Читать книгу Married By Midnight - Judith Stacy - Страница 11

“Damnation…”

Nick slumped against the sink, braced his arm on the cold porcelain and squinted into the mirror.

He looked like hell.

He felt like hell.

But what did he expect after consuming his share of a bottle of Scotch last night?

Pushing away from the sink, he saw that Jackson, his valet, had already filled the claw-footed tub for him, as he did every morning. Nick stripped off his flannel drawers and eased into the water. He dunked his head and threaded his fingers through his dark hair, slicking it off his face.

During his morning bath Nick usually reviewed his day ahead—people he planned to meet, appointments scheduled at his office downtown, things that required his attention. But this morning all he could think about was Ethan and that damn bottle of Scotch. Nick seldom drank to excess. Now he remembered why.

A discreet knock sounded on the bathroom door, and Jackson, a slight man with graying hair, slipped into the room bearing a tray with a cup of coffee, then disappeared just as silently. Nick wasn’t sure how the man always knew his needs so instinctively, but he appreciated it.

Sipping the coffee, Nick washed, dried and dressed in fresh underdrawers and the white sleeveless undershirt Jackson had left for him. When he moved to the mirror once more, he thought he looked a little better. He felt a little better, too.

Yet something nagged at him. Something from last night. What was it?

Dragging the razor across his lathered jaw, he thought back to yesterday. The Whitney project came to mind, but he could recall nothing out of the ordinary with it. Just the usual worry that he stood to lose a large fortune if the deal fell apart.

No, it wasn’t the Whitney project. Nick rinsed the razor under the tap, mentally reviewing the previous day. Finally, he recalled last night in the study. Cecilia had come in. Ethan and he had been left with the bottle of Scotch to finish off. Then Ethan suggested—

“Hellfire.” Nick’s head came up quickly.

He’d made a wager to find a wife in thirty days.

“Damn…!” Nick eyed his reflection sharply. What had he been thinking? He’d bet Ethan a case of Scotch that he would be married by midnight in thirty days—twenty-nine days, now. What the hell was wrong with him?

Grumbling, Nick finished shaving and went into his adjoining bedchamber. Jackson had disappeared, but he’d laid out Nick’s suit for the day. Nick yanked on his white shirt, mentally berating himself for drinking so much, for agreeing to that ridiculous bet.

He stopped in the middle of his room as another thought occurred to him.

Even before last night he’d considered getting married. Having a wife wasn’t such a bad idea. In fact, it would ease his burden in life considerably.

No more young eligible women being pushed in front of him at social events. No more mothers, grandmothers and aunts looking him over, sizing him up as husband material.

Maybe Ethan’s idea had some merit. Nick fastened the button on his left sleeve. Getting the whole wedding thing over and done with quickly had its advantages.

He exhaled heavily. No, it wasn’t right—not for his future wife, anyway. Women lived for that sort of thing. Parties, receptions. Certainly her wedding. He couldn’t rob her of that once-in-a-lifetime event.

He fiddled with the button on his right sleeve. Of course, finding a wife in a month’s time would be a challenge to any man, but who was more up to it than he? He could sweep a woman off her feet as well as anyone.

Finding the right sort of woman would be imperative. Nick had no intention of falling desperately in love. He’d known that for some time now. He’d known, too, that what he wanted was a wife who was compatible.

He’d learned the hard way what “love” could do to a man.

Nick paused. Compatible. Yes, that’s what he wanted. It was what he would look for. Compatibility. If he found that, everything else would fall into place.

The door to his bedchamber burst open. Nick swung around as Cecilia swept into his room, her dressing gown billowing behind her, her hair a mass of tangles.

While never in a thousand years would Nick consider walking into his sister’s or mother’s room unannounced, the women in the house thought nothing of bursting in on him when it suited them. Such as now, when he wore only his drawers and shirt, with one cuff buttoned.

Cecilia stopped, flung out both hands and cried, “It’s over! The wedding is off!” She burst into tears.

“What?” Nick went to her.

Constance dashed into his room, hot on her daughter’s heels. She, too, wore her dressing gown. Her graying hair, woven into a braid, hung down her back.

“Cecilia,” Constance said, “please, calm down.”

“What happened?” Nick asked.

“It’s off! The wedding! Aaron—Aaron never really loved me at all!” Cecilia collapsed into racking sobs against Nick.

He gathered her into his arms and turned to their mother. “What the hell happened?”

“I have no idea. I found her this way in her room a few minutes ago,” Constance said, her eyes wide. She touched her daughter’s shoulder. “Cecilia, dear, you must tell us what happened. Why do you think Aaron doesn’t love you?”

“Because he doesn’t,” Cecilia wailed, lifting her head from Nick’s shoulder. “Cancel the wedding. The flowers, the food, the reception—cancel it all!”

Nick saw his mother sway as over a year’s worth of planning and preparing evaporated before their eyes. He reached out and steadied her. She clamped her hand onto his arm.

“Let’s just all calm down,” Nick said. “First—”

“No, there’s nothing to discuss!” Cecilia said.

“Cecilia, you don’t mean that,” Constance insisted.

“Yes, I do!”

“Nick, do something!”

“Look, both of you—”

“Stop!” Aunt Winnie blasted into the room wearing a ruby-red dressing gown, her hair so neatly styled it looked as if she’d sat up in a chair all night. “I could have predicted this would happen! Cecilia, what did you dream last night?”

