“Come in. Oh, Hagen.” Her mouth curled into a wary smile. “This is going to be awkward, I suspect.”
“Not at all.” He drew the visitor’s chair up to her desk and sat. “I’ve been given two sets of unsolicited advice this morning. My mother thinks I should explain my feelings toward you, and Sandra thinks I’m going to stuff this up.”
She drew her eyebrows together. “What have you been saying about us?”
“I was wondering what you’d been telling them.”
“Not a word.”
“Then apparently, our relationship isn’t as secret as we presumed. Sandra insists that I tell you the truth. Which do you want to hear first, truth or feelings?”
“Neither. I’m okay, truly. I can keep running on the spot here trying to do what Tiggy does so easily. Or, if it’s too awkward keeping me here, I can leave. Maybe Tiggy will come back if you ask her?”
He heaved a sigh. “Good change of subject, but I’ll start by telling you about my marriage.” Leaning back, he folded his arms across his chest before he realized that defending himself should be the last thing on his mind. “Sandra thinks you have the wrong idea about Mercia. I have never discussed my late wife with you, therefore I don’t know what idea you have.” He hauled in a breath and made sure he looked Marigold right in the eye, determined to tell the unvarnished truth. “I married her because she was there. No other reason. She wanted me, she was bright, good-looking, and had a wonderful social life. I didn’t. Study and work was about all I did. I had my father’s expectations to reach. Even before the wedding I was having second thoughts.”
“Are you sure you want to tell me this? I don’t think it’s any of my business.”
“I’ll cut to the chase. I was a very bad husband. I ignored my wife most of the time because she and her shallow friends bored me. When I realized I was wasting my life and hers, I asked her for a divorce. She said absolutely not and was so traumatized by the suggestion that she had to get away for the weekend. Next thing, I had a police officer at the front door telling me she’d been killed in a car crash on a country road. The man in the following car stopped to help, the officer was glad to say. That man was Scarlett’s husband.”
Marigold moistened her lips. “You assumed she was about to spend the weekend with him. Him being there might have been pure coincidence.”
He kept his gaze on her.
Marigold breathed out. “And Scarlett knew.”
“Not until he was questioned as a witness. Then he told her the affair had been ongoing for months. So, she asked for a divorce. She and I agreed to keep the matter quiet. I have been a grieving widower for a year, and now I want my life back.”
She sat, her gaze on his, her jaw loose. Then she swallowed. “Oh, dear. You did a very good job of being a grieving widower.”
“I couldn’t be sure initially that she hadn’t driven into the tree on purpose. It didn’t make me feel too noble.”
“Divorce or death? That doesn’t sound like a sensible option. Either way she lost.”
“And I keep thinking that rather than lose, she wanted it all, the rich husband and the lover on the side.” Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on her desk, keeping his gaze on hers. “He, Scarlett’s husband, said a kangaroo hit the car, and Mercia skidded into a tree. Investigations proved that, but it took a while.”
“If anyone other than Scarlett knows Mercia was having an affair with her husband, they certainly haven’t gossiped about it.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she let it slip to a few people, though no one has mentioned it to me. Sandra knows because she occasionally has to read my e-mails, but I trust her.”
“Why did you insist on keeping this quiet?”
“Pride. The whole thing is tawdry.” He reached across the top of the desk and took her hands in his. “I didn’t ever consider showing righteous indignation. If I had been a better husband, she wouldn’t have gone scouting around for other men. And there were others.”
She audibly dragged in a breath. Her eyes widened and then she blinked the gloss away. “Ah. That explains the STD test,” she said, dropping her gaze. “I’m sorry, Hagen. I misjudged you.”
“And you ought to be sorry. If I hadn’t decided not to let you misjudge me again, we might now be going our own merry ways again, too.”
“I thought telling me the truth was Sandra’s idea.”
