Bridegroom on Approval

by Day Leclaire

  “Too damned good!” Luc practically roared. “Since that’s how Grace and I became engaged.”

  Marc snapped his fingers, his eyes widening in mock horror. “That’s right. And if memory serves, you were all set to marry her, too. For the sake of the baby.”

  A dangerous light flickered in Luc’s eyes. “I loved Grace or I’d never have married her.”

  Marc’s grin lit up his face. “Exactly, big brother. And why? I’ll tell you. Because marriage is a serious business. Too serious to be decided in a single night. Have you forgotten? Salvatores marry once. And it’s always for love. One of these days I’ll meet the woman I’m meant to share the rest of my life with. When that happens, I’ll get my ring on her finger as fast as she’ll allow and make her the happiest woman in the world.”

  “I’m relieved to hear you say that,” Luc muttered, apparently mollified. “The trouble is you’re always thinking with your heart. It’s going to get you into trouble one of these days. Especially where women are concerned.”

  Marc lowered his gaze. “Yes, it’s a serious failing,” he confessed morosely. “But cheer up. What are the odds that I’ll meet the one woman I can’t live without at this Cinderella Ball?” He didn’t give them time to respond. Picking up his suitcase, he walked out the door.

  “What are the odds? Damn, but I wish he’d stop asking that,” Stef muttered. “He’s got to be tempting the fates. If they have as perverse a sense of humor as Marco, we may have a new sister by next week.”

  Luc released a heavy sigh. “I’d say we can count on it.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Beaumonts’ Cinderella Balll—Forever, Nevada

  TAKE A BREATH! Hanna silently ordered herself, struggling to hang on to her self-control. It was difficult. She’d never felt so out of her element in all of her twenty-six years. Not that she’d ever betray that fact. Not a chance. She’d spent a lifetime tackling events and situations that weren’t of her own making. And she’d handled each of them with every scrap of skill she could muster.

  She could handle a simple marriage ball, as well. No problem.

  Glancing at her watch, she nodded in satisfaction. Eight o‘clock on the dot, just as the invitation had stated. Perfect Paying off the cab driver, she stepped from the back of the taxi with all the grace of a woman wearing a ball gown and tiara instead of dressed in a costume resembling a plucked chicken. Perhaps attending the masked ball as a swan princess hadn’t been the best choice, after all. The feathers tickled and the gold net she’d employed to restrain her hair had clearly failed in its duty. Auburn ringlets were already escaping, trembling at her temples and at the nape of her neck. She almost turned and fled to the relative safety of the cab. But at the last instant, she did the same as always when faced with an obstacle that caused uncertainty and fear.

  She forced her posture into painful stiffness and confronted it dead-on, jaw set, gaze unflinching, and fears buried so deep they’d never be unearthed.

  A group of party-goers passed by, no doubt anxious to get to the business of finding a mate. Immediately she felt better. A plump Juliet, an aging Cinderella, a painfully nervous Sleeping Beauty and a woman who had the audacity to attend as Lady Godiva joined the stream of visitors heading for the Beaumont mansion. One silk-and-feathered swan no longer seemed the least outrageous.

  Checking to be certain her mask covered her face—offering a protection she secretly appreciated—she walked toward the double doors leading into the mansion. Once inside, she looked around in amazement. It was quite a place. The marble entrance hall seemed to stretch into infinity, the huge support pillars decorated with lush pine garland, twinkling fairy lights and white satin bows. A massive chandelier, glittering with thousands of tiny prisms, caught the setting sun and scattered a dancing circle of rainbows in what some might consider a promise of irresistible hope.

  She tried to skirt the rainbows, but if she didn’t know better, she’d swear they sought her out, dancing across her white silk-and-lace costume and catching in her eyes. She hastened deeper into the hall where twin staircases curved upward to the second-floor ballroom, joining to form a perfect heart. It drew her forward, sparking an excitement that overrode her nervousness.