Cecilia wailed anew and buried her face in Nick’s shoulder. Constance clutched him tighter.

Winnifred marched over to them. “Someone’s dream predicted this. Nick, what did you dream last night?”

“I—I dreamed I was flying,” he said.

Winnifred’s eyes squinted together. “Were you flying over broken objects?”

“No.” He peered down at his sister, trying to see her face. “Cecilia, you have to tell us what happened.”

“Were you flying with black wings?” Winnifred persisted.

“No.”

“White wings?”

“No. Listen, Cecilia, Aaron loves you. Just last night—”

“He doesn’t!” she insisted.

“Were you shot at while flying?” Winnifred asked.

“No.”

“Were you flying naked?”

“Aunt Winnie!” Nick eased Cecilia away from him and tilted her face up. “Tell me what happened.”

“Yes, dear, tell us everything,” Constance said, finally pulling herself together.

Cecilia sniffed and dragged her hand across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “Last night when Aaron was here he—he said something. I thought nothing of it at the time, but when I woke this morning I realized what it really meant.”

“Did it come to you in a dream?” Aunt Winnie demanded.

“No,” Cecilia said.

“What did he say?” Nick asked.

“He said he—he wanted to cut our honeymoon short.” She collapsed into tears again. “Because of business.”

“Aha!” Constance declared, as if everything were clear to her now.

Nick stared at the two of them. “What the hell’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, Nick, really.” Constance shot him a look and gathered her daughter into her arms.

Cecilia gave Nick a whack on the chest. “Oh, I should have known you wouldn’t understand!”

He plowed his fingers through his hair. “I could understand it if you could explain it.”

“He wants to come back early because of business,” Cecilia said, swiping at her tears again. “That means he cares more about his business than he cares about me. If he really loved me he would want to be with me as much as possible. But he doesn’t.”

“That’s not what it means,” Nick insisted.

“Yes, it is! I won’t marry a man who cares more about his business than he cares about me!” Cecilia clenched her hands into fists. “You don’t understand! Nobody understands!”

“Cecilia—”

“Dear—”

“What did Aaron dream last night?”

“I understand.”

Nick looked up as yet another woman wearing a dressing gown walked into his bedchamber. This one he didn’t know. But Cecilia obviously did because she rushed to her.

And, Lord, this woman was pretty. Tall, with thick brown hair that curled to her waist. She looked vaguely familiar, but Nick was certain he would have remembered her if they’d met.

“I couldn’t help but overhearing as I was going down the hall,” she said, gesturing toward the door and casting an apologetic look at Constance.

“That’s fine,” Constance replied, seeming relieved to have her here. “Go ahead, Amanda.”

“Amanda?” Nick stared harder at her.

She ignored him and took both of Cecilia’s hands. “I just went through this same thing with both my cousins, only weeks ago when they married.”

“Amanda Van Patton?” Nick asked, as a foggy memory crept into his mind.

“It’s last-minute jitters, that’s all,” Amanda said. “Things seem worse than they really are.”

“Amanda Van Patton? From San Francisco?”

“Hush, Nick,” Constance hissed.

“No,” Cecilia protested. “That’s not the case here. It’s not just jitters.”

“Yes, it is,” Amanda told her. “Now, listen to me, Cecilia, and listen well. Aaron loves you. You know that. His asking if he could cut the honeymoon short means just that. Nothing more. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, or that he thinks more about his business than he does you. And he did ask you, didn’t he? He didn’t tell you.”

“Well, yes,” Cecilia said, and sniffed.

“You’ll be his wife,” Amanda said. “His business responsibilities will be your responsibilities, too. Aaron is a smart man. If he really thinks he needs to come home sooner, then you should consider that he has a valid reason.”

A heavy silence fell over the room while the wedding of the season hung in the balance. Cecilia chewed her bottom lip. Nick was certain his mother held her breath. He was having a little trouble breathing himself, but for an entirely different reason.

This woman was Amanda Van Patton? Recollections surfaced in his memory, vaguely matching the beautiful woman who stood in front of him now.

Finally, Cecilia sniffed and said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Talk to Aaron. Listen to what he says. Tell him how you feel,” Amanda said. “You two need to do what’s best for the both of you.”

“All right,” Cecilia promised, sniffing again and drawing in a breath. “I will.”

“So the wedding is on?” Constance asked, almost in a whisper, as if afraid of what the answer might be.

Cecilia pushed her chin up. “It’s on.”

“Thank goodness,” her mother declared, pressing her hand to her throat. Then she dashed for the door. “I have a hundred things to do today.”

“I must talk to Aaron right away,” Cecilia declared, hurrying after her.

“What about your dreams?” Aunt Winnie called, following the other two women. “I must know what you dreamed.”

Nick hardly noticed the three women leaving the room as he stared at Amanda, standing in profile before him.

She’d been little more than a child when he’d last seen her. But now she was a woman. All woman.

Beautiful, yes. But more than that. She’d handled the situation with Cecilia with an intelligence and a command seldom found in women. And that made her even more attractive.

“Amanda?”

She turned and gazed up at him with the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Nick’s belly clenched.

“I didn’t recognize you,” he said. “You don’t look as I remember…but I don’t see how I could have forgotten.”

Amanda gave him a half smile and wiggled her finger at him. “Actually, what you’ve forgotten is your trousers.”

She turned briskly and walked out of the room.

Nick looked down at himself, then slapped his palm against his forehead. “Oh, my God…”