“Well, if Sandra hadn’t decided to interfere we might not have a chance at a do-over. So, that’s her brief out of the way. Next is my mother’s—how I feel about you. Starting from the bottom, I love your toes and your feet and your legs.”
She blinked. Her mouth relaxed. “I kind of like yours, too,” she said in a soft voice.
He smoothed his thumbs across the back of her hands. “And I love your eyes and your nose and your mouth.”
“Although I hate to admit it, I like your hair quite a lot.”
“What about my legs and feet?”
“I don’t think that’s romantic.” A tiny smile formed on her face, and she gripped his fingers.
“I think it’s more romantic than talking about my masculine attributes.”
“I don’t talk about them.”
He bent and lifted her hands to his mouth. He kissed the back of each. “But most of all, apart from the rest of your body, I love you, good-as-gold Marigold.”
“And that is the reason why we can’t continue having an affair. Because I’m as good as gold.” She sighed. “I thought trying to be the sort of woman a man would have an affair with would be titillating but it’s not.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, that part was good.” Her mouth pursed. “It was the secret aspect that didn’t suit me. I want to be with a man who doesn’t need to hide. I’m not naturally sneaky.”
“You’re right, and I’m glad we ended the affair. We’re not good at it. I thought no one knew but, apparently, everyone does. You’re going to have to make an honest man of me.”
She gave a wry smile. “Make you confess to everyone? I’d much rather you didn’t. We’ll still be meeting from time to time, and I really don’t want people looking at me trying to see my reaction.”
“You’ve forced my hand. You’ll have to marry me.”
She pulled back, her eyes wide and her jaw loose. “I will not.”
“Don’t say that. I love every scrap of you and if you don’t marry me, I’ll spend forever wondering what I should have done or said to convince you otherwise.”
Her shoulders lost rigidity. “You want to marry me?”
“That’s what happens when you fall in love. And I fell in love years ago. Marrying you was my plan from the start, but we had a few hurdles to cross.”
“Jump. Hurdles to jump.”
“Marry me, Marigold. Please. Then you can correct my grammar.” He stood, walked around the edge of the desk, urged her to her feet, and took her into his arms.
She rested her palm flat on his cheek, while she stared directly into his eyes. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to get a better deal on the redecoration of your house?”
“If I hadn’t been trying to get you into my bedroom, I could have had Tiggy do it. I wanted it done your way because I planned to have you living there.”
“You should have said so.” Her mouth softened.
“I didn’t want to frighten you off. I thought when the house was perfect, you would be sure to say yes.”
“You did not.” She looked as if she might finally laugh.
“I was certainly thinking along those lines. Be gentle with me. I’m only a man.”
“Knock, knock, is this door open?”
“No, Ma. Not yet. She still hasn’t said she will marry me.”
“Do you need help in there?”
“I’m not sure you standing outside the door and
listening is helping.”
“I’ll go away then.”
“Demi!” Marigold pulled her hands out of his grip. “Don’t leave. I sort of said yes.”
The door opened. Demi walked in, followed by Sandra. Both were beaming.
“Are you going to plan the wedding?” Sandra asked Demi.
“I hope so. Darling Marigold doesn’t have a mother, and I think I should. Don’t you, Hagen?”
He glanced at Marigold. “Okay with you?”
Her expression combining a touch of puzzlement with a wryly pleased smile, she said, “No wonder you guys are so successful in business. Yes. And yes, Hagen.” Her face softened. “I will marry you.”
And then he had to wait for Sandra and his mother to hug each other, hug Marigold, and hug him before they left, before he got to kiss Marigold properly.
* * * *
The day before the wedding, during the final staging of her house for sale, Marigold said to Tiggy, who was helping, “I’m wondering. Would you have come back if I had made a mess of the school duplex?”
“Of course not, because you wouldn’t make a mess. You’re a perfectionist, Marigold. You would make sure you got it right. Aside from that, Kell was watching your back. If you’d started to flounder, Calli would have dropped by to give you a few hints. Of course, we all hoped that Hagen would.”
