A Gentleman's Bargain

by Patricia Waddell

“Being shy doesn't make you weak,” Claire said in self-defense.

  Garrett gave her a crooked smile. “Your temper is showing, Miss Aldrich."

  Claire stiffened. “I agreed to play a part for other people,” she said in a low voice. “But I have no intention of continuing the role when we're alone, Mr. Monroe."

  A servant carrying a tray of crystal glasses filled with punch walked onto the patio. Garrett took two glasses from the tray, offering one to Claire. He didn't speak until the servant had returned to the ballroom. Smiling coldly, he stepped closer. “My name is Garrett."

  Claire didn't need to be reminded. She sipped the punch, ignoring his arrogance.

  Garrett didn't like being ignored. Anger sluiced through him as he looked at Claire dressed in satin and moonlight. Jealousy had visited him when she'd danced with Christopher. He wasn't used to the green emotion. It bothered him in more ways than he was willing to admit. “My name is Garrett,” he repeated in a low husky whisper. “I'm the man who put a roof over your lovely head and an engagement ring on your finger. I'm the man who's going to find your brother and return you to the bosom of your family. I'm the man who doesn't intend to have his grandmother upset over anything. You will be whatever I want you to be, Claire, whenever I want you to be it."

  Claire's courage wavered for a moment. She was seeing the real Garrett Monroe, a man who was used to getting what he wanted, a powerful man who could be an influential friend or a fearful enemy. Well, she wasn't going to be intimidated. Her pride had suffered all it was going to suffer for the time being.

  “In other words, you think I'm at your mercy,” she said tartly. “Well, think again. I won't be coerced into soothing your ego, Mr. Monroe. If you don't like my temper, then I suggest you stop fueling it with rude remarks."

  Garrett set aside his glass, then took Claire's out of her hand. She felt as if she were reliving the evening at the hotel when they'd had dinner the first time. His presence was even more overwhelming now that they'd shared a kiss and Claire felt her body trembling with anticipation. Something was happening to her and she didn't understand why her heart kept responding when her mind told her to be afraid. The absurd idea occurred to her that she couldn't keep herself from falling in love with Garrett Monroe because she had already fallen—hook, line, and sinker to coin her brother's favorite phrase.

  Unaware of what Claire was feeling and unable to define why he was pushing the point, Garrett pulled her into his arms and tilted her chin up with his hand. Her eyes were sparkling with defiance and something he'd never seen there before, but he didn't want to take the time to evaluate it. He wanted to kiss her again.

  The pressure of his arms became a hot fire that engulfed Claire the moment Garrett touched her. He drew her up close, so close she could see the silver flecks in his eyes. “The door to the ballroom is open and people can see us,” he said in a soft whisper that brushed over her skin like a warm breeze. “I'm going to kiss you, again. Relax and enjoy it."

  “It isn't proper,” Claire said, using the only argument she could think of at the moment. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it so badly her hands were shaking as she pressed them lightly against his dark jacket in a frugal attempt to keep him at bay.

  “It's expected,” he told her. “And I'm paying for the privilege, remember."

  His blunt words pricked Claire's temper at the same time they sliced a hole in her heart. She tried to pull away, but Garrett wouldn't let her. He smiled, an arrogant smile that said he was in control whether she liked it or not. His mouth hovered over hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath for a brief moment before it was replaced with the fiery taste of his mouth.

  Claire tried to suppress the wild surge of pleasure that rushed through her at the feel of Garrett's mouth, but she failed. The kiss was mild by his standards, but it made Claire's insides start to bubble and her knees go weak. Garrett went on kissing her, robbing her of her senses while he fought the temptation to turn the kiss into something more—something Claire couldn't deny.

  He'd lied when he told Claire that the kiss was expected. It wasn't proper and Garrett knew it as well as she did, but he hadn't been able to resist the opportunity. It was more than that, but he wasn't in the mood to dissect his motives. Claire fit his arms like she'd been made for them and he liked the tiny, female sounds he forced from her throat.

