by Renee Roszel
Lucy grabbed Helen’s arms and shook hard. “Don’t you ever—ever—breathe a word about that myth to him, do you understand? First of all, Jack has a girlfriend. He told me himself that he loved somebody, and I saw it in his eyes when he whispered to her on the phone. So don’t mention that myth in front of him.” When she realized she was hurting her sister, she dropped her hands. “Forgive me. I know you and Damien believe in the D’Amour myth because of the way you met and all, but—but, well...”
She shook her head, vaulting up, needing to pace. Stalking the length of the Victorian room, she spun to face her sister. “I’m not even sure I believe in love anymore. I hate Stadler, and yet, sometimes...” Her lips began to tremble with memories, and she had to work to get herself under control. “I don’t know my own feelings because of him. He—he’s made it hard for me to—to trust. To believe in...” She swallowed hard. “Look, Helen, Damien, I might as well say it out loud,” she cried. “Marriage isn’t in my vocabulary anymore. I don’t know if it ever will be.”
The door creaked open and they turned to see Jack standing there, his expression troubled. He peered down the hallway, then stepped inside and closed the door. “Declare that any louder, Luce, and the jig is up,” he admonished in a whisper. “Stadler’s coming down the hall.”
Lucy hurried over to him, horrified. “What did you hear?” she demanded. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Jack with that foolish myth story.
He took her hand and led her away from the entrance. “Shush,” he cautioned. Putting a finger to his lips, he cocked his head as though listening. A door down the hall banged shut. He faced her then, releasing her hand. His brow knit. “Luce, please make sure the door is closed before you start shouting about how you don’t believe in marriage.”
She frowned back, her jaw working. It didn’t look as though he’d heard anything about the myth. He was only concerned about the marriage lie. She nodded, embarrassed. “I—I will.” She remembered the newspaper article, and her anger flared. Looking around, she spied the sheet of fax paper on the floor. Dashing over, she snatched it up to show him. “We have bigger problems right now. Read this.”
He gave it a cursory glance. “I’ve heard. My secretary called. It’s in the New York papers, too.”
Lucy felt as though he’d just dropped a hot rock into her stomach, and she groaned. “This is great.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said quietly.
She gave his chest a petulant shove. “Why do you have to be rich and famous anyway?”
Damien chuckled. “Life can be a bitch.”
Lucy glared at her brother-in-law. She knew his opinion about the myth and hoped her bloodthirsty look told him to keep out of it. With a renewed chuckle, he turned back to feeding his daughter.
“Look, Luce.” Jack took her hands. “There’s no problem. We can announce that it will be a private ceremony here in the inn. Period. No press allowed.”
With his encouraging smile, she couldn’t stay mad at him. After all, this new problem was causing him more difficulty than her. He was the famous one. She managed a weak smile. “What are you going to tell Desiree?” His brow furrowed, and Lucy didn’t blame him for being upset. She took his hand. “If you’d like, I can talk to her. Assure her—”
“No,” he interrupted, “I’ll talk to her.”
Knowing she was leaping wildly off the subject, but unable to stop herself, Lucy asked, “Is Desiree the one, Jack? The one you loved and couldn’t have?”
He eyed her dubiously. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugged, having no idea why. “Just curious. I only thought—from the way things sounded the other night on the phone—that maybe you were getting somewhere with her.”
He studied her for a long moment, unsmiling. She waited, feeling off center, wondering why she wanted his answer to be—no. Wondering why she wanted him to tell her that Desiree was a passing fling, merely a way to ease his masculine libido.
After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded. “Let’s just say I’m working on it.”
Her mood dipped. For some reason, she didn’t think she liked Desiree. She didn’t think the sexy French confection was good enough for him. Jack wouldn’t be happy with some driven, bony, self-centered nymph. He needed a solid, sensible woman. One who would make him a cozy home, give him two or three children with laughing cinnamon eyes and—
“Is something wrong, Luce?” he asked, breaking through her musings.
