what your partner looks like once the lights are out, so long as part A fits pleasurably into slot B.”
He’d insulted her. It hadn’t been intentional, he just had an unfortunate knack for brutal frankness. Hell, he wanted a wife. Or rather, he needed one. If he were perfectly honest, he didn’t care how plain-faced the woman he married, so long as she could satisfy his requirements.
He’d had beautiful. If he was forced to take a wife, then this time around he wanted practical.
Chaz studied his prospective bride. He could see her intention to walk away as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud. But something held her back. Something he couldn’t quite understand. Still, he saw it in the slight softening of her chin and the gentling of the anger darkening her passionate brown eyes. A smile flirted with her mouth, a smile as feminine and appealing as any he’d ever seen. Warmth pooled in his gut, stirring a reaction he hadn’t felt in far too many years.
“If it doesn’t matter, then the mask stays,” she said. “You decide. Are you willing to marry, sight unseen?”
Aw, hell. He carefully disengaged their fingers.
“You’re asking me to take a lot on faith.”
“You’re not a man with a lot of faith, are you?”
“Not a scrap.”
“What happened?” she asked with the sort of kindness he couldn’t handle, the sort of kindness he didn’t deserve.
“I lost it long ago.”
“Perhaps someday you’ll find it again.”
“If that’s what you’re holding out for, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.” He straightened, towering over her, and thumped his index finger on the linen-covered surface for emphasis. “I’m offering you a house. I’m offering you a warm bed. The closest you’ll get to faith is that I’ll remain true to our marriage vows for as long as they legally last. And I’ll see that you don’t want for anything it’s within my power to give, Take it or leave it.”
“Just don’t expect love?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
Her mouth drew together as she weighed his statement, gathering into an unconscious half-kiss that proved a gut-tightening temptation. If she hadn’t chosen that moment to speak, he’d have leaned down again and sampled those rosy lips to see if they tasted as luscious as they appeared. “Why should I agree to that sort of a marriage?”
“Frankly, I can’t think of a single damned reason.” He picked up his coffee cup and downed the contents. Studying the dregs, he considered his words. “Look... I came here to find a wife.” He set the mug on the table with a finality she couldn’t mistake. “I’ve given you my reasons and I’ve been honest about what I can offer in return. Brutally honest. If what I’m selling doesn’t coincide with what you’re buying, tell me now. There’s still time to find new partners.”
She stood, as well. “I’m not interested in finding someone else.”
“You sure?” Chaz regarded her with unflinching deliberation, allowing just a hint of his annoyance to spill into his gaze. She’d pushed him as far as he intended to be pushed. If she didn’t back off soon, he’d take a walk and scout the area for an alternate bride. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Neither am I. In fact, I only have one last question.”
“And what’s that?”
“How do you feel about children?”
“The first thing I packed were several guarantees to avoid that particular complication.” He held up his hand before she could interrupt. “I’m not opposed to them. I’m just trying to be sensible. Let’s work out the kinks in our marriage before introducing babies into the mix.”
“But you don’t rule them out for sometime in the future?”
“No.” He studied her with unrelenting intensity. “How do you feel about kids?”
“I love them.” She smiled. “If you don’t want to have any right away, I’ll be happy to adopt any of your employees’ children until you are.”
That won his approval. “Young ones are in scarce supply around the ranch. But I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m curious.”
His mouth twisted. “Now why don’t I find that surprising?”
“I can’t imagine,” she teased.
“Go on,” he said with a sigh. “Spill it. What are you curious about?”
“How do you decide whether I’m capable of turning your house into a home? What qualifications does your wife need?”
“I think this might be a good time to take our discussion someplace more private. There’s a small balcony on one side of the garden. It’s probably off limits, but I’m willing to risk it, if you are.” He held out his hand, palm up—a hand that mirrored its owner, work-roughened and callused into painful hardness. “Would you mind if we go there?”
Shayne stilled. She remembered that balcony all too well. That’s where she’d first met Chaz. He’d appeared in the garden beneath and, spying her, had done a very poor imitation of Romeo, spouting an amusing “cowboy” version of Shakespeare. And then he’d come after her, scoffing at the circular staircase hidden behind the bushes and instead climbing the trellis adjacent to the balcony. One look into laughter-filled blue eyes set above a cocky grin and she’d been lost. He’d vaulted over the wrought-iron railing and captured her heart the same instant he’d captured her lips. They’d talked for hours, planning a dream life that on the stroke of midnight they’d turned into a reality by speaking vows she’d kept to this day.
She inclined her head, ignoring the clamor of protest issued from silver-voiced bells. “The balcony sounds perfect.”
