Читать книгу An Arranged Marriage - Susan Fox P. - Страница 8

ALLISON’S nerves were still jittery by the time she returned to town. To her surprise, Uncle Charles had come home early from the bank, and he was waiting in the formal living room with Aunt Petula when she came in.

“Hello, dear,” Aunt Pet called as Allison walked into the tastefully appointed room. Petula was sitting on one of the three white sofas that were grouped around the low crystal coffee table. Charles stood near the liquor cabinet, his face expectant. A bottle of champagne rested in a silver bucket of shaped ice on a sofa table.

Allison’s soft, “Hello all,” was cautious as she stopped at the sofa and rested a hand on its back. She saw at a glance that Aunt Pet’s expression was tense. Charles was almost never home in the middle of a banking day. The bucket of champagne and the warm look Charles was giving her combined to send a tiny arrow of alarm through her.

Charles didn’t hesitate. “We trust you and Mr. Sumner have set the date.”

Allison stared a moment as a feeling of unreality slipped over her. Charles was clearly pleased and excited. A swift glance at Aunt Pet caught Pet’s nervous smile. All at once she realized that both of them must have expected her to accept Blue Sumner’s astonishing marriage proposal.

Though Charles had already made it clear, in spite of her objections, that he was strongly in favor of her accepting Blue’s proposal, until that moment she hadn’t realized how eager he was for a marriage—and how certain he was that she’d accept. Which was amazing because she and Blue Sumner were complete strangers with almost nothing in common!

She answered hesitantly, “Well…no, Uncle.”

“But you went out and spoke to him, saw the house,” Charles prompted cheerily. “I’m certain he’ll allow you to decorate it as you like. Most men are inept at that sort of thing,” he went on, oblivious to Allison’s growing look of alarm. “Sumner might have a lot of rough edges, but he’s filthy rich now, and I doubt there’s anything material he would deny you, as long as you’re willing to make him a proper wife.”

Allison quickly said, “I’ve rejected Mr. Sumner’s proposal, Uncle.”

Charles hesitated in the process of opening the champagne bottle to glance over at her, his wide smile faltering. “What was that?”

The silence stretched. Suddenly she was hesitant to repeat the words. Her mouth went dry. “I’ve rejected Mr. Sumner’s proposal. I was as diplomatic as possible,” she assured him when she saw the pleasantness drain from his face. “I’m certain he sees, as do I, that it would be better for him to wait and marry someone he’s in love with.”

Charles eased the bottle back down into the ice. His face flushed and his mouth flattened to a harsh line. He glared over at Petula, who was staring down at her clasped hands.

“I thought I made it clear to both of you—” his angry glance included Allison “—how important this marriage is. I’d hoped to avoid reminding either of you of the reason Chaney Bank is on the verge of insolvency, but I can see now that I should have been more direct.”

A sick feeling swept Allison. The bank was struggling and Charles blamed her. Her college friend, John Blake, had worked at the bank until three weeks ago. Because he’d been so bright and capable, Charles had rapidly advanced him. Later, when an internal audit showed a huge amount of money missing from the accounts, Charles had suspected John right away.

He claimed that her reluctance to believe John capable of embezzlement had made him look elsewhere for a culprit, which resulted in the loss of an even greater sum. Days later, John Blake abruptly quit his job and left town. It was shortly after that when Charles realized not only the extent of the embezzlement, but that her friend was undoubtedly the thief.

“I never would have hired John Blake were it not for my affection for you, Allison, and my regard for your wishes,” he said, his cultured voice arrogantly smooth, though he was clearly very angry. “Now, I think you should feel obligated to honor mine.”

Allison felt as if a subtle trap were closing on her. She rallied to evade it. “Have you notified the authorities?” She still couldn’t believe that John was a thief, and Charles’s certainty in the matter—as well as his method of dealing with the theft—continued to distress her.

“I explained why I wanted to handle the situation discreetly,” he snapped. “I can’t help that the private investigators I’ve hired haven’t been able to turn up anything.”

“Surely the accounts were federally insured against the loss,” she reasoned. “Besides, federal authorities have more resources—”

“That may be,” he said, cutting in irritably, his voice rising, “but the bank can hardly afford to have it become common knowledge that one of our own employees embezzled enough money to leave the bank insolvent.”

