Renee Ryan - Mistaken Bride

Will swallowed, remembering what had driven him to acquire an Irish mail-order bride in the first place. Irish women were supposed to be honest, hardworking and proper.

No proper woman had hair like that.

Whoever she was, the beauty staring back at him was perfectly unsuitable to become the mother of his three-year-old twins.

Not after the pain Fanny had put them through this past year and a half.

For a dangerous moment Will’s mind fled back in time. To the day when he’d been fool enough to think he could make his marriage work. When he’d thought love was enough to conquer every obstacle thrown their way.

He knew better now. He would never marry for love again. His children deserved stability. And his poor mother deserved relief from the physical demands of caring for a pair of toddlers, no matter how well-behaved.

If this woman with her wild hair and commanding eyes was the one with which he’d corresponded, then Will would honor his promise. As he would any other business transaction. But what would become of his family then?

Mind made up, he continued forward, then stopped, frowned, dropped his gaze. The woman was holding a baby in her arms.

The letter hadn’t mentioned a child. Had his intended lied to him? A burning throb knotted in his throat. Was she using him to—

He cut off the rest of his thoughts. He was jumping to conclusions before he’d even met her. The baby might not be hers. And there was still no proof this was indeed his bride.

Will owed it to his children to find out for sure, before he brought the woman into his home and his life. As much as he wanted stability for the twins he would not condemn them to living with a woman of loose morals. Not again. Not ever again.

Closing the distance, he forced a smile on his lips and put as much charm into his voice as possible. “Are you Bridget?”

“I…well, yes.” Her lovely Irish lilt washed over him and brought an odd sensation of comfort. “Yes, I am Bridget.”

An echo of a smile trembled on her lips and Will found himself responding in kind.

Despite his first impression, this woman with her radiant smile and soft expression looked the picture of innocence. A bolt of yearning struck him out of nowhere.

Will ruthlessly suppressed the unwelcome sensation. He didn’t want, or need, a wife for his own sake.

“Hello, Bridget. I’m Will,” he said without feeling. “Your future husband.”

* * *

Her future…what? Her…her…husband?

The boldly spoken words echoed around in Bridget’s mind, yet she couldn’t make sense of them. She must have misunderstood the stranger—no, not a stranger anymore. Will, his name was Will.

Bridget shook her head free of her jumbled thoughts and tried to focus on the relevant matter at hand. He wasn’t here to claim Grace.

Relief made her legs go weak. But then confusion took hold. Surely this man, this…his name was Will. Surely Will hadn’t just referred to himself as her future husband.

It was really quite absurd to think that he had.

So Bridget waited for him to continue, or rather to explain himself in greater detail.

He remained completely, perfectly silent.

When the moment stretched into the uncomfortable, she swallowed several times and then opened her mouth to respond.

To her horror, nothing came out.

She snapped her mouth closed.

And still, Will held to his silence, with only a hint of impatience in his stance.

All Bridget could do was blink up at him in return. He towered over her by at least six inches. The breadth of his shoulders and the powerful muscles beneath his finely cut jacket indicated a man familiar with physical labor.

Bridget should be afraid of him.

She was not.

She was, however, rendered speechless. Still.

“I…I…” The rest of what she’d meant to say sputtered out in a gurgle. She swallowed and tried again. “I’m sorry, I must have heard you incorrectly, you said you were my, my—”

“Future husband.”

Oh, my. His deep, raspy voice skimmed over her. A warm, curious sense of inevitability pulled her a step closer to him. Foot poised in midair, she stopped herself before she took another. “That is quite impossible. You have mistaken me for someone else.”

His gaze instantly dropped to the baby in her arms and his eyebrows slammed together. Bridget could practically hear the thoughts running through his mind. She braced for the unavoidable questions, trying to decide how best to answer them when they came. She was no stranger to uncomfortable questions.

Will surprised her by skirting the issue of baby Grace altogether. “You are Bridget, are you not?”

“I am, yes.” She cleared her throat, comprehending his mistake if he did not. “But I am not your Bridget.”

His frown deepened. Something dark and turbulent flashed in his eyes.

As she recognized the shift in his mood, it occurred to her once again that she should be afraid of the man.

Why am I not more frightened?

They were surrounded by hundreds of people, yes, any of whom would come to her rescue if she screamed for help. But that wasn’t the reason for her lack of fear. It was Will himself. Or rather, his eyes. They were a deep, liquid blue so compelling and beautiful and yet so—very—bleak.

Bridget felt the familiar quickening of compassion in her heart. Something had made this man sad.

The realization brought an unexpected yearning. She’d never been able to turn away from a person in need. Daniel had considered her sympathy for the wounded and disadvantaged her greatest flaw. Bridget considered it her greatest strength. Their difference of opinion had been enough to cause a permanent rift, one that had ultimately torn them apart and brought her profound unhappiness over the past year.

Although she couldn’t explain why, her desire to help this man, this stranger, was different than any other time before. Stronger.

Personal.

Had the Lord brought Will to her for a reason?

No. This entire meeting was a mistake. She didn’t know him. And he didn’t know her, regardless of what he seemed to think.

Baby Grace chose that moment to wiggle in her sleep and then cry out in frustration. Bridget had been holding on too tightly.

Loosening her grip, she took a step back. Away from Will. Away from whatever it was drawing her to him.

The shadows cast by the ship enveloped her, bringing instant relief from the heat of the day.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, wishing she could be of more help but knowing it was best to walk away.

His face turned impassive, but she recognized the desperation that lay just below the surface. He wasn’t going to walk away from her. Not yet. Not until he was certain she wasn’t the woman he’d come searching for.

Oddly enough, Bridget wasn’t surprised by his determination. Will was not a man who accepted defeat easily. She wasn’t sure how she knew that about him. She just knew.

How was it she understood more about his stranger than she had Daniel, a man she’d known all her life and had been willing to marry?

“Perhaps this will spark your memory.” Will reached inside his coat and retrieved what looked like a letter. He unfolded the worn parchment and thrust it toward her.

Rearranging the sleeping baby in her arms, Bridget took the letter. The handwriting with its soft, looping scroll clearly belonged to a female.

A female that was not her.

Nevertheless she read each word slowly, carefully, and soon realized she was holding an acceptance letter. The woman had agreed to become this man’s bride. Not just any bride, his mail-order bride.

Bridget tried not to gasp aloud. She’d heard of such things. The potato famine had left many families destitute, eager to latch on to any lifeline, even if it meant marrying a stranger and moving far from home. But as she looked at Will from beneath her lowered lashes she decided he didn’t seem the type who needed to pay a woman to marry him. He was too handsome, too inherently confident, too…masculine.