The Bride's Secret

by Helen Brooks

  The Bride's Secret

  By

  Helen Brooks

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  "When you agreed to marry me, you were happy."

  Hudson continued. "There was nothing, not a hint of anything being wrong. And then, within hours, it had all changed. What happened when you left me, Annie?" he asked softly, "Something did. Something… catastrophic." His eyes were boring into her soul.

  This was too close—he was getting too close.

  "Annie?" He touched her face tenderly. "After all we meant to each other, you really think I would be content to let you go without any explanation?"

  What could she say? She stared at him wide-eyed until she couldn't bear to look at him any longer and dropped her gaze. "You have no choice," she stated as firmly as she could, considering her heart was thundering in her ears…

  HELEN BROOKS lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading and walking her two energetic and very endearing young dogs. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty, and sent the result off to Harlequin.

  Books by Helen Brooks

  HARLEQUIN PRESENTS?

  1844—A HEARTLESS MARRIAGE

  1914—THE PRICE OF A WIFE

  1934—HUSBAND BY CONTRACT (Husbands & Wives #1)

  1939—SECOND MARRIAGE (Husbands & Wives #2)

  1987—THE MARRIAGE SOLUTION

  2004—THE BABY SECRET

  ISBN 0-373-12047-8

  THE BRIDE'S SECRET

  First North American Publication 1999.

  Copyright © 1998 by Helen Brooks.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all Incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks Indicated with ©are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  Look us up on-line at http://www.romance.net

  Printed In U.S.A.

  CHAPTER ONE

  'Marianne? What's the matter? You look as though you've seen a ghost.'

  Marianne heard Keith speak but she could no more have dredged up a reply at that moment than flown to the moon. That big, lean body—the way he was holding his head—there was only one person in the world who stood with such arrogance and disregard for the rest of the human throng. It had to be Hudson de Sance.

  'Marianne?' Now Keith reached out and turned her face to his, after staring perplexedly in the direction of her fixed gaze for a moment or two. He couldn't see anything unusual in the well-dressed, cosmopolitan collection of businessmen and holiday-makers enjoying an alfresco lunch in the open-air dining room of the hotel where they were staying—it was exactly the sort of clientele he would expect to see in a first-class hotel such as this one in the middle of Tangier. 'What is it?'

  'What? Oh, nothing… I'm just daydreaming,' she said quietly.

  It didn't work, but Marianne hadn't expected it to. She and Keith had worked together long enough for him to know when she was evading the truth.

  'Don't give me that; you resemble someone who's just had a hard punch where it hurts,' Keith said worriedly, his eyes returning to the well-populated tables in front of them. 'Have you seen someone you know? Someone you'd rather not see?'

  'Just leave it, Keith, please.' Her gaze had briefly swept the area along with his, and she felt weak with relief to find the spectre from the past had vanished.

  It couldn't have been Hudson, she told herself reassuringly. There were probably dozens—hundreds—of tall, dark, brooding men who inclined their heads in that particular way, and she had only seen the back of the man anyway as he had stood looking down over the roaming city spread out beneath them from the hilltop hotel.

  Nevertheless, her heart continued to thud as the waiter presented them with lunch menus and took their order for drinks, and her stomach churned relentlessly. Hudson de Sance. He still invaded her dreams and encroached on her days as remorselessly as when she had first left him, despite the fact that she had not seen him in the flesh since that night two years ago. Would she ever get over him? She savaged the thought the second it took form. Of course she would—she had. She was autonomous now; she had had to be.

  I thought the shoot went really well—how about you?' Keith was making an effort at conversation and she blessed him for it, although his face revealed she wasn't hiding her shock as well as she would have hoped. 'Of course, the location is second to none.'

  'I thought it was good, and you were brilliant as usual.' She smiled, but it wasn't flattery—Keith was one of the best photographers in London and she was lucky to be his assistant All the top models wanted him, knowing he could make them look good even on their worst days, and he could pick and choose his assignments at leisure. She was a good photographer, but that was all, whereas Keith could make his camera talk for him. 'Those shots you did of Marjorie against the background of the harbour were inspired; I didn't think we'd get anything out of her today.'

  Too much drinking in the hotel bar last night,' Keith agreed softly. 'She phoned that guy she's been seeing earlier and it was all hassle, apparently.' Keith was an easygoing individual—except where his work was concerned, and the beautiful model's dishevelled state that morning had produced a certain amount of artistic despair followed by a rare temper tantrum, only mollified by indulgent obedience of his every suggestion by the lady in question. 'She's a fool to herself,' he continued quietly. 'Why she doesn't dump that no-good boyfriend of hers I'll never know.'

  'Love?' Marianne suggested lightly.

  'That sort of slavish obsession isn't love,' Keith said flatly. 'Love isn't like that. It's like he's some sort of drug to her.'

  The waiter returned at that moment with their drinks and Marianne was glad of it There had been that look in her boss's eyes again—a mixture of desire and devoted-puppy-dog appeal—that was appearing more and more often of late, despite her tactful intimations that she wasn't interested.