  The sound of the orchestra came to a halt and Garrett's sanity returned. He released Claire and stepped back, satisfied that he'd proven his point. She was being paid to do what he told her to do.

  Once her mouth was freed, Claire brought her hand up and wiped the kiss away. Her heart was racing with a strange combination of joy and anger. Garrett thought he owned her, at least temporarily. He was arrogant and rude, but even that didn't stop her from wishing he felt something for her. Feeling used and furious at herself for being such a fool, Claire stepped back. “Don't kiss me again. Regardless of our arrangement, I'm not a woman who sells her favors, Mr. Monroe, and I refuse to be treated like one."

  A slap would have served the same purpose. Garrett flinched inwardly at her sharp words. He was tempted to show Claire just how much of a man's touch a woman could suffer and still moan with pleasure, but his pride and the time and place kept him from pulling her back into his arms. He had to admit he deserved the insult, but he was only willing to admit it to himself. Damn it to hell! The woman was getting under his skin and he didn't like an itch he couldn't scratch.

  “Men use whores for quick pleasure and no complications,” he said curtly. His words were shocking but then he'd promised her honesty. “You are my employee, nothing more and nothing less. I'll kiss you whenever the situation calls for it, and if you wipe my touch off again, you won't like the consequences."

  The threat hung between them like a cloud of smoke and Claire's anger heightened until she thought her head would explode from containing her temper. “Don't threaten me."

  Garrett's smile was as cold as the ice keeping the champagne bottles chilled. “I don't make threats, Claire, I keep promises. And I expect you to keep yours in return."

  “There you are,” Christopher said, strolling onto the patio. “Mrs. Belton is puffing like a locomotive and everyone else is still recovering from the shocking news that the city's most eligible bachelor is officially off the market. But I have to admit, Grams looks better than I've seen her looking in years."

  “That's the whole point of this charade,” Garrett said none too politely as he offered Claire his arm. “Shall we rejoin the party, Miss Aldrich?"

  An insane feeling came over her and Claire bit her tongue to keep from saying that all the money in the world couldn't persuade her to continue her role. Garrett had driven his point home with expert precision when he'd said that he was the man who could find her brother. Without Donald, she had nobody.

  Claire laced her arm through Garrett's. When they stepped through the doorway and entered the ballroom, she looked up at him like a woman lost to love. Unfortunately for Claire it wasn't an act. Her heart was breaking as Garrett swept her onto the dance floor while his grandmother watched from across the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Claire stood perfectly still while Libby slipped several petticoats over her head. She was having lunch with Garrett. He'd left instructions for Henry to drive her to the bank to meet him. The Beltons’ ball had passed into history three weeks ago and since that time Claire had been forced to endure at least a dozen social events. Invitations were arriving daily for even more parties, afternoon teas, and Sunday dinners. Everyone in the city wanted to meet the lovely young woman who had turned Garrett Monroe into an attentive fiancé who smiled like a man truly trapped by the arms of love.

  While Libby fluttered about the room like a butterfly in a rose garden, Claire tried not to think of another day consumed by shy looks, polite smiles, and the pretense of being in love with a man who was pretending to be in love with her. The strain was beginning to take its toll and Claire feel restl
ess and tired. The worse part was playing a role for Grams. During the last few weeks, she had come to genuinely like the older lady. Theodora Monroe was full of life, despite her failing heart. She was witty and candid and Claire felt herself growing more fond of Garrett's grandmother with each passing day.

  The longer she was in the Nob Hill mansion the more Claire had to confront her feelings for the man who had brought her there. Garrett was the epitome of a gentleman whenever they were together. There had been no more kisses, but the tension between them hadn't eased. It was growing in equal proportion to Claire's uneasiness and she knew the reason why. When Garrett wasn't reminding her of the reason for her presence, he was charming and fun to be with. She enjoyed listening to him discuss politics and arguing with his grandmother over the increasing interest in women's rights. He was intelligent, well educated, and still the most handsome man she'd ever had the pleasure of encountering. Although she had convinced herself that what she felt wasn't love, but merely a girlish infatuation, the feelings persisted. The more she learned about the handsome banker, the more he filled her thoughts and dreams. She felt like a keg of dynamite, ready to explode at a moment's notice.