“He has done staging, too?” Marigold widened her eyes in astonishment.
“No, but he has seen enough of it to know what to do.”
“I’m beginning to think that he didn’t need me to redo his house.” Marigold used an indignant voice.
“He certainly did. I don’t know that he much cares about the place for himself. His house was too cold the way it was. He needed his house to suit you. You’re a warmer person.”
Marigold had already noted that Hagen’s family made sure of never criticizing Mercia. None knew she had been an unfaithful wife and would probably never find out.
Marigold liked that about Hagen. He didn’t need to put others down to bring himself up. He was noble, honest, generous, and the most loving man she had ever met. No one could be less like her father. Coming from a big happy family, Hagen had no objection to expanding it. Her own dysfunctional family had been invited to her wedding. Hagen even tolerated her father and seemed to think she ought to try for a relationship with her brothers. Maybe she would.
At last she had pleased her father. Apparently marrying a handsome and wealthy man hadn’t been expected of her.
“Good thing I gave you that dinner set,” he said to her in all seriousness. She didn’t contradict him. A little less rigidity on her part wouldn’t go astray. Now that she was deliriously happy herself, she was content to let everyone else around her be happy, too.
“I hope I’m in on the plot to get you married off, too.” She grinned at Tiggy. “That should be as much fun for me as your family’s plotting to get Hagen married off to me.”
“There had better not be a plot,” Tiggy said in a dark tone, planting her fists on her hips. “I don’t think I’m cut out for marriage. I’m having too much fun as a single.”
Marigold could never have said that about herself. “I thought being single had been hard work, but at least I ended up with the man I love.”
Tiggy hugged her. “And we get to keep you.”
Marigold still hadn’t found out where Tiggy had been for that six weeks she had disappeared. Tiggy had arrived within a week of Marigold’s wedding announcement, and taken back her job. Now Marigold’s only function was to coordinate events, which she much preferred. With Demi’s help, she was organizing her wedding, which the Allbrook’s insisted would be big and white, paid for by them, and used as a publicity opportunity for Allbrook’s.
“Neither of the twins would consent to this, Marigold, and we’re very grateful you are being so gracious,” Demi had said, blinking with emotion.
Gracious? Marigold was well aware that she was marrying gold. Reminded, she said, “I’ll need to put the Doulton dinner set in my car before I forget.”
“Have you two finished?” Hagen strolled through the open front door.
“Pretty well.” She turned and grinned at him.
“This is my last opportunity to kiss you before tomorrow.” Hagen swooped Marigold into his arms, settled her there, stared into her eyes, sighed, and gave her the sort of kiss that wouldn’t embarrass an onlooker, although it lasted a beat too long.
She leaned back, smiling at the only man she had ever loved. “After that, I’m yours forevermore.”
“You and your dining chairs,” he said, his autocratic eyebrows elevated. Behind him Billy and Joe darkened the doorway. “I couldn’t think how else to get them other than to marry you.”
“Come on, you two, we’ve got work to do.” Billy pushed into the house, Joe following.
Standing in the delightful circle of Hagen’s arms, she watched her chairs leaving for his house—soon hers. Tonight, she would stay with the Allbrooks, and tomorrow she would leave for her honeymoon in Paris. “We’re getting Tiggy married off next,” she said comfortably.
“Welcome to the family.” He laughed and spun her in the direction of the front door. “When will we discuss how many children we are having?”
“Out of the way,” Billy said. “Or we’ll never get this done.”
“I, too, thought we’d never get this done,” Hagen whispered into Marigold’s hair. “But now you’re my very own. Good-as-gold Marigold.”
Sets Appeal
A Romance By Design romance by Virginia Taylor!
In the cosmopolitan coastal city of Adelaide in South Australia, two theater lovers create a little drama of their own . . .