She started, blinking to bring him into focus. A terribly arresting presence, he stood there, tall, broad shouldered, his scent pleasantly male.
“Uh—no, I—that’s just great,” she managed, holding on to her smile.
Jack’s love life was none of her business.
“You don’t have to sew that button on my shirt, Lucy,” Jack said as he thumbed through his business faxes and the mail, pretending that Lucy’s nearness wasn’t driving him mad with longing.
She looked up from her perch on the couch that served as his bed. She wore soft-looking jeans and a short-sleeved pink sweater. Her feet were tucked beneath her. He drank her in as desire surged through him. He wanted to take her in his arms, make love to her, but he kept his expression impassive.
“It’s my pleasure,” she said. “You know I love to sew.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “Well, it’s nice of you, but not necessary. The laundry usually does it for me.”
“Not while I’m around.” She wet the end of a piece of thread. Though he struggled to ignore her, when she puckered up like that it was damned hard. After she lowered her glance to thread the needle, he forced himself to look away. Staring blankly at the mail, he couldn’t seem to register anything but her nearness. Pretending disinterest to her while she sat so close to him was damned near impossible.
The phone rang. Elissa had moved it to the table beside the couch when Jack started getting daily calls from Desiree.
“Jack,” Elissa shouted from the top of the stairs, “it’s for you.”
“Thanks.” He picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Well, Jack,” said a familiar male voice on the other end of the line, “what’s this I hear about you getting married?”
Jack cringed at this unexpected complication. “Well, well. This is a surprise,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Jack?” Lucy asked tentatively.
He looked her way. “Just a second,” he said into the receiver. “Yes, Luce?”
“Is this private?”
He shrugged, nodding. “That would be better.”
She bit off the thread and laid the shirt beside him. “All done anyway. I’ll go up and see the twins.”
Once she’d left and the basement door clicked shut, Jack turned his attention to the phone. “Nate Broom. It’s good to hear from you, man. Is there a problem with the sports equipment I donated to your church?”
Nate laughed. “Nope. Everything’s great. And I don’t know how much credit you deserve, but the gang crime in my neighborhood is down by twenty percent since your stuff came. I think, between your money and my sweat, we’re going to turn some of these inner-city kids around. Say, when are you dropping by to hear one of my hellfire sermons?”
“Next time I’m in Chicago. Count on it. How’s Maggie?”
“Maggie’s wonderful. Starting to show. Our third’s due in July. But don’t get me off the subject. You’re in big trouble, buddy. I can’t believe you thought you could get married and not have me perform the ceremony. I’m hurt, fella. I’m sitting here bleeding.” Though Nate didn’t sound all that devastated, Jack knew his friend would naturally expect him to officiate.
The two men went way back. They’d met as kids in juvenile hall after some minor scrapes with the law. Both of them had had some good luck come into their lives—by way of male helping hands—or they might have turned out very different people. “Look, Nate, it’s not that I don’t want you to—”
“Don’t bother explaini
ng, Jack. I’ll forgive you when I get there. There’s only one hitch. It’s Thursday. I’m taking some of the kids on a camp-out, but I can catch a flight out of Chicago on Saturday morning. So, good buddy, as sure as the sun shines, expect me for the ceremony.”
“But, Nate—”
“Oh, and congratulations. I know how long you’ve loved her. I’m happy for you, man. I’ll see you soon.”
“But, Nate, I—”
The phone went dead. Jack mouthed a curse. Nate had one tiny flaw in his character. He didn’t let you finish a sentence. Jack wondered how he counseled his flock. Probably told them to get their heads straight and shut up.
He closed his eyes, his chuckle ironic. Well, once he explained the situation, Nate would understand. The trip wouldn’t be a total loss. They’d get to see each other.
Absently, he began to shuffle through the mail. His consciousness caught on the name “Damien Lord” and he realized Jule had mixed Damien’s mail with his own. Suddenly restless, he pushed off the couch and headed up the basement stairs.
