The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée

by Sandra Marton

  David looked at the love seat in question. “Comfortable” was not a word he’d have used to describe it, but then, compared to the other chairs and sofas in the cavernous room, he figured she might have been right. He ran his hand over the rectangle of white lace centered on the headrest.

  “Antimacassars,” he said with a little laugh. “I didn’t think they made them anymore.”

  Stephanie turned toward him, a sheaf of papers in her hand. Something that resembled a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “They don’t, but Clare does.”

  “Your sister-in-law?”

  “Correct. Antimacassars aren’t popular items in today’s world. I’m surprised you’d even know the word.”

  “I had an aunt who had antimacassars draped over every chair and sofa in what she called ‘the front room.’” David strolled to a fireplace that looked big enough to house a family of four, tucked his hands into the back pockets of his chinos and put one booted foot up on the hearth. “The room was off-limits, but sometimes, when we were visiting, I used to sneak inside. It was kind of like stepping into a time warp. Chairs that creaked when you sat down, lampshades hung with dusty…” He frowned, as if he’d just realized what he was saying, and cleared his throat. “Not that this is anything like Aunt Min’s front room,” he said quickly. “This is, well, it’s…interesting.”

  “Don’t try and be polite, Mr. Chambers. It would be too out of character. Besides, there’s no need to mince words. This room is not interesting. It’s ugly. Everybody knew it, except for my husband.” She tapped the stack of papers on the edge of the desk, squared off the edges and handed them to him. “This is all the correspondence I’ve had with my lawyer, with the judge, with Dawes and Smith…”

  “Clare’s attorneys?”

  “That’s right.”

  David fanned through the documents. “Impressive.”

  “But meaningless. I’d lost the battle before the first shot was fired.”

  -“Yes. Jack told me your husband and his sister held all his property jointly. That means—”

  “I know what it means,” Stephanie said impatiently. “I also know what Avery promised me—”

  “Money,” David said.

  “The money I’m entitled to.” Her face pinkened but her head was high. “As for what I meant about losing the battle before the first shot was fired…you should be aware that there isn’t a person in this county who wanted me to collect a dime from my late husband’s estate.”

  “What people want has little to do with what the law determines.”

  Stephanie laughed. “Mr. Chambers, look around you. You’re standing in Avery Willingham’s home, in the town named for his great-great-great-grandfather. Maybe I left out a great or two—I never did get it straight. My husband owned this town and the people in it. Everyone admired him and revered him—”

  “Everyone,” David said, his eyes on her face, “except for you.”

  Stephanie’s gaze never wavered. “Have you come here to pass judgment, sir, or to tender advice? If it’s judgment, I’ve had enough to last a lifetime and you can just turn around and go straight out the door. If it’s advice, I suggest you read through those papers and then tell me what you think.”

  David smiled. “I gather you’re not an advocate for delicate Southern womanhood, Mrs. Willingham.”

  “Delicacy is an indulgence,” Stephanie said coolly, folding her arms, “and I have neither the time nor the patience for it.”

  “No.” His tone was the chilly equal of hers. “Not with your husband’s assets at stake.”

  She didn’t so much as blink. “That’s right. So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to read those documents or are you going to leave?”

  Amazing, he thought. This woman only gave the appearance of fragility. Under that delicate exterior, she had a strength he admired, even if he didn’t admire the greed that drove it.

  “Well? What’s it going to be, Mr. Chambers?”

  Logic and reason told him that his best bet would be to dump the papers on the nearest table, but he’d put in long hours on the road to get here. What would be the point in walking out now? Besides, he was doing this for Jack, not for the widow Willingham. So he walked to the love seat she’d designated as comfortable, undid the buttons on his jacket and cautiously eased his six-foot-two-inch frame onto the bottle green velvet.

  “Brew me a pot of strong coffee and give me an hour,” he said, “and then we’ll talk.”

  Stephanie fought to keep the relief from showing on her face. For a minute or two, she’d thought David might really drop her papers into her arms and march out the door. And she hadn’t wanted that, despite her threats. She needed his advice…and needing his advice was surely the sole reason she’d want anything whatsoever to do with this man.

  She watched as he began reading the first page. After a minute, he frowned, half rose, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside. Then he sat back and pushed up the sleeves of his cotton sweater, all the while never taking his eyes from the page.

  He’d already forgotten her presence. Well, she was accustomed to that. Avery used to do the same thing… No. It wasn’t the same. Her husband had deliberately ignored her. It had been a way of showing her her proper place in his life, but David was oblivious to her because he’d lost himself in reading the documents. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and those piercingly blue eyes were fixed on the printed page.

  Her gaze fell to his hands. They were powerful, and very masculine. His forearms were muscular and lightly dusted with dark hair. He should have looked as out of place as a weight lifter at a tea party, perched on the ridiculous love seat with his boots planted firmly on the flowered rug, but he didn’t. He looked—he looked big, and wonderfully rugged, and he dominated the room with his presence.

  “Do I get that coffee or not?”

  She started at the brusqueness of his voice. He looked up, his expression unreadable, and then he gave her a smile that could only be described as patronizing.

