The Blacksheep's Arranged Marriage

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  With a quiet sigh, he drew his hand away from his disheveled bride, thinking that even in sleep, she was curled into herself, knees pulled up, arms tucked close to her body, hands folded under her chin, as if she feared encroaching into his personal space while she slept.

  Too late.

  She was in his space, no matter where she stayed in this bed. He’d made love to her. To Thea. His wife. Not just once, either, but until they both were sated with satisfaction and blissfully weary. Even now his body quickened with the possibility of loving her yet again. He hadn’t thought he could desire her so or that she would be such an adventurous, enthusiastic lover. Certainly, she’d surprised him over and over with her eagerness to learn, her desire to please him, her delight in discovering how he could please her. All in all, her wedding night had turned out to be a whole lot more than he’d expected.

  Peter knew this marriage of convenience would come to an end. Eventually, Thea would gain all the confidence she needed to make her own decisions without help from him or anyone else. But for now, he planned to do everything in his power to prove to her she was worth the effort. She could be, was already, in fact, a desirable woman and he was determined that before long everyone else would know it, too. All she needed was a little guidance, an infusion of self-assurance, someone to listen to her, someone who cared.

  The annual Harvest Gala benefit was coming up at the end of the month, barely two weeks from now. It was one of the biggest events of the year, the highlight of the fall season. That, Peter decided, would be Thea’s debut as a woman of fashion and substance. Well, she already had the substance—more, really, than any of the pretty debutantes he’d fancied—but she needed to show some style to fit in with this crowd. With the right clothes, a little makeup and a good haircut, Thea would be the talk of the town. He smiled just thinking of how proud she’d be to finally get the attention she deserved. Her peers, the society to which she had every blue-blooded right to belong, owed her that attention and a long overdue respect.

  She sighed in her sleep, murmured something unintelligible, but oddly contented, and his lips curved with a tender smile. In a way, he hated to have to share her with anyone else. But he couldn’t stand in her way. She’d married him to escape a bad situation at home. He’d married her solely to give her this opportunity…and she was going to have it or else. He’d need to exercise considerable diplomacy in making suggestions though. He didn’t want her to think he believed there was anything wrong with her just the way she was. Because there wasn’t. Not really. She just needed someone to give her that initial boost of confidence and courage, a healthy measure of approval. Then he was convinced it’d be, watch out, world, here she comes!

  He yawned, oddly at peace with himself in a way he hadn’t been for a long time. Perhaps, never. Certainly, not since his mother had died and he’d found out that James Braddock was truly his father and that Braddock Hall would be his new home. He felt guilty at times that his life had turned out so well and his sister, Briana, had been left with her father, the man Peter had believed for nine years was his father, too. James had tried to help Briana, then. Peter had tried to help her since, but she’d made her choices, just as he’d made his, and there could be no going back.

  Thea’s foot brushed his beneath the covers, sending a quicksilver burst of desire to his groin. He turned onto his side, making further such contacts less likely, knowing he ought to leave and let Thea have the bed to herself. There would be no more lovemaking tonight. She needed her rest. So did he. But he continued to lie there for the longest time, just watching her breathe, smiling a little at the expressions that flitted from time to time across her face, remembering how sweet she’d looked as she walked into the library this afternoon in her new, old-fashioned gown, how his heart had stopped when she fainted. Not the way he’d pictured his wedding at all, yet perfect in a way he couldn’t describe even to himself.

  His eyelids drifted down and he pushed them open again, telling himself to get up and go to his own bed in his own room. It was one of the rules he’d always lived by, leave before there was ever a question of staying. That had saved him from those awkward mornings after and spared him any pretense of commitment. This was the first time, too, that his bedroom was close enough to walk to without having to get in a car and drive home first. So he had no excuse. It ought to be easy. Get up. Walk back to his room. Go to bed.

  But he hated to leave her all the way over here on the other side of the house. And, knowing Thea, if she awoke alone, she’d jump to all the wrong conclusions about why he’d gone to sleep in his own room. She’d think she’d done something wrong, kept him awake, or that he simply hadn’t wanted to stay. The truth was he did want to stay. The bed was warm and the sound of her breathing comforted him like a heartbeat. And, where was the harm? He’d married her, and that was more commitment than he’d ever made to anyone, even if both he and Thea knew love and forever were not a part of the bargain.

  Peter inhaled, sleepily, and made his decision. She had asked for a wedding night and, technically, the night lasted until morning.

  He would stay.

  She woke him three times before dawn. Once by accident, twice by design. She apologized the first time, but not the other two.

  It was, all things considered, a pretty great way to spend any night, even if neither of them got all that much sleep.

