Amelia was standing by the fireplace, her hand resting on the mantelpiece. At Emily's reply, she drew herself up to her full, imposing five feet nine inches and squinted down her narrow, patrician nose, her nostrils flaring with temper.
"You had an appointment across town?" She sounded incredulous, as if Emily had admitted to taking off for a brief trip to the planet Mars.
"It was a long-standing commitment. A business appointment."
"Oh, well, that explains everything. I appreciate your finding time to squeeze us into your busy schedule." Amelia rarely lost her temper, but when she did, her sarcasm could corrode steel. "Perhaps, now that you're here, you'd be kind enough to give us some clue as to why you've chosen to ruin my son's life?"
"You've no call to talk to my daughter in that nasty tone of voice!" Raelene Sutton, plump and petite, sprang to her daughter's defense like a sparring bantam hen, giving Emily no chance to speak for herself. "If she's called off her engagement to your son, you can be sure she has a good reason for it."
"Yes, and I'd like to know what that reason is," Sam Sutton said fiercely. "What did your son do to my little girl that she doesn't want to marry him anymore?"
Sam was a good six inches shorter than Michael, but that didn't deter him from confronting his daughter's former fiancé. Hands on hips, lower lip thrust out, he looked as if he'd as soon punch Michael's nose as listen to an explanation.
Michael stepped back, alarmed. "I didn't do anything to your daughter!" he protested, sounding aggrieved. "Emily, tell everyone the truth! Explain to your parents that you called off our engagement because we were incompatible. You have to convince them you're okay with this! Nobody seems to believe me."
Emily sent him an astonished glance, although she didn't really look at him. Couldn't look at him and maintain any pretense of being in control. Was this how Michael had resolved the dilemma of explaining that he'd called off their wedding? By blaming it all on her? If she hadn't felt so numb—so bludgeoned—she thought she might have been angry.
How little Michael understood her, she reflected wearily. After three months as her fiancé, he still didn't recognize that she was a conformist to the core of her being. But unlike Michael, her parents knew her well enough to realize she would never have suggested canceling the wedding at this late date except in the most dire of circumstances. No wonder they were worried sick, imagining what those dire circumstances could be.
When she didn't immediately speak up, Michael came and stood at her side, his confident manner suggesting that he harbored no real doubt that she'd go along with his version of events. He obviously assumed she was still such a captive of his charm that she would meekly accept whatever story he cooked up, Emily thought, seething at his attitude. Had she really been such a wimp in their relationship? Was it only a few hours earlier that she had found his arrogance appealing?
"Tell everyone that you want to call off the wedding, Emily. Help me out here." Michael flashed one of his cajoling smiles, reminiscent of Bruce Willis at his most endearing. Smiles she had previously considered irresistible and now found repellant. "Please tell them that you don't want to go through with this charade, honey. Tell them it's a mutual decision."
Emily had new insights into Michael's character now that she hadn't enjoyed this morning, and she felt sure he hadn't lied about their breakup in order to save her injured pride. He was laying the blame for their broken engagement on her doorstep simply because his jaunty confidence was a sham. Deep inside where it really counted, he was too gutless to stand up and take responsibility for a mess that was entirely his own creation.
Despite her anger, if he wanted to pile all the blame on her, she didn't really care. Nothing could avoid the humiliation that was building inexorably toward tomorrow's climax, when 350 guests would gather for a wedding that wouldn't happen. In the circumstances, did it matter how the guilt was apportioned? In fact, she could only agree with Michael about their incompatibility. Whatever the true reasons for his last-minute decision to call off the wedding, she probably ought to be grateful that he wanted out. After today's events, there was no avoiding the conclusion that they were wildly unsuited to each other. It seemed inevitable that their marriage would have ended in crushing failure. Better that it never take place.