  When they waltzed, Claire couldn't ignore the feverish sensations that overtook her body and the sense of security that came with having him close to her. After days of arguing with herself, she'd reached the conclusion that there was little she could do but brave the circumstances and pray that Hiram Wilson found news of her brother soon.

  Garrett had asked her for the few letters Donald had written over the years, thinking the private investigator might find them useful. Claire had surrendered them into his keeping as easily as she'd surrendered her heart.

  “I think the pink silk would be perfect.” Libby interrupted Claire's private thoughts as she laid the dress out on the bed. “It's a lovely day. The dress has a matching parasol that will keep you from getting too much sun."

  Claire looked at the garment Libby had selected. It was lovely, like the dozens of other dresses and gowns Garrett has purchased for her. On the outside, she had everything a young woman could want. The house was magnificent, her clothing drew the attention of the most fashionable ladies in town, and her fiancé was every woman's dream come true. On the inside, Claire was miserable. The smile she kept plastered on her face was a mask that vanished the moment she was alone in a room with the door shut to keep anyone from seeing just how miserable she looked when she wasn't pretending to be the woman who had the world at her feet. She felt like a liar and a cheat. Grams was a wonderful woman and she could finally understand Garrett's reason for the fraudulent engagement, but understanding didn't make her part in his scheme any more pliable.

  The bitter taste of knowing she'd exposed her heart to a man who liked women too much to love only one added to Claire's misery. As she sat down so Libby could arrange her hair, Claire looked in the mirror and silently told herself that she'd get over whatever emotions Garrett sparked. Time and distance would cure her ills. Once Donald was found, she could use the excuse that she needed to oversee her brother's home to end her stay at the mansion. Then, she'd gradually wean Grams of her companionship, and eventually, when Dr. Baldwin was sure that the ailing woman wouldn't suffer another heart attack brought on by bad news, she and Garrett could stage an argument that would end their relationship without ruining their reputations.

  Thinking back to the previous night, Claire could have accomplished the task with little effort. They'd attended a small party at the home of one of Garrett's investors. Grams had stayed home since the meeting was mostly business and she wasn't overly fond of the investor's wife. Claire had found the woman as distasteful as Grams had predicted, but she'd managed to survive the boring dinner conversation and Mrs. Fletcher's constant chatter about herself and her family. Grams had explained that William Fletcher had married into money and his wife wasn't about to let anyone forget it.

  After dinner, Garrett and Christopher Landauer, whose dinner companion was Belinda Belton, had adjourned to the library for brandy and cigars. The ladies had retired to the front parlor, where Marian Fletcher dominated the conversation until Claire excused herself to use the powder room. She'd stolen a few moments for herself by slipping outside into the garden. The night had been warm and the windows to the library open and she couldn't help but be drawn by the sound of Garrett's voice. He and Christopher were alone, or so it seemed by their conversation, and she was shocked when Garrett's partner mentioned the fact that the banker had been neglecting his mistress by keeping himself busy with his new fiancée. Claire knew she shouldn't be surprised to discover that Garrett maintained a woman for his private pleasure; she knew such things weren't a rarity. But it was his words that turned the balance of the evening into a painful experience that didn't end until she closed the door of her bedroom and collapsed in a fit of angry tears.

  “If you're so concerned about Evelyn, by all means, attend her yourself,” Garrett had said with no audible hint of remorse. “My interest in the English lady has waned since returning home and I'm too busy to worry about her bruised feelings."

  “You're a coldhearted devil,” Christopher had told him. “But then, that's part of your charm. Women like you because you're a challenge."

  “I'm a rich challenge,” Garrett had pointed out.

  “I don't think Miss Aldrich is impressed by your money.” Christopher's reply came to Claire's defense in a limited way. “In fact, I'm not sure the lady is impressed with you in general. She's a very good actress when she has an audience, but I've seen a frown or two slip over her beautiful face when she thinks no one is watching."