Twenty-seven-year-old divorcée Vix Tremain finally has her first job—as a theater-set painter—and is ready to leave the past behind. What better way to get her confidence back than a fling with a handsome stranger? She isn’t looking for anything emotional, she’s had enough heartbreak. Rugged Jay Dee, the set construction manager, fits the bill for no strings fun perfectly. What Vix doesn’t realize is that Jay is not exactly a stranger . . .
Jay would recognize wealthy, spoiled Vix anywhere. After all, she’s the ex-wife of the man who destroyed his career. Naturally, Jay wants a little sweet revenge—at first. To his surprise, Vix is far from the ice princess he expected, and spending time with her changes everything. Soon he realizes he’s actually falling for the vulnerable beauty. But becoming entangled with her will mean revealing who he is—and opening them both up to more pain. With their dreams at stake, is their connection strong enough to weather the truth—and take center stage?
Chapter 1
Her shoulders almost creaking with tension, Victoria Tremain turned off her car engine. Tonight, as one of the crew, she had attended the first party she had been to in a year, a pre-production getting-to-know-you function held for the cast and crew of the stage version of High Society. Experiencing a deadly case of stage fright, she aimed the huge smile she had plastered on her face in the direction of her wildly attractive passenger. He had told her he would make her a cup of coffee if she drove him home.
Behind him, the blaring streetlight reflected on the outside of a suburban redbrick bungalow with no fence and a front garden that had been dug over but not planted—a work in progress, but not out of place in this narrow street of tidy post-war houses. Shadowy stacks of planks lay in his concrete driveway.
“So, this is where you build your theater sets?” Her voice sounded suitably low and husky, not because she was at all sophisticated, but because she was terrified.
Picking up men wasn’t as easy as… Actually, she hadn’t imagined picking up men would be easy, not for someone as naturally awkward as she. She had almost fallen over her feet in her hurry to get the hunky set-builder into her car. Or maybe she almost fell over her big yellow heels, which took
some getting used to—for she was now flashy, single, champagne-drinking Vix Tremain, trying to find the life she had missed during the past seven years. Married at the age of twenty, she had divorced eleven months ago.
He shook his head. “The wood belongs in the garage, but I haven’t had time yet to shift it.” Muffled doof-doof music rocked the air as he opened the car door on his side.
She opened her side, stepped out, and caught her bag on the handbrake. Muttering under her breath, she untangled the strap and closed the door, hoping he hadn’t noticed. His coordination was as notable as his big, honed body.
She cleared her throat. “When did you finish your last set?” Scooping her hair back, she followed him along an overgrown path to the low front porch.
“A couple of weeks ago. My team does four a year.” He fumbled for his keys.
A sudden gust of wind blew a sheet of newspaper across the road and an orphaned takeaway coffee cup rattled against the fence. As she took a step back to give him space, her spiked heel caught between two slats and she stumbled.
He grabbed her, steadying her against his chest, his shaggy brown hair idly teasing across her cheek. “My woman trap.” He set her back on her own feet. Suppressed laughter deepened his voice.
She gave a careful smile, scoring herself a ten for not apologizing. The man smelled like pine chips and the fresh sea breeze blowing in from the port. He opened the door, a forest green blistered over white undercoat and slivers of ashen wood. For a moment, his arm blocked her as he reached around his doorframe for the light. The pulse in her neck thudding, she waited until he stepped back. This could be her first one-night stand if she didn’t mess up or say something dorky. Tonight, she had great expectations of herself. She had scrubbed-up quite well and now she only had to follow through.
He placed his hand on the center of her back and guided her through a bare hallway to an open space containing a sitting room at one end and a dining–slash–kitchen area at the other. Tossing his leather jacket over a chair, he stepped behind the kitchen countertop and began to pour coffee beans into a grinder sitting beside a basic espresso machine. For a moment, she experienced stark disappointment. Perhaps when he had said “coffee,” he had meant “coffee.”
Golden Opportunity Page 20