  A reception line formed at the top of the steps, hosted by a tall, striking man and a gorgeous, dark-haired woman. They had to be the Beaumonts and, without question, they were the most simply garbed of all. He’d dressed in a black tux, while his wife wore a floor-length gold sheath. At their feet romped a three-year-old boy, his miniature tux rumpled and his flaming red bow tie askew. He grinned at her from beneath a mop of dark curls, his amber-tinted eyes glittering with unmistakable mischief.

  She grinned back, relaxing for the first time in days. Since the line had ground to a halt, she stooped to talk to him, shoving her feathered mask on top of her head. “Hey, there, buster”

  “My name isn’t Buster,” he informed her with a trace of scorn. “That’s my friend’s name. Buster and Chick. They’re my bestest buddies. I’m Donato. I got named after my grandpa.”

  “It’s a lovely name,” Hanna assured gravely.

  He reached out with a cautious hand and touched one of her feathers. “You look pretty. Whatcha being?”

  It took an instant to understand his question. “Oh! I guess I’m a swan princess.”

  “I seen that story. You have to be a swan until the prince says he loves you. Right?”

  “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I just liked the costume.”

  Interesting she’d made this particular character choice when she’d learned long ago not to indulge in the fantasy that went along with it. She’d been trained from childhood to take care of herself and she’d been putting that training into practice for years now. No doubt, she’d continue to do so until the end of her days. Besides, she didn’t really need love. She was a strong, capable woman who didn’t require a man to make her life complete.

  So what was she doing here? a cynical inner voice demanded. The question had been flirting in the far recesses of her mind and her mouth curved into a self-mocking smile as she acknowledged its validity. She knew what she’d been telling herself.... She was searching for companionship. Nothing more. Someone to talk to, to share her day and hold her close during the endless nights. Someone she could lo—Her hands closed into fists. Someone she could relate to on an intellectual level.

  She caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eyes. Glancing up she noticed a man standing in the shadows beyond the reception line. He was even more attractive than her host Perhaps not quite as tall, but he had a lean, athletic build that appealed. The muscular strength evident beneath his black shirt wasn’t the same as the excessive weight-lifting that had sculpted Dix DuBerry’s body. Instead it spoke of swift action and whipcord strength. A smile touched her mouth.

  This man wouldn’t lumber gracelessly down a hallway.

  He responded to her appraisal with a nod and, realizing she’d been staring, she looked swiftly away. What in the world had gotten into her? Okay, so his shoulders were deliciously broad, his eyes as appealing as a forbidden dollop of hot fudge and his smile as enticing as any she’d ever seen. He obviously wasn’t here to find a wife or he’d be wearing a costume. That meant he was off-limits. Unable to resist, she glanced at him again. If she’d been a different type of woman, she’d have shielded the look with her lashes. But she’d always confronted the various aspects of her life head-on and she wasn’t about to change because of this man.

  He was still staring, his scrutiny so unmistakable, her earlier nervousness returned in a rush. Did he recognize her? Had he read the article about her business acumen? Slipping her mask back in place, she returned her attention to the little boy. “It’s been nice talking to you,” Hanna said.

  “Did you come here to get married?”

  “Maybe. I’d need to meet someone very special first.” Someone as special as the man standing behind the young boy.

  “You gotta gi
ve your ticket to my Aunt Shayne.” He pointed to an attractive blonde at the end of the line. “They won’t let you in if you don’t give her a ticket.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

  He stuck out his hand. “Wanna shake? I got taught how.”

  “I sure do.” She took his hand in hers, impressed by his firm shake. “Nice meeting you, Donato.”

  The line had moved forward and Hanna straightened, turning to greet her hostess. “Hello.” She offered her hand for a second time. “Hanna Tyler.”

  “Welcome. I’m Ella Beaumont.” She glanced at the little boy crouched at her feet and smiled. “I see you’ve met my son.”

  “He’s adorable.”

  “Thank you.” Eyes identical to Donato’s reflected wry amusement. “We think so, but we’re a bit prejudiced.”

  “Understandable.”

