Rebecca York - Bridal Jeopardy

“Beautiful,” Claire breathed as she touched the delicate silk fabric.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you try it on? I can help you with the buttons up the back.”

“Not now.”

Stephanie slipped the dress onto a hanger, then turned away to put it on the rack in back of her, where it dangled like a headless hanging victim.

She winced, wishing she hadn’t thought of that image.

Of course, that wasn’t the only thing she wished. What if she’d never met John Reynard? What if her shop hadn’t taken that downturn? What if she met a man who could connect with her in ways that she could only imagine?

She made a disgusted sound. As if that was going to happen.

“What?” Claire asked.

“Nothing. I’m not really feeling well. Do you mind if I get out of here for a few hours?”

Claire gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, no. You’ve got that reception with John this evening.”

Stephanie felt a wave of anxiety sweep over her. She’d put the reception out of her mind, but now she knew what had been making her feel unsettled—even before the dress had arrived. “Lord, I forgot all about that.”

“You’d better go home and rest. You don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Right.” Once again, she wished that she’d never met John Reynard. Wished that he hadn’t listened to her dad’s sob story, then stepped in to pay her debts—and Dad’s. But she’d taken his money because her father had begged her to let John Reynard handle their problems. And at the time, it had seemed the only way out. She’d been willing to let her shop go under. She could always find a job with someone else, but that wouldn’t work out so well for Dad. He’d lose the house—his last tie to the luxurious past that the family had enjoyed. And she’d known deep down that would kill him.

If she were the cause of that, her guilt would be too great for her to bear. Which was the irony of this situation. She’d never really felt close to her parents, yet she was compelled to make sure her father ended his days in the manner to which he was accustomed. Probably because she’d never felt like a dutiful daughter—and Dad had made sure she understood that.

Claire’s voice broke into her troubled thoughts.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.” She thought for a moment. “If Mrs. Arlington calls to ask about her ball gown, tell her it hasn’t come in yet.”

“Of course. Don’t trouble yourself about it,” Claire repeated.

Stephanie nodded, wishing she could really relax and stop worrying about her future.

Chapter Two

After three days in New Orleans, Craig was getting a feel for the city and the power base that ran it. The Big Easy was so different from any other American urban area that it might as well have been in a foreign country. The atmosphere was hot and sultry. The houses were painted bright colors. The landscape was almost tropical, and the people exuded a laid-back attitude that belied the hard times that Hurricane Katrina had caused.

He’d avoided his contact with the police department because he was in the city under an assumed name—Craig Brady. Unlike Craig Branson, Brady had inherited considerable wealth and lived off his investments. The persona was one he’d established several years ago when he’d been hired to take down a finance guy who was using a Ponzi scheme to line his own pockets. Craig had posed as an investor ripe for the picking and nailed the guy.

The Brady persona made a good cover for investigating John Reynard. But so far Craig had stayed away from the man. He wanted to establish himself as being in the city for profit and fun. To that end he’d gone prowling around, sampling the food, the jazz and the strip clubs along Bourbon Street.

He’d also found a high-stakes poker game at a private gentleman’s club, where he could pick up some money and also some information. The minimum bet was fifty dollars, but that had been of little risk to Craig. He might not be good at intimate relationships, but he was excellent at reading people, and he used that skill to win a couple of sizable pots.

Then he’d allowed himself to lose half of it back, which put the men around the table in a friendlier mood than when he’d been raking in the chips.

“So where do you meet high-class women?” he’d asked as he and his new friends helped themselves to the club’s bourbon.

“The United Hospital Fund is holding a charity event at Oak Lane Plantation, out along the river.”

“Sounds interesting,” he answered

“Tickets are a thousand clams a pop.”

“Well, it’s for a good cause,” Craig allowed. “And you’re saying that some of the ladies are single?”

“The young gals looking for husbands come out in droves.”

He’d found out where to buy a ticket and purchased one, pretty sure from his research that John Reynard would be there.

After buying the ticket, he’d gone to one of the rental shops in town and gotten a tuxedo. Not his usual attire, he thought as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his bow tie. But he guessed he’d do.

His hand shook for a moment, and he pressed his palm against his thigh, annoyed at his unusual reaction. It came from being so close to Sam’s killer, he told himself, but he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it.

He couldn’t contain the mixture of anticipation and nerves racing through him. He’d been waiting a long time to confront the man who had been responsible for his brother’s death, and now the meeting was almost here.

Well, confrontation wasn’t exactly the right word. He was going to have a look at John Reynard and start planning his attack on the man. After all these years, there was no rush. Reynard wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was his beautiful fiancée. As Craig thought of Stephanie Swift, anticipation tightened his gut.

Stephanie Swift was not the main event, but she could be a means to an end, he told himself.

Craig walked to the parking lot and picked up his rental car, then headed out of town to Oak Lane Plantation.

The mansion house was ablaze with lights when he arrived, and he found a space among the Cadillacs, BMWs and Mercedes that dominated the parking area.

Inside he accepted a flute of champagne from a waiter hovering near the door because he didn’t want to look out of place among the men and women enjoying themselves at this upscale gathering.

The mansion, which was often rented out for private functions, was lavishly furnished with period tables and chests interspersed with more modern chairs and sofas and Oriental rugs on the polished pine floorboards.

He wandered from the front hall to the other rooms on the main floor, watching the guests talking, drinking and eating. As promised, some of the ladies were young, and many gave him speculative looks, although he didn’t stop to talk to any of them.

But he had his story ready if needed.

He was from out of town and considering settling in the city, and he thought this gathering would be an excellent introduction to the local social life. He’d act as if he was looking for new investments—and open to suggestions from the New Orleans financial elite.

He made his way slowly through the crowd and finally spotted John Reynard on the veranda. He was talking with a group of men and women who all seemed to know one another. And Stephanie Swift was at his side.

Craig had been taken with her picture. He hadn’t been prepared for the reality of the woman. His breath caught as he looked at her from the doorway leading outside. She was stunning in an emerald-green gown that perfectly set off her blond beauty.

She must have known he was staring at her because she looked up, and he would have sworn she had the same reaction to him that he was having to her. Her breath hitched, and she went absolutely still.