Leigh Michaels - Maybe Married

Dana’s jaw dropped. “What? We took care of that years ago. You have absolutely no claim on me anymore, Zeke, so stop acting like a dog in the manger.”

“You’re divorced?” Barclay sounded as if he was about to faint.

“That’s the problem,” Zeke murmured. “She isn’t, actually. There was a little hang-up with the paperwork, and so our divorce never quite went through. Sorry to break the news this way, darling—but you’re still married. To me.”

To have and to hold…

Their marriage was meant to last—and they have the gold rings to prove it!

To love and to cherish…

But what happens when their promise to love, honor and cherish is put to the test?

From this day forward…

Emotions run high as husbands and wives discover how precious—and fragile—their wedding vows are…. Will true love keep them together—forever?

Marriages meant to last!

The Prodigal Wife (#3740)

by

Susan Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

A BURST of applause, followed by a low buzz of conversation and the telltale rustling of two dozen people rising from their chairs, told Dana that the meeting was over. Just in time, too, she thought. As long as no one hung around for prolonged goodbyes, they might still manage to keep to the schedule.

Beside her, Connie glanced at her watch. “It’s past five. President Howell is cutting it a little fine, I’d say. But then he’s not the one who has to clean up the damage—and he does like to hear himself talk.”

Dana ignored both the comment and the sidelong look which accompanied it. “I’ll start picking up the debris now. As soon as the last guest clears the doorway, you can start to vacuum at this end of the room. Tell the caterers they can begin setting up the bar in fifteen minutes.” She didn’t wait for an answer before she slid open the pocket door which separated the hallway from the drawing room and went in.

Originally, there had been two parlors occupying the entire width of the big Georgian house. But years ago when the university had bought the mansion as a home for its presidents, the dividing wall had been knocked out to make a single enormous room suitable for entertaining crowds. In matching fireplaces at each end of the room, gas logs flickered cheerfully, banishing the gloom of a dreary, rainy late afternoon. Between the two sets of French doors overlooking the veranda was a table holding the ravaged remains of afternoon tea. Dana noted almost automatically that the few leftover cucumber sandwiches looked limp, the strawberries had faded and shrunk, and the petits fours appeared hard as rocks. But then, it was nearly three hours since the tea table had been arranged.

At the far end of the room, nearest the front door, a dozen women were still clustered around the university’s president. Dana heard Barclay Howell’s deep voice, though she didn’t catch what he’d said, followed by a burst of feminine laughter.

Dana stayed as far away as she could, trying to be unobtrusive as she gathered up stale coffee cups, dropped napkins, and—what was half a scone doing under the edge of the love seat, anyway? Getting this room cleared out and ready for the cocktail party which was due to start in less than an hour was going to be an especially big challenge.

She didn’t see Mrs. Janowitz until the matron was within five feet. “Dana, my dear,” the woman said, bearing down on her. “Such a lovely party. I was just telling Barclay how much nicer the events here at Baron’s Hill have been ever since you took over.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Janowitz.” Dana’s hands were full, but the matron was between her and the doorway where Connie had parked the service cart, so she took a firmer grip on both the china and her patience.

“That so-called butler they had before,” Mrs. Janowitz went on, “had no flair. No sense of style. He paid far too much attention to petty things and never looked at the big picture.”

Dana felt obligated to give the woman a warning. “Mr. Beeler will be returning as soon as he’s completely recovered from his pneumonia.”

“Oh, yes, I know.” Mrs. Janowitz’s voice was airy. “You’d hardly want to keep on doing everything yourself. And I’m sure, with his fondness for detail, he’ll be much better at carrying out instructions than in planning things all the way through.”

“I’m not sure you understand. As soon as Mr. Beeler returns, I’ll be going back to my regular job as manager of the conference center.”

“If you want to call it a conference center, when it’s really just an old classroom building.” Mrs. Janowitz smiled broadly and patted Dana’s arm. “But of course, my dear, I completely understand that’s the official line for the moment. However, for those of us who can see what’s really going on…” Her voice dropped. “We approve, Dana. I thought you’d like to know.” She strode back across the room and plunged into the still-chattering group around Barclay Howell.

Dana shook her head and dumped the plates and cups she’d gathered onto the service cart. She had no idea what Mrs. Janowitz was talking about and no time to ponder the question at the moment. If President Howell didn’t move these women out in a hurry, they were going to collide at the front door with his cocktail party guests.

As if he’d heard her, the president shepherded the remaining half dozen women into the hallway. Dana watched from the corner of her eye. She’d seen him do it countless times, but it still amazed her how easily Barclay Howell could maneuver people out the door without ever letting them realize they’d been politely sent on their way. Or at least he made it look easy. He’d no doubt had plenty of practice in the time he’d spent as a college administrator, working his way up the ladder to the president’s office.

Connie appeared with the vacuum cleaner, which had been specially chosen for its low noise level rather than its cleaning power, and started on the carpet. Dana was just starting to push the service cart into the hall where it would be out of Connie’s way when Barclay Howell came back into the room, dusting his hands together in satisfaction.

“Dana,” he called. “I’d like a moment with you, privately.”

Dana looked around the room. She still had to freshen up the flower arrangements and move them off the tea table so it could be torn down, and Connie could use help in shifting all the chairs. There was no time to spare for chitchat, but after all, Barclay Howell was the boss. “Let me get rid of this cart first.”

“I’ll be in the music room.”

She pushed the cart down the hall toward the kitchen and then returned to the front of the house. Next to the front door, across the wide entrance hall from the drawing room, was a much smaller, more intimate room. She tapped on the half-open door and went in.