  Ella touched her husband’s arm, drawing his attention. “Rafe, this is Hanna Tyler.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He inclined his head in a courtly manner and took her hand in his. “Good luck this evening. I hope you find someone very special.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

  He indicated a slender blond woman at his side. “If you’ll give your ticket to my sister, Shayne, she’ll explain how the ball works.”

  Hanna gave a final nod and turned toward Shayne. Huge, dark eyes regarded her with a friendly expression. “Welcome to the Cinderella Ball,” she said.

  “Thank you. It’s a beautiful place.”

  “Isn’t it? Perfect for such a romantic purpose.” She took Hanna’s ticket and dropped it into the velvet-lined basket she held. “The ground and ballroom levels are available to visitors. So feel free to explore anywhere on those two floors. The rest, I’m afraid, is off-limits. You’ll find a banquet available downstairs and the gardens are particularly pleasant this evening. They can be reached through the dining area.”

  “And once I find someone...” Hanna hesitated, unable to assume finding a partner was inevitable, despite the purpose of the evening. “If I find someone? What then?”

  “The marriage ceremonies are conducted in the salons off the main ballroom. We offer a variety of services, and if you’ve any questions or problems during your stay, footmen are stationed in all the rooms. They’re wearing gold-and-white uniforms, so you can’t miss them.” Shayne’s smile came with a natural generosity Hanna found irresistible. “Now be sure to have a wonderful evening. And good luck finding the perfect partner.”

  Perfect? Hanna suppressed a sigh. Not likely. She’d be happy if she could find someone who found her interesting for herself, instead of who she was and what she could do for him. “Thank you, Shayne. I’ll try.”

  Unable to help herself, Hanna glanced once more in the direction of her mystery man. To her disappointment, he’d gone. The pang his disappearance stirred caught her by surprise. It also worried her. Emotions had no part in what would transpire this evening. That would be a mistake. Better this particular man take his irresistible smile elsewhere. The partner she chose would attract her intellectually, not sexually. His emotions and thoughts would be as precise and controlled as possible.

  She glanced at her watch and frowned. It was eightthirty already. She’d wasted a lot of time mooning over a man totally wrong for her purposes. If she didn’t get a move on the best choices would be snatched up. And she needed every minute of the next few hours to make sure the man she selected met her list of requirements.

  But perhaps it wouldn’t prove as difficult as she’d anticipated. After all, he’d be a companion, not a lover, a man of academic rather than emotional inclination. That was what she wanted, right? By utilizing a bit of logic and a standard process of elimination, it would be a snap.

  She gave an emphatic nod that loosened a few more disobedient curls. One intellectual, heavy on brainpower and light on love, coming up.

  Marc Salvatore stood on a balcony high above the ballroom, his shoulder propped against a snow-white pillar. He felt as though he hung above a fairyland, white twinkling lights and greenery adding to the otherworldly impression. For a while the swirl of color and movement dazzled the eye. But after a time, he found his gaze returning again and again to a petite redhead dressed in ivory—the woman who’d caught his eye in the reception line.

  Her hair was a deep auburn, the rich strands several shades paler around her face, like a perfect sunset reflecting on a pure sea of snow. She’d confined the heavy curls in some sort of golden net, as though in an attempt to tame their exuberance. But little ringlets escaped her mastery and danced around her huge feathered mask. More feathers decorated her costume, accenting an enchanting confection of lace and silk that made him think she’d come as a swan princess. Except for the minuscule straps that held her dress together, her shoulders were bare and seemed to glitter with gold dust. Her dress caught the light, as well, sequins or tiny glass diamonds splintering into rainbows with her every movement. Not that she moved often. No doubt that had been part of what attracted his attention, her stillness in the center of a storm of activity. And yet, the few times her body escaped the tight control she exerted, she became a miniature whirlwind of physical expression.

  She had an elegance that appealed, her body slender yet shapely with legs that were absolutely breathtaking. If circumstances had been different, he’d have swept down, removed her from her circle of admirers and taken her off somewhere private in order to follow up on those glances they’d exchanged in the reception line. If circumstances had been different.