  “Or is making coffee a skill you haven’t mastered?”

  “You’d be shocked at the skills I’ve mastered,” Stephanie said with frigid disdain.

  No, David thought as she swept from the room, hell, no, he wouldn’t…and then he took a deep breath, forced his mind back from where it was threatening to wander, and focused on the law.

  The law, at least, always made sense.

  * * *

  He was barely aware of Stephanie placing a silver serving tray on the table beside him. He reached out, located the cup of coffee by feel, and took a sip. It was black, hot and strong, and surpassingly good. He acknowledged it with a curt nod.

  The next time he surfaced, the cup, and the pot, were both empty. Stephanie was sitting across from him, her feet crossed at the ankles, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

  “You drank it all,” she said. “Do you want me to make more?”

  David shook his head, rotated his shoulders, and lifted the papers from the cushion beside him.

  “No, that’s fine. I’m done reading.” He rose and walked to the secretary.

  “And?” Stephanie said. “What do you think?”

  He swung around and faced her. He could see her fingers knotting together. She was apprehensive, and he could hardly blame her. She’d invested half a dozen years, maybe more, in a project named Avery Willingham, and now she was about to be cut out of the payoff.

  “And,” he said with a smile as bright as a shark’s, “your chances of changing the judge’s decision range from slim to none.”

  “I don’t want to change his decision. I thought you understood that. Clare can have everything. I only want what I’m entitled to.”

  “Nothing. That’s what you’re entitled to, in the eyes of the law.”

  Stephanie nodded. Her face gave nothing away. “Well, then, I guess that’s—”

  “There was no pretense about it, I have to give you that much,” David said, his voice harsh.
>
  “No pretense?”

  “About why you decided to snag Willingham.” He jerked his head toward the secretary, and the documents. “It was a tradeoff, plain and simple. He put money in the piggy bank, and you gave him what he wanted. I have to hand it to you, Scarlett. You look like a throwback to Jane Austen, but the truth is that you’ve got a cash register where most people have a heart.”

  Stephanie flushed and rose to her feet. “Contrary to the sleazy little script you’ve worked up, Mr. Chambers, I did not set out to snag Avery. I knew him for many years. I worked for him, as his secretary.” David snorted and she stalked toward him, eyes flashing with anger. “I was a damn good secretary, too!”

  “Until you looked around and saw that there was a chance at a better-paying job.”

  “You’re like all the rest. You know it all, and don’t give a damn for the truth!”

  “Tell it to me, then,” David said, his laughter suddenly gone. “Give me something to go on, something that makes this look like anything but what it is.”

  “Prove my innocence, you mean? I thought lawyers were supposed to defend their clients, regardless of guilt or innocence.”

  “You’ve got your facts twisted, Scarlett. You’re not my client, remember? As for guilt or innocence…there’s none at issue here.”

  “Then why do you expect me to defend myself to you?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good. Because I don’t intend to.” Stephanie slapped her hands on her hips. “But I’ll tell you this much. I was Avery’s secretary for a year. And then…” Her throat constricted as she swallowed. “And then he said what he really needed was a wife. Someone to run his home and entertain his guests.”

  David’s smile was wolfish. “And I’ll bet you were even better at providing entertainment than you were at taking dictation.”

  “In return,” she said, refusing to be drawn into the game. “Avery agreed to—to compensate me. It was his idea, all of it. The marriage, the terms…and the money.”

  “And you jumped at the offer.”

  Stephanie thought of the shock she’d felt when Avery had proposed the arrangement, of how she’d agonized over it; of how he had reassured her that it was the only way she could ensure proper care for Paul…

  And of his promise that nothing between them would change.

  “Is this how the law is practiced on your turf, Mr. Chambers?” Her voice was cool and steady. It had to be. She would show no weakness, ever again. “Do lawyers get to be judge and jury, too?”

  He smiled in a way that made her want to take a step back.

  “No. They don’t.” He began moving toward her and she couldn’t help it, she did take a step back, then another, until her shoulders hit the wall. “Frankly, I’ve always thought that was unfortunate. After a while, most lawyers can pretty much tell if a client’s telling them the truth—or a load of bull.”

  “I’m not your client, remember?”

  “It’s a good story, Scarlett, and you tell it well. But the simple truth is that you conned Avery Willingham into marriage. Well, maybe that’s a bit harsh.” His smile sent shivers up her spine. “What you did was set out the bait. Then you settled back, waited—”

  “Get out of my house!”

  “What’s the problem? Is the truth too rough for your delicate tastes?” Darkness filled his eyes. “Or is there another truth, one that I’ve somehow missed? If there is, tell it to me now.”

  Of course, there was another truth. The only truth. But she had made a promise to Paul, one she would not break.

  “The late Mr. Willingham bought you.” His voice was flat and harsh. “Twenty-five hundred bucks a month, deposited into an account in your name. That was the deal.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That was the deal.”