Before he reached the door to Helen and Damien’s room, he could hear voices. The door stood ajar. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, then exhaled with relief when he remembered that this evening Stadler had taken Sareena to Mel Tillis’s opening show of the season. There was no danger of her suspicious ex-fiancé overhearing anything he shouldn’t.
As he drew nearer, he heard Helen say, “But, Lucy, I don’t agree with you. Jack has a right to know about the myth.”
Deciding it wasn’t gentlemanly to eavesdrop, he knocked even though the door lolled half-opened. Smiling, he asked, “What myth?”
Helen and Lucy looked up from where they were standing over the double baby stroller that served as the twins’ bed. Both women stared at him, looking as though they’d been caught with their hands in his wallet.
Helen recovered first. “The door wasn’t closed, was it?”
He shook his head, coming in. “I brought up this letter for Damien. Where should I put it?”
Helen indicated the bedside table. “There’s fine. He’ll be back in a minute.” She cast Lucy a worried glance that intrigued Jack.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “What myth do I have a right to know about?”
Lucy was still frozen in her bent-over stance, staring at him, her eyes wide and somehow frightened. She straightened, slanting her sister a narrowed look.
Helen covered the sleeping babies, then she, too, straightened. “I’m not supposed to tell you, Jack.” She went to the bed and sat down on it, crossing her arms. “So my lips are sealed.”
Confused, Jack looked from one sister to the other. “Luce?”
She swallowed hard, her cheeks pinkening to match her sweater. “It’s nothing.”
He lifted a disbelieving brow. “If it’s nothing, then it can’t hurt to tell me.”
Lucy’s shoulders were stiff, her hands clasped before her. She turned away.
Jack grew worried and faced Helen. “My Lord, is somebody sick?”
Helen squinted at her sister, looking put out with her, then she returned her gaze to Jack. “Lucy, I’m sorry, but I think fate brought him up here. He has a right to know.”
Lucy spun on her sister. “A letter brought him up here! Jule’s dyslexia brought him up here! That’s all!”
Helen harrumphed and got off the bed. She went to Jack and took his hands in hers. “Jack, it’s like this. There’s a myth about the D’Amour mansion. It states that any woman who sleeps there, under a-full moon, on her birthday, will be destined to marry the first man she sees after she wakes up.” She squeezed his fingers and cast a quick, fretful glance back at her sister, who stood stone-still, looking out the window. “Lucy slept in the mansion, under a full moon, on her birthday, and you were the first man she saw.” She heaved a big sigh. “There. It’s out. I feel better.” She released Jack’s fingers and went back to perch on the bed. She squinted at Lucy. “So hire Elissa and sue me.”
The blonde whirled to face Jack. “Ignore her. She’s lactating. Her hormones are all haywire. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” Looking as though she wanted to die, Lucy brushed past him and hurried from the room.
“Oh, heavens, Jack. That look on your face,” Helen said. “I’ve done a bad thing, haven’t I?”
Jack glanced at her, not sure what to think.
“You look awful.” She clutched her hands together. “Lucy said it would embarrass you, but I thought—I mean, with the marriage thing going this far, I felt in my heart it was fate, and—and...” She stopped, bit her lip. “Well, that’s how Damien and I met. We believe in the myth.” She shook her head, running her hands distract edly through her hair. “Have I done wrong, Jack?”
The magnitude of Helen’s revelation had stopped him cold, like a club to the back of his head. He frowned, shocked. Loving Lucy the way he had all these years, he’d been willing to go along with a fake wedding, knowing she wasn’t emotionally ready to hear of his love. But now, now that Nate was on his way to marry them, and now that he knew about the myth...
Damn! Did he have to get bashed in the head with it before he knew this marriage was right? He loved Lucy with all his heart and soul. They had a legitimate marriage license, and a real minister was coming to officiate. It had to be right. Had to be fate! Lucy simply wasn’t ready to see it yet.
The inevitability of it filled the air like a high-voltage current, lifting the short hairs at his nape, constricting his ability to breathe. Did he dare go through with the insane plan his heart was aching for?