  THEA TRIED TO BE stealthy as she picked Peter’s tuxedo shirt up off the floor, slipped it over her bare shoulders and wrapped the flappy sleeves around her in a starchy hug. She loved the bigness of his shirt, the way it fell halfway to her knees, the crisp feel of the fabric and its lingering scent of soap and cologne and man. She loved the whole world this morning and wouldn’t, at that moment, have traded her life for anyone’s. Well, maybe with the beautiful blonde who was somewhere out there and who would, someday, be Peter’s wife for real. But she wasn’t going to think about things like that this morning, not when her body was deliciously sore from his lovemaking, not when the sun was just peeking over the horizon and edging into the room through the window, tinting the calico ball that was Ally, who was asleep on the window seat, in rose-gold hues.

  Dancing on her toes, Thea plièd into the bathroom, squinching her eyes shut so she wouldn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror and lose the fantasy. That could ruin a promising morning. Come to think of it, she probably ought to close the drapes.

  She’d barely danced her way out of the bathroom and over to the window to check on the sun’s progress, when she heard the rustle of bedcovers and looked over her shoulder to see Peter smiling at her. “You look cute,” he said, his voice hazy with sleep.

  Cute? He must not have his eyes all the way open yet. Or maybe he thought she was someone else. Or maybe that was the kind of thing men said to women on the morning after, whether they meant it or not. But as no one had ever said “you look cute“ to her before on any occasion, Thea decided to accept the compliment graciously. “I’m wearing your shirt,” she said as if that explained it.

  “If you take it off, I’ll give you a kiss.”

  A bribe. That was the best thing anyone had ever offered her this early in the morning. Ever. “Just a kiss?” she asked to make sure he knew she wasn’t impressed.

  “Okay, Vixen, name your price.”

  Vixen? Maybe he was talking in his sleep. And how could she tell him what she wanted now that the wedding night she’d requested was technically over? “I can’t give the shirt back,” she said, thinking fast. “I haven’t anything else to wear.”

  His smile edged into a grin and he pushed up onto his elbow. The sheet slipped from his shoulder and folded in about his waist and Thea’s knees got weak at the sight of so much man, so early in the day. “I don’t see the problem,” he said, and patted the empty place beside him. “Come back to bed.”

  No need to ask her twice. She was nestled in next to him before he had a chance to rethink his original idea. “Now, what?” she asked, hop
ing he’d kiss her and put her out of her misery. Except that she didn’t feel the least bit miserable.

  “You forgot to take off the shirt,” he said, but he kissed her anyway.

  “I HAVE AN IDEA.”

  Thea thought he’d had several in the last hour. All of them spectacularly good. “Will I like it as much as the last one?”

  He laughed, a low rumble beneath her head, which rested on his bare chest as she lay cradled against his side. “Maybe more. It involves shopping.”

  “I don’t like shopping.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Not for clothes.” She wished she hadn’t said that. Now she’d have to admit that shopping was a frustrating, humiliating experience and she did not like to do it. “I like shopping for art supplies.”

  “But you don’t need art supplies and at some point in the very near future, you’re going to need something to wear.”

  She sighed. “Can’t I just stay in this bedroom forever?”

  “Not if you want to be with me.” He brushed his fingertips across her forehead, probably trying to lift some of her wild hair out of her eyes. “Trust me,” he said, “you’ll like the kind of shopping I have in mind.”

  She knew she wouldn’t, but she did want to be with him and if the only way for that to occur was to shop, well, then, she’d shop. “How soon do we have to go?”

  “How about now?”

  “What will be open at…” She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “six-twenty in the morning?”

  “Thea, Thea.” His voice rumbled beneath her head with good humor. “When you spend the kind of cash we’re about to spend, believe me, getting someone to open the store isn’t a problem.”

  “Oh,” she said. “So there probably won’t be many other shoppers there?”

  “Just you and me. And a few very lucky merchandisers.”

  That didn’t sound too bad. Except, of course, that Peter would be disappointed when he saw how badly she looked in the clothes. No matter how much they cost. “Could we put this off until later in the week, when I’m a little more…rested?”

  “Today’s the only day I have free, Thea. It has to be today. Unless you’d rather go with Katie. Although, I don’t think she’s much of a shopper, either. And Lara will be working. What about Mrs. Fairchild? Or Ainsley Danville? Would you rather go with one of them?”

  “No. I’d rather spend the day with you. Even if I have to spend it shopping.”

  He laughed then with genuine affection in his voice. “Thea Braddock,” he said. “You are one of a kind.”

  Thea Braddock. She was Thea Braddock.

  At least for today.

  And today her husband wanted to take her shopping.

  “Can I wear your shirt to the store?” she asked, actually sort of hoping he’d say yes.

  “No,” he answered. “I’d never be able to keep my hands off of you.”

  Even if he was just being nice, she thought that was just about the best thing he could have said. She rubbed her head against his chest. “Then I don’t see the problem.”

  “The problem would come when I took the shirt off of you in the store, scandalizing the sales associates.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, I think I will wear it.”

  “You know, Thea, with the right encouragement, I believe you could set society in the little state of Rhode Island right on its collective ear.”