  'Marianne—' Keith's voice was urgent as the waiter left them, but whatever he had been about to say was cut short by a deep, cold voice just behind her.

  'Marianne Harding, isn't it? It's been a long, long time.'

  She froze—all her senses screaming to a halt—and then forced herself to turn and look up at the man who had moved to the side of their table, his grey eyes of glittering stone hard and uncompromising and his mouth unsmiling.

  'Hello, Hudson.' It was all she could manage.

  'On holiday?' She remembered this about him—the refusal to waste words on polite chit-chat—but apart from that the man standing in front of her could have been a stranger. Certainly in the past he had never looked at her the way he was looking at her now—his eyes narrowed and as cold as ice and his handsome face devoid of expression.

  'No, I'm… I'm working.' Her voice was shaking but there wasn't a thing she could do about it. 'This—This is my boss, Keith Gallaway,' she added quickly as Keith stood up slowly, his hand outstretched but his face straight 'Keith—Hudson de Sance.'

  'I've heard of you; you'r
e one of the best photographers money can buy.' On the face of it the words shouldn't have been insulting, but somehow Hudson made them so.

  'Thank you.' Neither man smiled as they shook hands. 'I've heard of you too,' Keith said levelly. 'If ever I need a tough lawyer to get me out of a spot I'll call you.' Again it wasn't complimentary, and Marianne's heart rose up into her mouth.

  'You couldn't afford me.' Hudson's voice was pure steel.

  'I might surprise you.'

  'Very little surprises me, Mr Gallaway.' This time the icy voice was wrapped in silk. 'Isn't that so, Annie?'

  Annie. His pet name for her. She stared at him for a moment without speaking, her huge green eyes with their soft flecks of gold dark with bewilderment. She didn't want to feel like this—vulnerable, exposed, frightened. He was out of her life now—he had no hold over her any more. The past was behind her.

  'Although this little lady is the exception that proves the rule.' Hudson turned from her pale face to Keith, and now he smiled, but it was shark-like—threatening. 'I'm sure you've found Marianne to be full of surprises?' he asked smoothly.

  Keith was out of his depth now and it showed. 'Look, I don't know what you're getting at—'

  'No, I'm sure you don't' Again the hard grey gaze moved back to Marianne, lingering for a moment on the pale gold of her hair—its riot of silky curls restrained into a high ponytail secured with black velvet ribbon—before it moved to capture her gaze. 'But Annie does,' he added mockingly, his voice dry and with a dark undertone that made her flush hotly before she dropped her eyes.

  And then he moved on, walking swiftly past them after a terse nod at Keith and through into the hotel's more formal dining room, where Marianne saw a tall, elegant redhead detach herself from a group of people waiting at the plate-glass doors. They exchanged a few brief words before Hudson took her arm, the party continuing out of sight through the doors and into the lush reception area.

  For a moment she felt as though she was going to faint, the nausea and darkness sweeping over her in a giant wave before she forced it back by sheer willpower. Control She had to have control.

  'What on earth was all that about?' Keith sounded as stunned as she felt, and as her eyes turned to him she saw he was looking at her as though he had never seen her before. 'You've never mentioned you know Hudson de Sance, Marianne. The man's a walking legend in the States—more so since he took on the syndicate and won in that mega trial a couple of years back,' he said bemusedly.

  'I used to know him.' Keith was waiting for an answer and she heard her voice replying out of the dark vacuum her mind seemed to have fallen into. 'But it was a long time ago.' Two years, three months and four days, to be precise. She could even tell him the exact hours and minutes if she glanced at her watch.

  'I didn't know you'd lived in the States.' Keith sounded hurt, even petulant now. 'I didn't know you'd even visited America.'

  'I haven't' She took a deep breath and prayed for the buzzing in her ears to fade. 'Although he's American his father's family are still mostly in France, and my mother was French. He was visiting his grandparents some years ago when I was visiting relations in France, and we met at a party. That's all.' She tried for a smile but couldn't get her tremulous mouth to obey. 'We dated for a while,' she finished with an effort at casualness.

  'You dated for a while?' Keith asked shrilly. 'You and de Sance dated?'

  If she had said she'd dated Napoleon he couldn't have sounded more amazed 'Yes, we dated for a while, and then it finished. End of story,' she said tightly, meeting his eyes defiantly.

  'Marianne… ' He paused, and then said, speaking to himself more than her, It clearly wasn't Hudson who finished it'

  'What makes you say that?' she asked noncommittally, wanting the conversation to end but not knowing how to bring it to a conclusion.

  'His face when he saw you.' Keith looked straight at her now, shaking his head slowly. It looked much the same as when you saw him earlier. It was him you saw, wasn't it?'

  'Yes.' Her voice was cool and dismissive, and she shrugged as she said, 'Can we leave it now, Keith? It's… it's history, as they say, and I really don't want to discuss it further.'

  'Perhaps Hudson de Sance isn't saying that,' Keith said wryly. 'And I'd say there's plenty that man wants to discuss.'