Charles’s face was mottled and he was glaring almost hatefully at her. Allison was shocked.

“Blue Sumner can give this bank the kind of business it needs to stay on its feet,” he declared. “You, my dear, are the woman he has chosen to marry. Once he’s a member of the family, I’m certain he’ll be more open to not only transferring his accounts to us, but he’ll naturally turn to me to be his financial advisor.”

Allison saw a small chance to avoid her part in Charles’s plan and dared to ask, “Has he guaranteed that he will transfer his accounts and have you advise him?” On one hand, it would be foolish for Charles to marry her off to a rich stranger in order to attract his business, with no guarantee that he’d do so. On another, marrying her off to Blue Sumner to get his business and have access to his money was tantamount to selling her.

Charles pointed at her as if he were scolding a naughty child. “You do your part and accept his proposal. Leave the business end of it to me.”

Allison felt dizzy. Charles’s scheme to save the bank was unbelievable. Unbelievable and medieval and ridiculous.

Charles’s harsh, “You talk to her, Petula,” tightened the knot of dread in her middle. “Maybe you can make her see what an ingrate she’s become. I’m going back to the bank.”

Neither Allison nor Petula spoke as Charles stalked through the house and slammed out the front door. Allison released a shaky breath and looked over at her Aunt Petula.

Petula Lancaster Wallace was still a beautiful woman. Though well into her fifties, her hair was still blond, her fair skin still taut and the only wrinkles she had of note were faint ones at the corners of her eyes and around her lovely mouth.

But Aunt Petula seemed to have aged a good ten years during Charles’s brief tirade.

Allison stepped forward and came around the edge of the sofa to sit down opposite Petula, the crystal table between them. The silence in the wake of Charles’s temper was ominous. Petula’s delicate fingers were shaking and she wouldn’t meet Allison’s gaze.

Allison felt her heart swelling. Petula had taken her in after her parents had been killed. No one else in their far-flung family had seemed to want her, but Aunt Pet had.

Petula’s motivation to take her in had far surpassed her sense of duty to raise her younger brother’s only child. Petula had genuinely loved her and wanted her, and somehow she’d managed to soften the pain of the incredible loss Allison had suffered and brighten the life of a grief-stricken child.

Not surprisingly, Allison dearly loved her aunt, and Petula’s happiness and well-being were even more important to her than her own.

And because it was suddenly all coming home to Allison that the bank was much worse off than she’d thought and that Aunt Pet seemed even more upset in her own way than Charles had been, Allison couldn’t help feeling a little desperate. Finally she spoke.

“Is the bank truly so bad off that I might need to…” Her voice drifted off. Somehow she’d not been able to say the words “marry Mr. Sumner.” “Forgive me, Auntie, but I’m…stunned.” Her soft words seemed to increase Pet’s distress.

Petula’s blue gaze lifted to hers and welled tragically. Before she could speak, Allison quickly stood and rounded the table to sit with her aunt and take her small, beringed fingers in hers.

“Aunt Pet?”

Petula squeezed her eyes shut and a tear slipped down her pale cheek. Her choked, “I’m afraid the bank is quite bad off,” was the prelude to more tears.

Stricken by her aunt’s distress, Allison hugged Petula and felt tears sting her own eyes. Aunt Pet rarely cried. She was always pleasant and mild-mannered, and considered strong emotional displays a breach of etiquette.

Pet returned her hug almost fiercely. When she managed to get control of herself, she leaned back to lift a trembling hand to Allison’s cheek.

“Oh, my sweet girl, the last thing I want is for you to marry some Neanderthal, whose only claim to respectability is that he’s savvy enough to use his new fortune to buy it.” Her fragile features stiffened and her pale cheeks flushed with fresh spirit. “I don’t care if the bank closes and Charles loses everything. There must be some other solution than to condemn you to a loveless marriage to a cowboy.”

Secretly Allison was heartsick. In spite of Pet’s declaration, she was suddenly terrified that marriage to Blue Sumner would turn out to be the only solution to the bank’s problems. Even worse, she was afraid that marrying Blue Sumner would turn out to be no solution at all.