“Jack?” Helen asked cautiously.
He glanced her way, still scowling. Feeling a mixture of shameful guilt and heady satisfaction, he simply stared at her, his body rigid with tension.
“Say something,” Helen whispered, looking as though she was afraid if she spoke too loud he might explode.
He worked his jaw, coming to a hard-fought decision. Damien had said it almost a week ago. Lucy would discover she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Jack just had to do his part.
After all, hadn’t he just discavered that he was her destirty?
A pressure in his head, in his chest, told him his emotions were still warring, making him feel unsure that he had any right to do this. Suddenly, he seemed to be standing on the sidelines, watching himself, as he turned to fully face Helen.
With a degree of disbelief, he heard himself say, “I forgot to mention, I found somebody to play the part of the minister. He’ll be perfect.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN A daze, Lucy stared into the murky looking glass over her dressing table. When she’d bought the cream linen fabric she’d made this jacket dress from, she’d had no idea it would become her wedding gown. Well, her wedding gown for her fake wedding.
Absently, she fingered the gold-and-diamond angel pin on her lapel, fretting that the above-the-knee hem was shorter than she might have preferred for a wedding dress. Fake wedding dress, she amended glumly.
She sighed, shaking her head at herself. The tiny diamond stud earrings that had been her mother’s winked at her earlobes. She had pulled her hair back, capturing the willful stuff as well as she could in a turquoise clip. But unruly tendrils fell about her face, stubbornly defiant of being tamed. She only wished she had the same, go-to-blazes spirit as her hair. That might make this fraud easier to deal with. Heaving a despondent groan, she turned away from her grim reflection.
Her room was relatively dark for late afternoon since she’d been forced to pull the drapes across the slice of basement window set high in the wall. Media photographers were gathering like flies, threatening her privacy as they attempted to snap pictures of Jack Gallagher’s elusive bride-to-be.
“You about ready?” Elissa called, tapping on her bedroom door. “It’s nearly four o’clock.”
Exhaling forlornly, Lucy stepped into the beige pumps she’d borrowed from her older sister. “I guess.”
She walked to the door feeling as th
ough she were going to the gallows. How could her pride have gotten her into such a huge, horrible lie? She wasn’t even sure if it had been her pride, or possibly Elissa’s, or even Jack’s somehow. She didn’t have that much ego. So how was it that she was pretending to get married today, and that tomorrow the story would be splashed across newspapers all over the country? The whole idea was absurd. But at this point, there wasn’t much she could do about it. Except make fools out of them all—especially Jack. And she wouldn’t do that. What a headline that would make.
Besides, she couldn’t stand to see her ex-fiancé’s triumphant grin if he discovered his suspicions had been correct all along. He’d stayed at the inn for exactly that reason—hoping to prove the whole thing was a pride-saving lie.
Dam Stadler’s Machiavellian hide.
When she opened her door, she expected to see Elissa, but instead, Jack was looming there. She caught her breath. She’d never seen him looking quite so—so dangerously attractive—somehow predatory, though there was no overt sign of it. He looked so laid-back and casual, she had no idea where that absurd notion had come from. His hands were plunged indifferently into his trouser pockets, and he was grinning down at her.
Clearly his dove gray cashmere jacket and black, raw silk trousers were of designer quality. His shirt was black, with one of those non-collars that looked almost clerical. There was an attitude about his attire that was bold yet classic, strong yet quietly seductive.
“Hi,” he said. “How are you doing?”
The sound of his voice brought her out of her momentary trance and she asked, “What—what are you doing here? I thought the groom wasn’t supposed to see his bride before the...” She realized she was being silly and laughed self-consciously. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting.”
“I thought you might need some bolstering.” He took her hand. “Besides, I don’t believe in bad luck. How do you feel?”
“Terrible.” She laced her fingers with his, shaking her head. “Don’t you?”
He glanced away, his smile gone. “Yeah, in a way.” When he looked at her again, he gave her a wink. “But I have a feeling it will work out.”