He led the way into the garden, finding the steps concealed behind the shrubbery with unerring accuracy. She preceded him without a word, afraid if she spoke, she’d give herself away. Did he even realize that behind the French doors at the top of the stairway he’d find the bedroom she’d used whenever she and Rafe visited the Montagues on business? Of course, the bed and furniture were now draped in dust covers, the room as asleep as she’d been all these years.
“Okay, Marianna. Let’s get down to specifics.”
She fought not to react to the name. It seemed such a sham coming from his lips. Worse, it brought back memories of her aunt and of Florida, memories she’d rather not have resurrected. “Go ahead.”
“I already told you I live on a ranch. It’s a fair size which means it takes up a good bit of my time.”
“So you won’t be around much?”
“It depends on the season and the workload. I’m just giving you notice there’ll be occasions where you’ll spend more hours alone than you might like. Can you handle that?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem. I have art commissions that I can work on when I’m at a loose end.”
“You’re an artist?”
“Those days I’m not managing the family farm.”
She’d surprised him. “Then you’re familiar with the lifestyle?” he asked in relief. “You understand it’ll be isolated.”
“I understand that going to town is an all-day affair.” At least, it had been on Rafe’s coffee finca in Costa Rica. “Though I doubt our farm is the same as your ranch, I assume many of the chores will be similar. If so, I can handle your accounts, schedule employees, take care of payroll and run a household.”
“Anything you can’t do?” he asked in amusement.
“Well... There is one rather notable failing. But I’ll give just about anything a try. Is that good enough?”
He folded his arms across his chest and lifted an eyebrow. “Care to tell me what that failing is?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
Instead of annoying him, he must have found her confession amusing. A broad grin revealed the tiny chip in his tooth, a chip she’d found quite by accident when they’d first kissed. “I’m supposed to marry a masked woman with one serious failing. More and more interesting.”
“It’ll give us plenty to learn about each other over the course of our marriage.”
“So I’ve found a woman who likes mystery in her relationships.” The amusement died. “Okay. Have it your way.”
Astonishment held her silent for a split second. “Then you agree?”
“Fair warning. I have a few secrets of my own. If a bit of mystery between a husband and wife doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”
A nerve-racking thought struck. “This secret of yours... Is it anything illegal?”
To her astonishment, his mouth tightened. “Nothing I can be jailed for.”
“Oh, Chaz,” she whispered, moving close enough to touch his arm. “Is your secret really that serious?”
“Serious enough, masked lady.”
What in the world had he done? “Do you regret it?”
“No.” His answer was swift and unconditional and all the response necessary in order for her to make her decision.
“Then that’s all that matters.”
“Not quite. I’m willing to take you sight unseen and accept this serious flaw you possess. But there’s one important aspect of our relationship we have to explore before we make a final commitment.”
�
�Is that why you brought me here?”
“Yes.”
“So we’d have some privacy?”
“Yes.”
She refused to be coy. “Privacy to make love.”
He didn’t back down beneath her direct gaze. “We need to know for sure. It’s an important aspect of a marriage.”
The sex had to be good, but wasn’t to involve emotions. Didn’t he see how wrong that was? “And if we’re not compatible?”
“We reconsider.”
The bells on her mask issued a quick, urgent warning. “I’m nervous, Chaz,” she confessed. “Is that so surprising?”
His eyes were black in the darkness of the night, the distant fairy lights strung through the garden not enough to touch them with color. He turned and leaned against the railing, folding his hands along the top and stared out at the starlit night. She saw his gaze drift past the fanciful gardens and outward toward the stark, uncompromising landscape of the desert. The full moon washed down, blessing it with softness. But the night’s shadows cut across the silvery light in hard, harsh strokes, giving lie to the pastoral gentleness. It was a fitting match for the man at her side.
“I noticed you when you first arrived,” he said after a bit. “You didn’t know that, did you?”
Alarm filled her. Had he seen her unmasked? “When I first arrived?”
“A few minutes before you danced with Sotherland. You came down the steps into the ballroom. Your mask hides a lot, but it didn’t hide your eagerness, your impatience to join the party.”
To find him, she almost corrected. “And?”
“Before you could reach your goal, a rather elderly man stopped you.”
She remembered. “He’d twisted his ankle and needed help.”
“You helped him.”
“That impressed you?” she asked in disbelief. “Anyone would have done the same. It’s common decency.”
“No one had helped him until you arrived.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “He wasn’t the only one, either. There was a young girl sitting by herself, practically in tears. You must have talked to her for ten whole minutes.”