Two days later, Allison found herself back at the Sumner Ranch in the late afternoon. Her aunt was now bedridden with nerves. Dr. Evans had been out to see her, but other than assuring them that Pet would be all right and that she’d probably be up and around soon, there’d been no substantial change in her condition.

The situation at the bank was little better. Charles hadn’t missed an opportunity to pressure her, and her own secret feelings of guilt about John Blake had worn her down. Finally she agreed to go to the Sumner Ranch to speak again with Blue.

Charles had assured her that he’d already phoned Blue and had, he claimed, smoothed things over. Allison couldn’t imagine that it had been that simple. If Blue had any pride at all, giving a woman a second opportunity to turn down his marriage proposal would be anathema to him.

Allison’s own pride was choking her. It was bad enough that she was virtually being sold. It was even worse to have to humble herself and drive out to the ranch to grovel before a man who might delight in turning the tables and rejecting her.

Two days ago, she would have rejoiced at the notion that Blue would lose interest in marrying her. But after two days of Aunt Pet’s depression and distress, Allison realized she was willing to do anything to help her aunt recover.

For all Pet’s talk of wanting to spare her an arranged marriage, Allison was beginning to believe it was impossible to save the bank any other way. Pet had been born to wealth and had lived an upper-class lifestyle. Allison knew well the terror of the rich when it came to thoughts of losing their fortune.

And Pet’s fear of public scandal was almost pathological. If the bank failed, Charles would naturally be considered responsible. His judgment would be suspect because of his failure to notify the proper authorities in a timely manner, and therefore his financial reputation would be sullied. Allison had no idea how it would all impact their personal finances, but the chance that it might prove disastrous was enough to make her take this desperate step.

Aunt Pet had loved her and given her a good home with all the financial advantages a child could possibly have. Allison would never be able to repay her Aunt’s generosity but, as Charles had so brutally pointed out, marrying Blue was her one grand opportunity to do so.

And so she walked up the sidewalk to the veranda that surrounded the new mansion. Today was Sunday, so there were no workers around. Though she was naturally apprehensive about being alone with Blue, in many ways it was a blessing. No one would be around to witness the scene if he’d changed his mind about giving her another chance.

And, if she was truly going to marry him, she’d be alone with him often. She might as well begin to adjust to him now, however much the notion panicked her.

The large double doors were closed, their oval etched glass panels providing a framed view of the huge empty entry hall beyond. Allison walked up to the door, then caught sight of the doorbell on the right and put out a hand to press the button. She listened nervously to the chimes as they sounded a series of deep-pitched tones.

Blue had watched Allison approach the house from the shelf-lined front room of the mansion, which would eventually be the den. He’d glimpsed the apprehension on her lovely face when she’d stepped out of her car. He’d seen the resolute squaring of her narrow shoulders as she’d started up the walk, then the determined concealment of her feelings when she’d blanked her expression.

His pride hadn’t suffered at all when she’d refused to marry him the other day, but it was taking a beating now. Charles Wallace’s spineless groveling on the phone had turned his stomach, but the sense he had that Wallace had bullied Ms. Allison into changing her mind shamed him a little.

Though Blue had never wanted her to have any real choice about marrying him, the actual follow-through of his plan to get her made him feel as if he’d abused her somehow. Demeaned wasn’t a word in his normal vocabulary, but he felt like maybe he’d managed to demean them both. Particularly since she’d seemed to set a lot of store by love, an emotion that by habit and necessity, he’d learned to ignore.

But he hadn’t worked his way up from the poverty and homelessness of his childhood by being soft or by veering from the goals he’d set for himself. Marrying Allison Lancaster was just the next goal on his list. If he thought of her in those terms, what he had to do to get her troubled him less.

He turned away as she put out a hand to ring the doorbell. He strode from the den into the entry hall and then to the front door. The big chimes were echoing away when he opened it.

Allison’s soft, “May I come in?” was a bit breathless. Blue wasn’t wearing his black Stetson, but he seemed a giant somehow. His handsome face was stern, though she detected a faint wariness in the blue of his eyes.

He didn’t answer verbally, but opened the big door to allow her to enter. She took four or five steps across the marble floor before she came to an uncertain halt and turned toward him.

