Sandra Marton - A Proper Wife

“But she didn’t?” Ryan grinned when James shook his head. “I see. She’s not awkward anymore, she’s just homely. Poor Bettina. Her scheme backfired.”

“I wouldn’t call the girl ‘homely,’” James said thoughtfully. “It’s just that she’s without artifice. Quite proper and demure.”

“Well, then,” Ryan said, trying to mask his impatience, “I’m sure she’ll find a good husband sooner or later.”

“I’m certain of it,” James said, and smiled.

“Look, Grandfather, haven’t we gotten off the subject? We were discussing—ah, we were talking about—”

“My death, that’s what we were discussing, and what you can do to make its approach easier. I’m getting to it, if you’ll—” There was a knock at the library door. “Yes?” the old man said irritably as it opened. “What is it now, Brimley? Can’t you bear to leave me in peace for a moment?”

“You have guests, sir,” the housekeeper said, her voice fairly humming with disapproval.

“Is it nine o’clock already?” James sighed. “No wonder you were getting impatient, my boy. I lost track of the time. I thought we had at least another hour before Bettina and her daughter arrived.”

Ryan stared at his grandfather. “What do you mean?”

“I asked them to come by this evening, after dinner.”

“What in hell for?”

“So you could meet her, of course.”

Ryan thrust his hand into his black hair and scraped it back from his forehead.

“Sir,” he said gently, “I’m afraid you’re a bit confused. I’ve met Bettina before, remember?”

James slapped his hands against the arms of his chair.

“Don’t patronize me, boy. I am not senile. It’s my body that’s failing, not my brain. I am not talking about Bettina. It’s Devon I want you to meet.”

“Devon?”

“Don’t look so blank, for heaven’s sake. Yes, Devon. Bettina’s daughter. Your brother’s stepchild.”

“But why? Look, if you want to do something for her... give her money, whatever—”

“What I want, Ryan, is that you promise to honor the request I shall make of you.”

“I will. I’ve already told you that, sir, but what does it have to do with—what’s her name?”

“Devon,” the old man said. “And it has everything to do with her. You see, I’ve thought of a solution to all my problems.”

“What problems?”

“The ones I’ve spent the last hour enumerating,” James said testily. “Haven’t you been listening? My concern that you settle down with the right wife.”

“That,” Ryan said with a wave of his hand.

“Yes. That. And now this other thing that’s come up, your brother’s wish that his stepdaughter be provided for.”

“Grandfather,” Ryan said patiently, “I fail to see what one thing has to do with another.”

A sly smile curved across James’s mouth.

“They have everything to do with each other. You need a wife and the girl needs to be taken care of.” The old man chuckled. “It’s quite simple, Ryan. I have found you the proper wife and I want you to marry her.”

The words seemed to echo through the library. Behind him, in the fireplace, Ryan heard the pop of a damp log as the heat drew the last bit of moisture from its core.

That’s how I feel, Ryan thought dazedly, as if the last bit of air were being pulled from my lungs.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

“I’ve never been more serious. And I will remind you that you gave me your word. You will marry Devon Franklin.”

Franklin? Ryan thought. His heart slammed against his ribs. Franklin?

“Grandfather,” he said in a strangled voice, but James shifted suddenly in his chair and peered beyond Ryan, his eyes lighting with pleasure.

“Devon, my dear. Please come in. I want you to meet my grandson.”

Even before Ryan turned, before he saw her, he knew.

There, standing in the doorway, was the same gorgeous, evil-tempered blonde who’d slugged him six hours earlier in Montano’s.

CHAPTER THREE

RYAN had heard it said that in moments of danger, time seemed to stand still.

That had never been his experience. He liked danger: it was one of the things that had made him so successful in business. When things got dicey, when other men blinked, Ryan only felt his heartbeat quicken. And then time would seem to speed up. Events, words, gestures would clip by at a lightning-quick rate, so that afterward he’d have to sit down and sort them all out.

Now, as he confronted the demure, sweet-tempered, old-fashioned girl his grandfather had hand-selected as his bride, Ryan knew for the first time what people meant when they spoke about a moment frozen in time.

He could feel each beat of his heart, hear each breath as he drew it. He could see Bettina, standing just beyond the girl, her blood-red lips moving so slowly that the words were undecipherable.

But the most incredible part of the experience was watching the tangle of emotions pass across Devon’s face. Recognition first, and then disbelief. Then shock. And finally, horror.

Whatever she had expected to find in this house tonight, he had to be her worst nightmare come true.

But she couldn’t be any more stunned than he was. Devon Franklin, sitting by the fireside with an embroidery hoop in her lap? Chatting politely with the other ladies of the sewing circle before returning home to cook her husband’s dinner?

Ryan almost laughed. It was easier to imagine Jack the Ripper hired to carve roasts at a dinner party.

But it was easy to see why James had been fooled. The girl was a chameleon. She could take on whatever coloration she needed. At Montano’s, she’d been the portrait of sexy sophistication: blond hair loose and flowing, eyes ringed with kohl, long legs flashing seductively beneath the ankle-length, velvet cape.

Tonight she looked as chaste as a nun ready to take her vows. Her silky hair was bundled back into a loose knot, her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and her delectable body and long legs were hidden beneath a gray wool dress that hung to midcalf.

And yet, if anything, she was more beautiful than before.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. Her beauty didn’t change reality. She was a woman who had learned she could get whatever she wanted by trading on her looks. It was no accident that she should turn up for a visit with an old man, pretending to be Miss Innocence.

The whole pathetic scheme was obvious. Devon Franklin had created herself to suit his grandfather’s tastes. James was not just an old man, he was an old-fashioned one nearing the end of his life, he had lots of money and only one heir.

Bettina and her daughter had seen a golden opportunity and moved on it.

A surge of anger roiled Ryan’s blood. It was not only a ridiculous scam, it was a cruel one to try and pull on a frail old man. Neither woman had thought, if they’d thought at all, that the old man’s grandson could stop them.

And Devon, he thought grimly, had not thought about him at all.

He started forward, his eyes fixed to hers, relishing the look of dread that would soon replace the horror in her face....

“Ryan!”

Bettina’s squeal of delight shattered the silence. She hurtled past Devon and threw herself at him, rising off her toes as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Ryan, how wonderful! I hoped you might be here tonight! How lovely to see you again after so many years.”

Ryan clasped Bettina’s forearms and set her on her feet.

“Hello, Bettina.” He smiled tightly as he took in the flushed, artfully made-up face, the hennaed curls, the lush body verging on ripeness. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it? But I can see you haven’t changed at all.”

Bettina giggled. “It’s sweet of you to say so.” Her hand went to her hair; she patted it into place as she looked at James. “Hello, Grandfather Kincaid. You’re looking well.”