  David nodded calmly, even though he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. He looked down into those chocolate eyes. What had he expected? That she’d weep? That she’d spill some incredible tale explaining that she’d been forced into the marriage? He’d come to this house, knowing the truth. She’d sold herself to the highest bidder. She’d gone to a man’s bed for money…

  But it was desire that would have brought her to his bed, had he asked. She’d moaned with need in his arms, returned his kisses with a passion he still remembered, and he hadn’t bought those moments with coins dropped into a till. He could make her moan again, want him again, even now. All he had to do was reach out for her…

  David cursed under his breath. He strode past her, took a couple of deep breaths, just enough to be sure he had himself under control again, then turned around.

  “You wanted my legal advice, and here it is.” His eyes met hers. “Remember that old saw about shutting the barn door after the horse is gone?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, it’s too late. You should have consulted a lawyer before you agreed to marry Willingham.”

  “Avery was a lawyer,” she said softly. “He assured me that he’d take care of everything.”

  “Yeah, well, he certainly did. He fixed it so the gravy train stopped the day he died.”

  “I thought—I hoped my—my arrangement with my husband could be construed as a kind of contract,” Stephanie said softly.

  “You mean, an oral contract?” David shook his head. “You’d need a disinterested witness, or at least a set of circumstances that would make a reasonable person think such a contract might have been possible. Your best hope would be to find a judge who’d take pity on you and agree that a man couldn’t cut his wife off without a dime…but you’ve already traveled that route.”

  She nodded, put her hands into the pockets of her jeans and looked down at the floor. For the very first time, there was the slump of defeat in her shoulders. Despite what he knew about her, David felt a twinge of sympathy.

  “Do you think Mr. Russell would agree with your opinion?”

  “Yes,” he said, because there was no point in lying.

  “Well.” She swallowed, lifted her head, and looked him squarely in the eye. “Thank you for your trouble, Mr. Chambers.”

  “You could contact another attorney, not the one who represented you before, ask if he’d take the case on.”

  “No. You’ve made it very clear that it would be an impossible battle, and besides, no one around here would touch this.” She held out her hand. “Again, I thank you for your trouble—”

  “I suppose,” David said, “I could get you a stay, so that you wouldn’t have to vacate the house by today.”

  She drew back her hand, tucked it into her pocket, and shook her head. “There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable.”

  “Do you have a place to go?”

  “Of course,” she said instantly, the lie tripping from her tongue with amazing ease, but there wasn’t a way in the world she was going to let anyone—David, especially—know how bad her situation was.

  “And you have something stashed away to live on.” His smile was quick and unpleasant. “All that money, going into your account month after month… It must have piled up a tidy bit of interest by now.”

  Lying the second time was even easier. “Certainly,” she said briskly. She brushed by him and made her way toward the hall. “Thank you for your time, and please thank Mr. Russell, too. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a great deal to do—”

  “I just keep wondering,” David said, “did you give your husband value for his money?”

  She swung toward him, her face drained of color. “That’s none of your business!”

  “Actually, it is.”

  What in the name of heaven are you doing, Chambers? a voice inside him whispered in amazement, but he ignored it. The grim truth was, he’d passed the point of no return two weeks ago, on the plane to Washington.

  “It’s very much my business,” he said. “As your attorney—”

  “One of us is crazy, Mr. Chambers. You’ve just gone out of your way to make it clear that you are not my attorney
.”

  “Semantics,” he said, mixing first-year law with anyyear gibberish. “I’ve given you legal counsel, haven’t I?”

  “You have, yes, but—”

  “Then, I’d be negligent if I didn’t ask if you’d kept your part of what you say may have been an oral contract.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I know what I said.” He didn’t. He didn’t even know what he was saying now. He only knew that he had to touch her again, that something was stretching and stirring deep within a hidden, primitive part of him. She looked so lost, so alone. “I need more information,” he said reasonably, as he walked toward her, stopping when they were inches apart. “About your relationship with Willingham.”

  He looked down into Stephanie’s puzzled, upturned face. At the dark eyes that could shine with an innocence he knew to be a sham, then cloud over with desire in a heartbeat. He reached out and ran the back of his hand along her cheek. She jerked away, like a skittish colt.

  “Did he please you?” he said gruffly. “Aside from the money, I mean. Were you happy with him?”

  “You’ve no right to ask me such—”

  “Did you tremble when he touched you?”

  He put his hand against the curve of her cheek, dropped it to her throat. His fingers were hot against her skin and she caught her breath, stiffening herself against his touch, trying to deny what it made her feel because it was impossible. She couldn’t—she mustn’t…

  “You trembled when I touched you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Just as you are now.”

  “Stop,” she said, but her voice was a thready whisper. “David, stop.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips parted, as he’d known they would. He felt the rush of heat racing through his body, felt the tension spreading until his nerve endings seemed to hum. He said her name, drew her into his arms, thrust his hands into her hair and tangled his fingers in its sensuous weight.

  “David,” she whispered, and her breath caught. “David?”

  “Yes,” he said, drowning in what he saw in her eyes. “That’s right. David. Only David…”

  He kissed her. Or she kissed him. In the end, it didn’t matter. The fusion was complete. Mouths, bodies… Where did she begin and he end? He didn’t know, didn’t care, didn’t want to think about it because nothing else mattered but the feel of Stephanie, warm and willing, in his arms.