  She had already done that by marrying him, the most eligible bachelor in New England and, in her opinion, the handsomest and best of the famous Braddock brothers. She imagined there would be quite a few shocked expressions and rampant speculation around Rhode Island’s breakfast tables as the news traveled out…as news always did.

  But she didn’t say that to Peter.

  She just laughed and eventually, allowed him to coax her out of bed with the promise that they’d slip out of the house together, thereby avoiding the rest of the family, and eliminating the need to tell anyone where they were going.

  Chapter Nine

  “This color will look fabulous on you, Mrs. Braddock.”

  “That dress is just your style, Mrs. Braddock.”

  “With your figure, you can wear anything, Mrs. Braddock.”

  Thea had never had so many people wanting to help her. She’d never gotten this kind of attention, in or out of a store. She’d never had so many luscious fabrics and rich colors draped on her body. She’d never known there were so many beautiful clothes in the world, much less in one place. Before she could get even a good look at herself in one outfit, it was whisked away and replaced with another.

  “Try this sweater with that skirt, Mrs. Braddock.”

  “Let’s see what these shoes do for that ensemble, Mrs. Braddock.”

  “Definitely this handbag with that outfit, Mrs. Braddock.”

  “Great legs, Mrs. Braddock.”

  That last from Peter, who grinned at her as she was spun for his approval and whisked off for yet another outfit and accessory change. He seemed to be delighted with the attention she was receiving and with the way she looked. Thea tried to see something different when she looked at herself in the mirror, but she didn’t know what colors looked good on her and she had no idea what her style was, so she tried on garment after garment, modeling everything for Peter, taking his nod for yes, his shrug for no. And when finally the shopping was over and she was walking out of the store in one complete head-to-toe outfit while the rest were being steamed or altered or wrapped up for later delivery, Thea was the weary owner of more new clothes than she had ever possessed in all of her life.

  “You should do this every day for a month.” Peter took her hand in his, swinging it a little as they walked toward the car. “Just to get the hang of it.”

  “Every day?” She was horrified at the thought of having to set foot in a store again anytime soon.

  He laughed and teased her with a squeeze of her hand. “Oh, come on, Thea, it wasn’t that bad. And you look fabulous.”

  She felt uncomfortable in the short-skirted jacket dress she was wearing. She felt self-conscious in the bright autumn-red color. She felt awkward and ungainly in the unaccustomed high heels she’d been told she absolutely had to have to go with this classic fall ensemble. The gold earrings pinched her ears. The beautiful alpaca wool shawl kept slipping from its artful drape about her shoulders. The designer hat was too tight and she longed to take it off, although she knew that would defeat its purpose, which was to keep her unsightly hair out of sight. But if Peter liked the way she looked, then she’d learn to like all these fashion discomforts. As long as he smiled at her and held her hand, then what kind of idiot would she be to complain?

  SHE LOVED his Boston office.

  Peter could tell by the way she trailed her fingertips over the rich, dark wood of his desk. He could tell by the delighted approval in her eyes as she looked around the big corner office. He could tell by the soft tug of a smile on her lips that she was pleased he’d furnished his professional lair with fine antiques and old architectural drawings. He could tell by her soft, “ohs“ of surprise that she’d expected a less traditional look, something trendier and more modern, something with more glass and less charm.

  He was pleased when she paused to study his early model of the Atlanta project and when she took the time to read the newspaper article about it. He liked the way she tipped her head to the side as she looked at each of his awards in turn. He loved the serious little frown that gathered across her brow as she silently, but obviously, counted up the total. It was an impressive array, he knew, even for someone with his name and family connections. Peter was proud of his achievements, and that he’d chosen this career field. It had, in one fell swoop, secured a common interest with Braddock Industries, while giving him an area of expertise not already overshadowed by his two older brothers. And in some way, Peter felt that in the planning and designing of buildings, he could pay homage to the dreams his mother had nurtured for him. She had wanted him to
build a better life than she thought she could give him and he felt she would have been proud of him for the life he had made.

  He sometimes wondered how his life might have turned out if she hadn’t been so intent on his claiming his true heritage, his place as a Braddock. But then, if she’d only had the courage to leave her husband, she might still be alive. He and his sister might have finished their growing up at Braddock Hall with their mother, instead of being separated and growing up apart with two different views of what had happened to them.

  “You’re an artist, Peter.” Thea glanced at him before returning her attention to four, small, framed sketches above his work station. “These are wonderful.”

  In the Sunday stillness of his office, with the whole building mostly deserted and quiet around them, he felt a thrill that she’d noticed the four pieces of which he was most proud.

  “Is that your mother?”

  He nodded and walked over to stand beside her and look at the pencil drawings. “Catherine Latiker. She was never a Braddock because she was already married when she met my father.”

  “She was very beautiful.” Thea looked at the others. “And that one?” she asked, indicating the drawing of a little girl with a crooked smile and a spattering of freckles across her nose.

  “My sister. Half sister. Briana. She’s older now, of course, nearly thirty, but that’s her at the age I remember best.”