  Garrett wasn't pleased and he'd said as much. He'd also warned Christopher to keep his watching to a minimum. “Claire is my business, not yours."

  “What about her brother?"

  “Wilson is working on it. Whoever Donald Aldrich is, he's good at not leaving a trail. The more Wilson can't find out the more I'm inclined to believe that Claire's brother is up to no good. An honest man doesn't need to hide."

  “If that's the case, what happens to the sister?” Christopher had asked.

  “I'll take care of Claire."

  “You mean marry her for real."

  “Good God, no,” Garrett had blurted out. “She's tempting, but not that tempting."

  “Then you plan to install her in the cottage after Evelyn returns to England or finds herself another lover?"

  “Maybe,” Garrett had replied. “She'd make an interesting mistress."

  The response had cut Claire to the quick. She'd stood outside the window, shaking with anger and fighting back tears. Just when she'd begun to think that Garrett might have some redeeming qualities, she'd discovered that he planned to seduce her. Mistress. The word conjured up images of painted women in low-cut red dresses and things that made Claire blush to the soles of her feet. How dare the man think she could ever be his mistress! It was more insulting than anything he'd said to her so far.

  His remarks about her brother's integrity had cut just as deeply. No matter what Garrett thought, Claire knew her brother. Donald wasn't a bad man, and he wasn't one to shirk his responsibilities. Once he discovered she was in San Francisco, he'd come running.

  Garrett's unguarded remarks had given Claire a new resolve. She was going to find her brother, with or without Garrett's help, and then she was going to begin a new life. A life that didn't require her to play-act. The only drawback to her plan was Grams. She truly liked Garrett's grandmother and she refused to do anything that might put the older woman's health at risk.

  As Libby put the finishing touches on her coiffure, Claire decided she'd worry about one thing at a time. For the time-being, she had no choice but to continue as she'd begun.

  Once the dress was buttoned and she'd slipped on a pair of white cotton gloves, she reached for the parasol trimmed with white lace and pink flowers.

  “Mrs. Monroe asked if you'd stop in the back parlor before you left for the city,” Libby told
her as she gave Claire's appearance a nod of approval. “She needs some thread and thought you might have time to stop by one of the shops for her. If not, I'll fetch it later."

  “I'll make the time,” Claire announced. Although she didn't need anything for herself, she liked the idea of doing some shopping. It would give her some time alone.

  She went downstairs in search of Grams, knowing she'd find her in the back parlor. The comfortable room was one of the lady's favorite places and she could often be found there, sewing or reading.

  “Do come in,” Grams said as Claire appeared in the doorway. “And don't you look lovely, my dear. Garrett will be hard-pressed to return to his office after spending time with such a beautifully dressed young lady."

  “Libby said you needed some things from town,” Claire said. She didn't want to think about Garrett pretending to enjoy her company when all he wanted was her body. “What shop do you frequent?"

  “Miller's Yard Goods on Market Street,” Grams told her. “It's a few doors down from the bank. Garrett will show you. Here's a sample of the thread.” She handed Claire a strand of dark blue thread. “After you get back, we need to discuss the wedding. Plans need to be made and a dress will take months. Madame Napier is the best couturiere in the city, but she's a stickler for detail."

  Claire didn't want to think about a wedding dress. It added insult to injury. “We have plenty of time,” she said. “We haven't set a date for the wedding."

  “You need to,” Grams said unceremoniously. Then smiled. “Don't be so modest, my dear. Your marriage to Garrett will be the social event of the year. Everyone will expect to be invited. Have you heard from your brother?"

  “Not yet,” Claire said, thankful that she could at least be truthful about Donald. “He'll want to be there, of course."

  “Of course,” Grams agreed. “He can give you away. Christopher will be Garrett's best man. I can't imagine him asking anyone else. The Episcopal Church is large enough to hold a thousand or more guests.” She smiled at Claire's gasping mouth. “Oh my, I never thought to inquire about your faith. Is the Episcopal Church a problem?"