He’d closed the door and stood staring over at her. Nothing in his expression gave her a clue to his thoughts until he said, “I put an old desk and a couple of chairs in the front room there—the den.” The gesture he made signaled her to precede him. Allison walked toward the open door and stepped through. Blue entered behind her and pushed the door not quite shut.

“The furniture is old and ugly, but it’ll do until the house is done and I can get to Dallas to buy something better.”

His offhand remark about the old desk and the paint-spattered chairs seemed a sensible one to make, but something in his voice suggested he was somehow ashamed of it. A swift glance at his hard expression made her think she’d imagined the impression.

He reached for the folded white sheet that rested on a corner of the desk. He picked up the sheet and gave it a flick that unfolded it before he draped it over the better of the two mismatched chairs. He automatically repositioned the other chair opposite hers to straddle it and sit down before he realized she hadn’t moved.

As if he were a schoolboy who realized he’d forgotten his manners, Blue abruptly stood up and waved a hand toward the sheeted chair. “Go ahead and sit down, Miz Allison. The sheet’s new. Your dress will be fine.”

Allison moved toward the chair and sat down stiffly, though her face was hot. She hadn’t hesitated because she was afraid of getting her dress dirty. “I don’t worry about my clothing as much as you might imagine, Mr. Sumner. I was waiting for you to invite me to sit.”

Blue slowly eased back down and rested his muscular forearms across the chair back. He gave her a level look and said in a rough voice, “I reckon I don’t need to tell you that I’m full of bad manners. Might be a while before I’m ready for polite society.”

Allison stared at him, caught off guard by his directness. She felt herself soften toward him and found herself saying, “Good manners are really nothing more than making the other person feel comfortable.”

“Then my manners must be especially bad,” he said, his voice going lower and more raspy, “because you don’t look too comfortable.”

Allison glanced down at her clasped hands, a bit amazed to feel that her palms were damp. “It’s the situation that makes me uncomfortable, Mr. Sum—”

“Blue.”

The curt correction made her lift her eyes and look at him.

“The way you say Mr. Sumner makes me feel like I’m half a state away from you.”

Allison’s laced fingers flexed and her hands were gripping each other almost painfully. Wanting to ignore his remark about the distance she almost wished they had, she changed the subject. “I’ve come to ask you a few questions. Rather delicate ones.”

Blue looked at her somberly. “Good. I don’t want to worry about a question bein’ delicate or not. We’ve got things to talk about and I’d rather you say what you mean.”

Allison nodded, then got to the point. “My uncle seems to believe he’s trading a niece for a multimillion-dollar bank account. He believes that once you’re in the family, you’ll allow him to advise you on financial matters.”

Blue watched her calmly. “What I decide to do about your uncle and his bank is separate from you.”

Allison tried to read his unsmiling expression. He’d worded his reply oddly and she wasn’t certain how to take it. His face gave nothing away that would clarify his remark. Allison continued.

“Arranged marriages are usually about money. I feel as if—” she managed to get a breath “—as if I’m being bought.”

“I need a wife,” he said with that same unruffled calm. “I’m particular about the woman I want.”

“But there are lots of women in Texas, Mr.—Blue. There must be hundreds of women around, even for a man who’s particular about the woman he wants.”

His unsmiling expression cracked a bit and one corner of his mouth quirked downward. “I reckon by now just about every available female in Texas has thrown herself into my path. Money seems to make ’em bold.”

“So you think they only want you for your money? How are they different from…me?”

“Because you’re the one I want.” The low drawl wrapped around her. She sensed the intensity behind the burning look he was giving her and felt her heart flutter as his masculinity overwhelmed her.

In that moment she glimpsed his utter determination to marry her, by whatever means. He wasn’t touching her, he didn’t even try, but she felt his possession as surely as if he’d swept her into his arms.

Some bit of self-preservation—and selfishness—prompted her to tell him, “This isn’t the marriage I’d hoped to have.”

“It’s the one I want.”

The simple statement should have made her angry. After all, it was a blunt reminder of their inequality—of the fact that they weren’t equals, that he had all the money and all the choices. And that she had none.

But Allison sensed another meaning behind the words. A man from Blue’s background, who didn’t believe in love, might not want to get a wife any other way. And, she realized, a man with social limitations might not know how.