  A soft rustle of skirts sounded behind him and he caught a distinctive whiff of perfume. “Hello, Shayne,” he said without turning around.

  “Clever man,” she teased. “Or is it that you can sense any time a woman’s around?”

  He reluctantly switched his attention from the redhead. “What can I say?” he confessed with a shrug. “It’s a Salvatore trail.”

  “And we poor women don’t stand a chance?”

  He fought to suppress a grin. “Consider yourself warned.”

  “Why aren’t you downstairs enjoying the festivities?” she asked.

  “I’m content to watch from here. Besides, I’m not looking for a wife.” He gave Rafe’s sister his full regard, as captivated by her beauty tonight as he’d been at their first meeting. She wore her honey-blond hair in a formal twist at the nape of her neck, a constrained style that belied the passion inherent in her vivid dark eyes. “Nor am I dressed appropriately.”

  “That’s not a problem. I have something you can use.” She pulled her hands from behind her back, dangling a sheathed sword and belt in front of him. “I brought this for you in case you wanted to play.”

  He tilted his head to one side and regarded her with amused suspicion. “Were you the one who sent the ticket?”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “And if I was?”

  “Are you trying to tempt me?”

  “Yes.” She smiled, enhancing her natural allure. Not that she was aware of it.

  Shayne seemed uniquely oblivious to her own attraction. He’d have done something to change that except he wasn’t in the market for either a lover or a bride, despite how he’d teased his brothers. With Shayne, he didn’t doubt, it would have to be the latter. She struck him as an all-or-nothing type of woman. Added to that minor inconvenience, Rafe had put out clear signals. His little sister was off-limits. And Marc had too much respect for Rafe to take advantage of his hospitality.

  “I appreciate the thought.” Marc gestured toward the sword. “But it wouldn’t be fair to play since I have no intention of paying the ultimate price. The women attending the Cinderella Ball want marriage.”

  “True.” She regarded him curiously. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want it, too, if you found the right woman downstairs?”

  The right woman... For some reason his thoughts turned to the redhead and he sighed in regret. “Tempting. But, no.”

  “Are you certain?” Shayne set the sword
against the pillar next to him. “You wouldn’t like to go downstairs for a little while and see if Cupid strikes?”

  “Quite certain, thank you.” He caught her chin in the crook of his index finger and lifted her face to his. “What about you? You’ve gone out of your way to find me a bride.... Are you interested in finding a husband?”

  For a brief instant her lips trembled before firming. “I did that once,” she confessed in a low voice. “There won’t be a second time.”

  Regret filled him. “My apologies,” he said, releasing her. He wasn’t often so clumsy with women. Nor would he deliberately cause such distress. “That was careless of me.”

  She shrugged, turning to stare out at the dancers twirling across the floor where the costumes created a kaleidoscope of vibrant color. “You weren’t to know.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, he was a fool to lose a woman like you,” Marc offered gently.

  “He didn’t lose me.” The yearning in her voice was painful to hear. If he didn’t sense it would be a mistake, he’d take her in his arms and offer the only comfort he could in a situation such as this. “I was young and foolish. We never had a chance to discover whether or not it would have worked.”

  “Perhaps sometime in the future you’ll have another chance with him?”

  “It’s unlikely.” She bowed her head. “A few years ago, perhaps. But not any longer. I’m not the woman I was.”

  “There’s not a man on this planet who wouldn’t want the woman you’ve become. Shayne...” He waited until she glanced over her shoulder at him. Waited until she’d accepted the sincerity in his eyes. “What you need to decide is whether or not he’s worth having in your life again.”

  “And if he is?”

  “Follow him to the ends of the earth,” Marc advised. “Show him what he lost when your relationship ended. Make him fight to take you back.”

  “Is that what you’d do?”

  It didn’t require any thought. “If I found that sort of love, I’d never allow anyone or anything to get in my way. I’d fight for her, protect and cherish her. And I’d love her every day I drew breath. She’d never know a moment’s doubt about how I fell.” He smiled to lighten the mood. “What can I say? It’s how I was raised.”