by Day Leclaire
He saw the caution darken her eyes, but her body swayed closer, seeming of its own accord. “How can I be certain?”
“You can’t.” He offered her an alternative to her balance sheet theory. “You can only go with what your senses tell you. You need to listen to your gut instincts. What do they say?”
“I don’t think I was given gut instincts.”
“Sure you were. Or you wouldn’t have refused the men your family encouraged you to marry. You would have settled for a zero balance.”
She tilted her head to one side, studying him. “Somehow, I doubt my family would approve of you. You’re not logical. And you’re far too handsome and charming.”
“Thank you. I’ll take their disapproval as a compliment.”
“Doesn’t that worry you...that my family might not like you?”
“Not at all. It will be my pleasure to change their opinion.”
“I almost forgot.” Amusement lurked in her eyes. “The great seducer, right?”
He cupped her cheek, sliding his thumb along the silken curve. “Have I seduced you into marrying me?”
“Yes.” Whisper-soft, but adamant. That pleased him.
“Then they’ll accept me, too.”
“And if they don’t?”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “If I can’t charm them, I’m afraid I’ll simply have to beat them into submission.”
She laughed again, the sound tainted with irony this time. “That will be interesting to see.”
“So are we decided? Do we go find a priest or minister or judge?”
For a long moment, she continued to stare at him, as though she were searching those nonexistent instincts for an answer. Slowly, she nodded. “Just one last question.”
“Fire away.”
“What happens if it doesn’t work out between us? Could we...could we try a trial run first?”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “A trial run?”
“Like...like a business contract. Could we try the marriage for a few months and see if it’s working? If not, we go our separate ways, no hard feelings.”
No hard feelings? If he lost her, hard feelings would be the least of it. It was his turn to scrutinize her. It didn’t take much to pinpoint the underlying nervousness, the hint of fear and bravado in the face of intense apprehension. “Why are you really doing this, Hanna? If you’re not sure about getting marned, why go through with it?”
“I am sure”
She was lying, but whether it was intentional or not, he couldn’t quite tell. “We can reassess our situation after a bit, if that would make you more comfortable.” Though he’d do everything within his power to turn their trial-run marriage into a permanent union. “How long is this probation period supposed to last?”
“Why don’t we give it until the first of the year. That’s what...? Sixty-four days.”
His brows drew together. “You know how many days it is until the end of the year?”
“I’m a great believer in accurate timekeeping.” She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand and returned to the point. “If either party wants out by then, we’ll go our separate ways. Agreed?”
He inclined his head, unwilling to commit aloud to something so alien to his basic nature. She might go her separate way, but once he’d made his vows, he fully intended to stick to them, come hell or high water. “So what happens next? Do we marry?”
“They told me when I arrived that there’s a county clerk in the library. We’re supposed to go there first and fill in a marriage. application. After that, we have a choice of ceremonies. I believe they’re upstairs off the ballroom.”
Marc stood and offered his hand. “The library it is.”
To his amusement, her apprehension had evaporated. Without a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her hand in his. “Hanna Salvatore. Sounds better than Hanna Tyler, don’t you think?”
“Much better,” he confirmed. “In fact, it sounds perfect.”
CHAPTER THREE
DORA SCOTT, COUNTY CLERK... Marriage Applications Processed Here. Form a line, no cutting, no excuses and feed at your own risk.
Hanna exchanged an amused glance with Marc as they read the large sign on the library desk. “I wonder what that part at the end means,” she murmured.
“It means,” Dora interrupted, “that last time I did this gig, I put on ten pounds because people kept forcing hors d‘oeuvres on me. Don’t know why. But being the polite, kind soul I am, I ate every blasted one of ’em and then had to work my butt off for the next month to get rid of the less-than-polite results.”
“So you’d rather we didn’t feed you?” Marc asked.
“Didn’t say that. Did you hear me say that? I said I ended up having to work it off.”
“Got it.” Marc turned to a nearby footman. “A tray of your best hors d’‘oeuvres, please.”
“Oh, heaven help me, I’m not sure I can,” Dora protested with a groan. The next instant, she offered a sly grin. “Aw, heck. Guess one little ol’ tray won’t hurt.”
“We were told we could fill out a marriage application here,” Hanna said, deciding it was time to get down to business. If she didn’t hurry and get this over with, she might do something incredibly smart...like turn tail and run.
“Right you are. And since you caught me in a generous—not to mention hungry—mood, I’ll get you processed pronto.” She slapped forms in front of them just as the footman returned bearing a heavily laden tray. “Go to it folks, while I have myself a little snack.”
Hanna picked up one of the pens lined up on the desk and tackled the application. It wasn’t terribly complicated. Name, age, marital status The only part that slowed her down came at the end. She glanced at Marc from the corner of her eyes. It would seem they were about to face their first little hurdle. How would a man with such strong family ties react? As she half expected, he paused in the middle of his scribbling and peered over her shoulder.
“It’s not a test, you know,” she deadpanned. “You can’t get the correct answers by looking at my paper.”