Right now, though, it was difficult to feel gratitude, with Holt and Amelia Chambers looking so disgruntled and her parents looking so devastated. Still, she couldn't give her parents false hope. The wedding was off and, since there was no way to change that, she needed to confirm that the break between her and Michael was beyond mending. There were business considerations at stake here, in addition to everything else. Holt Chambers and her father had signed a preliminary agreement to develop Laurel Acres, a major construction project in the hill country region north of San Antonio. If her marriage to Michael didn't take place, that deal might be at risk. Her father had old-fashioned values and tried to do business only with people whom he respected. He might not want to continue in partnership with the Chamberses if he decided that Michael had treated her badly.
Michael's father wasn't a warmhearted man, but he'd been as kind to her as his uptight nature permitted, and she knew he needed the projected partnership a great deal more than her father, whose canny judgment and hard work had made him a millionaire many times over. By contrast, since her engagement, she'd come to realize that the Chambers family was long on ancient lineage and seriously short of ready cash.
Emily knew she had it within her power to wreak revenge on Michael simply by telling the truth. For a moment she was tempted, then her better nature won out. No point in punishing Holt Chambers because Michael had turned out to be a jerk.
Her silence had already gone on way too long, and she spoke quickly, before her good intentions melted in the heat of disgust for Michael's behavior. "A marriage between the two of us would never have worked," she said woodenly. "We don't love each other enough to make a go of our relationship. Under the circumstances, we decided to cancel the wedding ceremony tomorrow. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Very sorry."
She spoke to a spot angled somewhere between her parents' concerned faces. Which, by an unfortunate fluke, brought her slap bang into visual contact with Jordan Chambers. He looked at her quizzically and she felt heat flare in the pit of her stomach. From the time of their disastrous encounter in Mary Christine Bernauer's bedroom, Michael's brother always produced that effect on her, and Emily intensely disliked the sensation.
Cheeks burning, she dropped her gaze and stared fixedly at her shoes. Even though she could no longer see him, she knew instinctively that Jordan continued to look at her. She felt the touch of his gaze as a physical entity, unsettling, but compelling. His silent inspection continued and the heat in her cheeks spread through her body, blazing all the way to her toes.
With a liberating sense of release, Emily realized there was no longer any reason for her to conceal her dislike of Michael's brother. She jerked her head upward and sent him a gaze of fulminating fury. Here was a genuine blessing about her broken engagement, she thought grimly. At least she would never have to be polite to Jordan again.
He held her gaze for several tense seconds, then turned back to his original position at the window, staring outside as if fascinated by the view of the barren, sun-drenched courtyard. Emily drew in a shaky breath, determined to get a grip on herself. She could only hyperventilate about one disaster at a time, and right now, her antagonistic relationship with Jordan Chambers shouldn't even be registering on her personal disaster scale. She had bigger problems to worry about.
She was concentrating so hard on ignoring Jordan that she jumped when Jeff Greiff spoke. "You and Michael need to come up with a better explanation for the breakup than being incompatible," the campaign manager said. "When a celebrity couple splits and tries to claim incompatibility, the media just invent a more interesting story. Gone are the days when keeping a discreet silence ensures that gossip dies down faster. Nowadays, silence is an
open invitation to scandal. Mega scandal."
Jeff puffed out his cheeks, looking self-important and vaguely ridiculous to Emily's jaundiced eyes. "You can't afford scandal right now, Michael," he went on. "Quite apart from the disastrous effect on our fund-raising potential, you're just starting to get some name recognition with the voters. Negative publicity could sink your positive ratings to a point where they can't be salvaged. We can't afford any negative press right now." He scowled at Emily. "The timing for this breakup really sucks, you know."
Emily almost apologized, then stopped herself just in time. Michael's campaign problems were not of her making and she had zero sympathy for his plight. In fact, given the weakness of character he'd revealed today, a dose of negative publicity might not be a bad thing. The people of Texas deserved better than a man who broke promises and then tried to weasel out of the consequences.
She finally brought herself to look squarely at her former fiancé, letting him see her scorn. He stared back at her somewhat helplessly, then ran his hand through his thick, glossy hair, looking a great deal more worried now than he had when he announced the ending of their engagement. "This is a hell of a mess," he said, handsome jaw clenched.