The perception kept her from taking offense.

“Do you have a date in mind for the wedding?”

The date he named was only a bit more than a month away. Allison couldn’t help the panic she felt.

“Th-then you prefer we see a justice of the peace?”

Blue shook his head. “I want it big, in your church, with your preacher, and grand enough that it makes the big city papers. If your uncle can’t spring for everything, send the bills to me.”

Allison couldn’t conceal her reluctance to have the huge, very public wedding he wanted. “A wedding like that could cost a lot of money.”

“How much?” His bluntness continued to take her aback.

“Why, a wedding such as the one you describe could cost upwards of twenty thousand dollars.”

“I’m good for it.”

She glanced away, not able to withstand the directness of his gaze. Or the embarrassment she felt at his offer to pay for an expensive wedding. She determined then that if it took every penny of her trust fund, she’d pay for her own wedding.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. S—”

“Blue.” The soft drawl carried a faint demand that brought her gaze back to his. “A wife oughtta call her husband by his first name.”

“Then you really want to go through with this.” It was a statement she made so she couldn’t possibly mistake things—or keep a reserve of hope.

That seemed to be the signal for him to stand. He straightened to his full height and swung his chair out of the way. With his blue gaze fixed purposely on hers, he stepped nearer and reached for her hand to pull her to her feet.

Flustered and excited by the strong, yet gentle grip of his callused fingers around hers, she couldn’t break contact with the fiery gleam in his gaze.

“Just so there’s no mistake about what I want. And to help you remember there’s no point in calling me Mr. Sumner…”

He caught her against him, lifting her slightly off the floor as his lips descended to hers. The kiss was only marginally gentle. Shock jolted her, and the involuntary gasp of air she took gave him the sudden access he needed to deepen the kiss. The blatant carnality of his mouth stole her breath and made her head spin.

The feel of his hard body was a new shock, and though she wasn’t vastly experienced with men, even she knew he was aroused. His heat enveloped her while the forceful, yet expert invasion of her mouth turned her insides to a hot pulsing mass.

When he finally broke off the kiss, she was incapable of standing. She was only dazedly aware that she was clinging to him, and that even when his arms loosened around her, she was plastered against him.

“I reckon sex won’t be something we have to put off till we know each other better,” he remarked, his voice a husky rasp.

His words penetrated the sensual haze that fogged her brain, and she made a weak effort to shake her head. My God, she hardly knew the man!

As if he’d sensed her objection, his lips touched hers again. This time, his kiss was so tender, so wickedly persuasive, that she was incapable of thought. Years of well-bred reserve fell away, and she slid the manicured fingers of one hand into his thick dark hair and made a fist to hang on.

She’d been kissed before. She’d found kissing pleasant enough, but nothing in her experience could have prepared her for either of Blue’s kisses—the carnal devouring one, or this achingly sensual one that seemed to reach deep inside her and caress her very essence.

An emotion spiraled gently in her chest, swelling her heart. Before she could quite identify it, his lips eased away.

Her lashes fluttered up and she dizzily met the raging fire in his eyes.

“Say my name.”

The demand was almost harsh, but Allison didn’t feel threatened. Her soft, “Blue,” was breathless with the sensuality that gripped her. She realized with some surprise that she’d moved her hand and that she was touching his lean cheek, stroking it.

Her even softer, “Blue,” repeated the name that she suddenly realized would forever be attached to the strange new emotion she felt.

When Blue reached up to gently capture her fingers and pull them away from his cheek, she felt oddly disappointed. He slowly released her and eased her away from him.

The loss of his body heat seemed to calm the turbulent sensuality between them. But only slightly. Even when they were no longer touching, something a lot like raw electricity danced and snapped between them.

“I reckon you’ll want to get yourself back to town and start makin’ plans,” he said gruffly. “I’ll call on you tomorrow afternoon to see how you’re comin’ along.”

Allison was still too in thrall to speak. She felt an unexpected nick of pain when she sensed Blue withdraw emotionally. Suddenly aloof, he escorted her to the door, then outside and down the walk to her car. He opened the door for her, then shut it solidly once she was behind the wheel.

She drove all the way to the highway before she realized she was shaking violently.