“That’s what you think. This is the sort of information men commit to memory...if they’re smart.” He tapped the line that read date-of-birth. “Particularly this one and one other that I guess will show up on the certificate.”
“What’s that?”
“The date we marned.”
“Oh, right.” She checked the bold-faced analog watch encircling her wrist “It’s twelve-oh-four. So it’s officially tomorrow. Does that help?”
His soft chuckle ignited a chain reaction that started deep in the pit of her stomach before spreading outward in hot, sweeping waves. A reaction, moreover, she seemed helpless to control. “Tomorrow, huh? It’ll be nice to have a wife so time-oriented. It should give balance to the relationship.” He glanced at her form again. “Hanna Louise, huh? Pretty.”
She returned the favor, checking his document, as well. “Marco? I think I like that even better than Marc.”
Had she really admitted that? Judging by the unmistakable warmth filling his rich brown eyes, she’d not only said it, but with that one simple declaration, she’d given him immense pleasure. Such a simple thing. Just words. And yet, judging by his reaction, they’d been as meaningful to him as anything she’d ever done for the town of Hidden Harbor.
“My family often calls me Marco. So if you prefer that version of my name, feel free to use it.”
“Thanks.”
He resumed his examination of her application. “You didn’t mention you were a widow.”
“Didn’t I?”
“I’m sorry, carissima. That’s a rough one.”
She stilled at the Italian endearment. “Are you doing your swashbuckler routine again?”
“No!” He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. Could salesmen fake sincerity? she couldn’t help but wonder. Perhaps, but not like this. The compassion darkening Marco’s eyes and lining his face weren’t put there in a glib attempt t
o impress her. His regret was sincere. “No. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m truly sorry. No one should have to face that sort of tragedy at so young an age. I remember how my father was after my mother died. If he hadn’t needed to take care of the six of us, I doubt he’d be here, today.”
It was her turn to offer compassion. “Oh, Marco. How terrible for all of you. How old were you when she died?”
“Eight.”
There was a wealth of emotion in that one, simple word. She could hear the pain reflected in his voice and knew the death of his mother had had a profound effect on him. As profound an effect as her background had on her? It would appear they were more attuned than she’d thought. She reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry, Marco.”
“You folks about done over there?” Dora interrupted.
Hanna glanced over her shoulder, wishing they had more time to discuss their respective pasts. But soon, they’d have all the time they needed. Perhaps too much, considering some of the details she’d kept from him. “We’ll be through in another minute.”
Leaning over the form, she diligently filled in the rest of the boxes...at least the boxes she could. Snatching up the document before Marco could peek again, she carried it to the desk, praying Dora wouldn’t comment. To her relief, aside from an upswept eyebrow, the clerk didn’t utter a word. Not the usual platitudes, not a smirk, not even a pitying look. Instead, she reluctantly set aside her tray of hors d’oeuvres and whipped through the processing of their forms.
“Now, show me some form of legal identification that says you are who you claim to be and we’re set.” Once that was accomplished she handed them a blue-and-white envelope. “Marriages are conducted in the salons off the ballroom. You give the papers in the envelope to whomever officiates. Got it? You’ll receive a pretty certificate in return once the deed is done, but that one’s for show. You’ll get a certified copy in the mail in a couple weeks. Any questions?”
“I think that covers it,” Marco said.
“Great. All that’s left is to wish you folks good luck. But most importantly... Be happy.” She reached for a cracker heaped with salmon. “Off you go before I get weepy. That always happens when I’m hungry.”
Marco released another of his husky laughs—the one guaranteed to seduce a woman regardless of age or marital status. “Thank you, Dora We appreciate your help.” Dropping an arm around Hanna’s shoulders, he swept her through the library door.
It took them a few minutes to make their way upstairs. The ballroom seemed to have grown since she’d last been there, the floor stretching before them like an endless ocean. As they charted a course across the expanse, she half expected one of the men gathered around her earlier to approach and demand an explanation for her disappearance. But none did. To her relief, they seemed to have found new love interests. By the time she and Marco were partially across the room, it felt as though the room hadn’t grown at all, but had shrunk, and they were moving at lightning fast speed, so fast she could scarcely catch her breath.
Outside the salons, she froze, panicking. “Marco—”
His understanding was instantaneous. “It’ll work out, Hanna. I promise.”
“Maybe we’re rushing into this.” She turned blindly toward him. “Maybe we should wait.”
“Do you want to return home, alone and unwed? Or would you rather go back together, as husband and wife?”
He’d played an ace card she didn’t realize he possessed. Return to life as it had been? Caring for her family. Caring for the business. Carrying the burden of so many on her shoulders. Alone and unwed, said it all. Or she could have... Marco. Hanna shook her head. “I don’t want to go home without you. But I don’t know if this is right, either.”
He caught her shoulders in his hands. “It is right,” he insisted with quiet conviction. “I know it’s hard for you to open yourself to another. But I won’t hurt you, I swear it. Marry me, Hanna.”