"You could certainly say that," Emily agreed. "Personally, I suggest we stop tossing around blame and make up our minds what we're going to say to the 350 people who are expecting to watch us get married tomorrow."
Michael sucked in a nervous gulp of air, then scowled. "My God, this is a public relations nightmare."
"You should have thought of that earlier, I guess."
"I did think about it. But I didn't have much choice—" He scowled. "Damn! Why couldn't all this have come to light weeks ago? There would be no story for any reporters to run with if it weren't for the fact that the wedding's only hours away."
"You're right. It's the wedding ceremony itself that's the real problem." Jeff Greiff paced nervously. "The guest list includes three U.S. senators and the secretary of defense—"
"Dear lord," Amelia whispered, fanning herself. The poor woman looked truly ill. "What in the world are we going to do? What shall we say?"
"The out-of-town guests are all due at the dinner tonight, so there's no way to head them off," Jeff said with gloomy relish. "They'll have left Washington already. What kind of spin can we put on this? My God, Michael, if you'd set out to piss off the movers and shakers who've supported your candidacy for governor, you couldn't have done a better job."
Amelia stopped glaring at Emily long enough to direct an icy glance at her son's campaign manager. "This horrible situation isn't improved by using coarse language, Jeff."
"Sorry, ma'am." Jeff turned away, rolling his eyes once he was out of Amelia's line of vision.
Raelene broke into a fresh burst of tears. "I don't care about the senators or any of your other fancy guests," she wailed. "All I care about is my daughter. I don't understand, Emmie. You looked so beautiful when we went for the final fitting on your wedding dress yesterday. You seemed so calm, so sure of yourself…"
"I'm sorry, Mom," Emily interrupted, unable to bear any more reminders of how naively content she'd been a mere twenty-four hours earlier. "I guess Michael and I discovered we weren't in love—"
"Now, now, muffin, you know we aren't going to believe that load of garbage." Her father took her hand, patting it as much to comfort himself as to reassure her. "We're not angry with you, Emmie, we just want to understand. At breakfast you gave us no hint—none!—that you were having second thoughts. What happened between breakfast and lunch to make you change your mind?"
Emily opened her mouth, then shut it again, unable to think of a single intelligent thing to say. She wanted to help Mr. Chambers salvage his business partnership with her dad, but she realized that might be impossible. Her parents simply knew her too well to believe the story Michael was trying to pass off on them.
"I know it's out of character for me to do something like this," she said in a final attempt to make the incredible sound reasonable. "The truth is—"
"The truth is that you and I need to talk," Jordan interrupted. "Now, Emily, before you say anything more."
"Excuse me?" Emily stared at him, sufficiently astonished to forget that looking at Jordan invariably produced an absurd and troublesome rush of heat. Their eyes met and, on cue, her cheeks flamed, but for once she ignored the sensation. "I can't think of a single thing that you and I might need to discuss, Jordan."
"You're not handling this the right way," he responded coolly. "Trust me, Emily, we need to talk."
She glared at him. "Have you ever noticed that it's only people who are completely untrustworthy who tell you to trust them?"
Jordan flashed her a brief, hard smile. "Darling, this isn't going to get us anywhere, you know. We need to discuss the situation privately. Just the two of us."
He'd called her darling. Emily's stomach performed a back flip. She was sufficiently stupefied by Jordan's endearment that she forgot to reply, just stared at him with her mouth hanging open. What in the world was going on? This was the man she despised, the man who had never yet spent ten minutes in her company without saying something that provoked an argument. Was the entire Chambers family going mad?
If they weren't collectively nuts, perhaps she was. Maybe this crazy cancellation of the wedding was a nightmare, and she would wake up any second. Surreptitiously, Emily gave her arm a hard pinch and waited in hope.