  'I haven't seen him in two years.' Her voice was too sharp and she moderated it as she continued, 'So I would say that speaks for itself. Whatever… whatever we shared is over.'

  'Hmm.' The waiter arriving with their first course finished the conversation, but as Marianne forced each mouthful past the tight constriction in her throat the screen of her mind was replaying every frame of the last few minutes with Hudson.

  He had looked wonderful. Terrifying but wonderful, she thought, trembling. At six feet four he had always towered over other men, his clothes unable to disguise the muscled strength of his big shoulders and chest, and with his jet-black hair and dark grey eyes his hard-planed, handsome face was devastatingly attractive. But she had never thought of it as cruel and cold—until today. Today it had been harsh and ruthless—menacing—and for the first time she could fully appreciate the fierce, merciless streak which proved so formidable in the courtroom.

  He had a reputation for going straight for the jugular when he felt he was right, and he couldn't be bought—two qualities which caused even the nastiest of criminals to tremble when they heard he was after their blood. But with her he had been tender, gentle and wonderfully sexy…

  'Marianne?' She came out of the raw, pain-filled reverie to the realisation that Keith had been speaking and she hadn't heard a word he'd said. 'Where on earth are you?' he asked, his voice testy.

  'Oh, sorry,' she said quickly, hoping he would be mollified.

  'No, I am sorry,' he said tightly, his brown eyes narrowed. 'You aren't over him, are you? A blind man could see that'

  It wasn't really a question, but she responded as though it had been. 'Over him? Hudson de Sance? Don't be so silly; I told you, I haven't seen him in two years. Anyway, there's nothing to be over—' She stopped abruptly. She was protesting too much and they both knew it. She stared at Keith, her face flushing.

  'I'm not going to pry, Marianne.' The waiter reappeared with their seafood platters, and Keith waited until they were alone again before he repeated, 'I'm not going to pry, but I just want to say one thing. You are good at your job—very good—and I'd be upset if you allowed anything, or anyone, to interfere with that You could go right to the top, you understand me?'

  She nodded mutely, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat which was the result of the shock of seeing Hudson again.

  'I'm only saying this because I care about you,' he added quietly, 'and because we work well together—very well.'

  'Thank you.' She took a deep breath and managed a wobbly smile. 'I do love my job, Keith, you know that.

  It's given me more opportunities to travel than I'd ever dreamed possible.'

  'And of course the added bonus of working with a handsome and dynamic young boss who has the world at his fingertips—don't forget that.' It was said jokingly in an effort to defuse the almost painful tension. 'Now eat up; we've got a busy afternoon ahead of us, and all our skills are going to be required to make Marjorie and June perform on that fishing boat They both get seasick,' he added wryly.

  The afternoon went well, as Marianne had known it would. The sun was blazing down out of a crystal sky, the dancing waves were lit with sunshine and the gaily painted fishing boat was a perfect backdrop for the tall, graceful models in their wildly expensive leisure wear. A photographer's dream. And normally Marianne would have enjoyed the hectic pace, the laughter, the razzmatazz that went hand in hand with such a showy display. But not today.

  Today she caught herself glancing back at the harbour all the time they worked, her eyes searching the quay for a tall, dark figure, even as her mind berated the stupidity of it She had seen the stunning redhead, hadn't she? Why on earth did she t
hink Hudson would be remotely interested in following up on their lunchtime encounter? She was nothing to him now. Her life had moved on—and his had always moved at a rate which had left her breathless.

  Was his presence in Tangier down to business or pleasure? she asked herself as she stepped off the boat in the heat of late afternoon. And was that woman his girlfriend, his mistress—perhaps even his wife? The thought hit her in the solar plexus and she paused on the quay as Keith and the others stood admiring a huge ocean liner coming in to dock. He could be married or engaged He was thirty-seven years old now—twelve years older than her—and had to be the catch of the century in the circles he moved in.

  'Taxi or gig?' Keith asked as he joined her, indicating the row of light, two-wheeled, horse-drawn carriages lined up and waiting for customers.

  'I don't mind; what are the others doing?' she asked quietly, her thoughts still a million miles away. 'There was talk of a market?'

  'Marjorie and June are going shopping with Guy, but beyond that I don't know. We could perhaps—' He stopped abruptly, looking at something over Marianne's left shoulder, his face slowly darkening in uncharacteristic anger. 'What the hell is he doing here?' he asked grimly. 'The cheek of the man.'

  She knew, even before she turned to follow the direction of his gaze, who it was. Only Hudson de Sance could put that look on someone's face. It was an ability of his she had noticed before.

  Hudson was at their side within seconds, his loose-limbed, easy walk covering the space before she had time to think or feel. 'Hello again.' He spoke to them both, his iron-hard gaze sweeping across their faces with such condemning coldness that Marianne found herself blushing as though she had been caught doing something immoral, rather than standing on a busy quayside in the bright Moroccan sunshine of a May evening. 'Finished for the day?' he asked coolly, with a flick of his head at the others who were departing in various directions, before his eyes fastened on Marianne's hot face.