She stared at him, seeing only a stranger in her panic. But then her vision cleared and she saw, truly saw, the man standing before her. At a little over six foot, Marco Salvatore wasn’t the tallest man she’d ever met, not compared to the Tyler clan. But he had to be the most stalwart-Something about him spoke of indomitable strength, of a man not easily swayed by others. He regarded her steadily, his eyes—those wonderful, warm, coffee-brown eyes—were calm and direct and unwavering. No question, he was one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen.
And that gave her pause.
Marco Salvatore was a charmer, no two ways about it, precisely the sort of man Pru had warned her to avoid. People listened to his deep, rich voice, with the echo of his Italian heritage still lingering in the lilting tones, and they responded. They were helpless to resist. Between the pull of that voice, the sincerity of his gaze and the striking planes of his face—not to mention the lean elegance of his frame—he was a man who could charm a woman into giving up everything. With one softly spoken word, she’d turn her heart over to his keeping—her heart, her body, even her soul. But there was one aspect that frightened her more than anything else.
He was a man she could truly love. And love had no business in her life.
All the while she stood there and stared, he remained quiet and steadfast beneath her gaze. He didn’t shift nervously as some she knew, or break into hasty speech. Nor did he give any sign of impatience. He simply waited and let her look her fill.
“Marc...” She’d reverted to the Americanized version of his name, perhaps as a subconscious effort to put some distance between them. “Maybe this is a mistake.”
“Marry me, Hanna. Please.”
Four simple words. But they said so much. More than any man ever had before. Do it! a part of her urged. She’d never have another opportunity like this, one that combined someone she found absolutely irresistible with a man who seemed to find her just as appealing. Her family couldn’t interfere, her background remained shrouded in secrecy, at least for the moment. And he wanted her. She couldn’t mistake the look in his eyes any more than she could mistake the passionate desire inherent in his kisses.
She took a deep breath. “Yes, Marco,” she said, hardly believing that she, of all people, would take such a foolish risk. “I’ll marry you.”
“Civil ceremony or religious?”
“Civil.”
He mclined his head, though she sensed he regretted her choice. “That would be this room, here.” He opened the door to the nearest salon and gestured for her to enter.
She hesitated in the doorway, underwhelmed by what she saw. Oh, sure, the room was as elegant and beautifully furnished as everything else about this desert castle. But the ice-blue decor lacked something. It had a barrenness that chilled her, the formality and soullessness something that struck an all-too-familiar chord.
“Could we try another room?” she asked.
A tender smile transformed his face, sweeping across the chiseled features and making him even more attractive, if such a feat were possible. “My pleasure.”
He opened the door to the next salon which offered a religious ceremony, and Hanna didn’t hesitate, but stepped inside. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear someone had reached inside her heart and pulled from it her most secret and childish longing.
It wasn’t that the room was the most beautiful she’d ever seen, or the most elegant. But as sure as she stood there, it had to be the most homelike. Everything about it felt warm and welcoming, as if the room held its breath in anticipation of a noisy family erupting through the doorway at any moment. Brightly colored throw pillows were scattered about, heaped on the couch and tossed in front of a crackling fire. Fresh flowers of every hue and variety were stuck in earthen vases, along with cattails and wheat stalks and meandering vines. For the first time in her entire life, Hanna felt like she belonged.
An elderly gentlemen garbed in white robes stood at one end of the room, behind a low podium. He gave them a moment to look around. “Do you wish to be
wed?” he asked.
Hanna nodded and he motioned them toward a pair of low stools placed in front of his podium. Marco took her hand, leading her to the stools, and handed over the packet of papers Dora had prepared. Without hesitation, he knelt and she followed suit.
“Before we begin, I’m required to ask that you give careful consideration to the step you’re about to take,” the clergyman explained. “Marriage is a serious commitment, not to be entered into lightly. So I ask that you face each other and study your partner carefully. Make sure that your choice is the right one.”
Once again, Hanna turned and looked at Marco. And once again, he returned her gaze with a steadfast certainty that instantly expelled all doubt. She wasn’t sure where this path would lead. That was unusual enough since she never walked down an unfamiliar road—or at least, one she hadn’t carefully mapped beforehand. But somehow she knew that with Marco beside her she’d be safe. He wouldn’t steal her precious control, nor would he force her to take a path she didn’t want. He’d simply walk with her, making the journey a special one.
“I’m certain.” The words seemed to be drawn from deep inside, uttered without hesitation and without conscious thought.
“You won’t be sorry, amor mio.” He turned to the official as though there’d never been a moment’s question on his part. “Please begin.”
“Very good. Join hands, if you will.”
The words that followed washed over Hanna, spoken sometimes in English and at times in Latin, the soft sounds lingering in the air like a sweet fragrance. When it was her turn to speak the vows, she turned to Marco in silent panic. He squeezed her hands reassuringly and the words flowed, free and certain. And then he made his promises to her, promises to honor and cherish, to love and protect. Promises she knew he would try to keep because he was an honorable man—promises he didn’t have a hope of fulfilling.
“Before I pronounce you man and wife, would you care to exchange rings? We have them on hand,” the clergyman offered. “They’re tokens, really. Just something to use until you can replace them with the genuine article.”