Unfortunately, it seemed that she wasn't dreaming. Jordan walked across the room and touched his finger to her chin, gently closing her mouth. She opened it again to speak, but Jordan closed it once more, this time with considerable firmness.
"Not here, dearest."
First darling, and now dearest. She'd definitely slipped down a rabbit hole into Wonderland, Emily decided.
Jordan turned to the assembled company. From their silence, Emily deduced they were all as bewildered as she was. "Excuse us," he said. "Give us fifteen minutes, will you?"
He didn't wait for a response, just put his hand under Emily's elbow and propelled her from the crowded family room, shutting the door on the explosion of questions that followed their exit.
"They'll be hot on our tail within minutes," he said as soon as they were in the hall. "We'll have to use the library. That's the only room with a lock on the door."
"I have no intention of going anywhere with you, least of all into a room where we're locked in—"
Jordan swung her up into his arms, carried her into the library, and set her down on her feet, turning the key in the door behind them. "Sorry about that," he said, strolling over to the fireplace and standing with one foot resting on the old-fashioned fender, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. "I'm not trying to lock you in, Em, I'm trying to keep everyone else out while we talk."
Emily tugged at the linen jacket of her suit, her breathing shallow and her heart thudding. She refused to let him see the turmoil she felt, and she addressed him coolly. "Tell me, Jordan, is the insanity you and your brother suffer from hereditary? If so, I guess I should be grateful that your brother decided to dump me. Much as I want to have children, I'd prefer them not to be crazy."
Instead of appearing insulted, Jordan grinned. "You might have had girls," he said. "I've heard rumors that the Chambers women usually escape the family affliction."
"You mean insanity really does run in your—" Emily broke off, pressing her hands to her forehead. "No, of course it doesn't. You're not going to do this to me today, Jordan."
"Do what?"
"Distract me. Confuse me." She hadn't intended to ad-mit that he had the power to discompose her, and she hurried on. "We're going to have a brief, rational conversation and then I'm going back to talk with my parents. Why have you dragged me in here, Jordan?"
"I thought it might be a good idea if we got married tomorrow." Jordan made the suggestion with a casualness that would have been entirely appropriate if he'd been suggesting that she might like to try out a new restaur
ant for brunch on Sunday.
Emily clutched the back of the nearest chair. Jordan had asked her to marry him. She was quite sure she'd heard him do that. Unless she was hallucinating. Was she? She felt her mouth start to drop open again, and she hurriedly closed it.
This library was not a good place to be alone with a Chambers male, she decided. First Michael had called off their wedding for no reason at all. Now Jordan was suggesting something even more totally crazy. So crazy, in fact, that Emily felt a spurt of genuine alarm. She hadn't been serious in suggesting Jordan and Michael were suffering from the onset of insanity. Maybe she should have been.
"I don't think marriage would work out too well for us," she said, trying to keep her voice soft and nonthreatening. She even managed a small, reassuring smile. When dealing with lunatics, it was best to be gentle. "Thanks for asking, Jordan, but if you remember, we don't like each other. I have this quaint, old-fashioned dislike of men who sleep with other men's wives."
Damn! If he was mentally unstable, maybe she shouldn't have mentioned the fact that they disliked each other. Much less reminded him of their disastrous second meeting, a couple of days after their formal introduction, when she had discovered Jordan romping under satin sheets with Mary Christine, the twenty-three-year-old wife of Emily's sixty-year-old client, Ted Bernauer.
All things considered, escape from the study seemed like a truly excellent plan. Either Jordan was nuts or she was. Why hang around to find out who? She was closer to the door than Jordan, so keeping her smile fixed in place, she tried to back up toward it without drawing attention to her movements.
Jordan might have lost his mind, but his vision remained acute, and his physical coordination excellent. In three quick strides, he crossed the room and pulled her away from the door, spread-eagling his body between her and her escape route.
"Sorry," he said, sounding sincerely apologetic as he pocketed the key. "But I really need you to listen to my proposal."
His Brother's Fiancée Page 4
