Читать книгу Claiming His Bride - Vivienne Wallington - Страница 10

“We have special permission,” Mack was quick to assure her. “The celebrant already has the documents. They only need your signature, Suzie.”

She stared back at him, too stunned to think of asking how he’d wangled special permission. The black eyes piercing hers were deadly serious. If this was one of Mack’s practical jokes, there was no sign of it.

“We can go down into the garden now,” Mack continued coolly, “get married in front of all your friends and that media pack waiting for you, Suzie, soak in all the publicity you need to save your fashion house and to hold up your head as a rising star of fashion design, and we can dissolve the marriage afterward, if that’s what you want.” He glanced at Suzie’s mother.

Ruth’s eyes wavered. She knew all about holding up one’s head. She’d been keeping up appearances all her married life…making out that her marriage was a normal one, that her husband wasn’t the useless no-hoper he’d become. To have to stand by and watch her daughter marrying Mack Chaney would be intolerable, but if they planned to dissolve it afterward…

“But what would we tell everyone?”

“Just tell them your daughter realized she couldn’t go through with her wedding to Tristan Guthrie and decided to follow her true heart,” came Mack’s drawling response. “You can always tell them later it didn’t work out.” If he could win over Suzie’s mother…

Ruth looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon. “I meant what would I tell them about you? Everyone knows my daughter would never marry an aimless, unemployed biker!”

Suzie’s head swam. Their voices seemed to be coming from far away. Her true heart? Was she dreaming…or paddling through a nightmare?

“Just tell them I’m in computers,” Mack advised easily.

Ruth sniffed. “You can’t get married in black leather!”

“The fashion world will love a bridegroom in black leather,” Lucy interjected, excitement bubbling in her voice. “It’s so romantic!”

Ruth pressed a hand to her chest. “But why does it have to be you?” she croaked, glaring at Mack.

Mack clenched his jaw. “I guess because I was the only one who thought to check up on Tristan Guthrie. And because I care about what happens to your daughter, Mrs. Ashton.”

“And you think my daughter wants to get tied up with you?” Ruth’s eyes flashed daggers at him. “She doesn’t! She’s made that quite clear in the past.” She gulped down her anger, her gaze sliding away. “But if you’re serious about this being only a temporary arrangement…and if my daughter agrees…” To save face…to save Jolie Fashions…to save her daughter’s career…

“Well, Suzie?” Mack turned to his prospective bride, who’d remained silent until now. She’d been shocked into silence. “It’s your call.”

Suzie’s head was still spinning. It was impossible to think straight. Her mother’s bitter attack on Mack a second ago had had a curious effect on her, making her feel almost defensive of him, tempting her to point out his good points to her mother. Only with her mind in such a tumultuous state, she couldn’t think of any! She’d spent so much time over the past three years reminding herself of Mack’s many faults…his many sins…trying only to think of them…

Mack watched the conflicting emotions in her eyes and relaxed a trifle. She was coming around…it was going to be easier than he’d thought.

“Mrs. Guthrie’s leaving!” Lucy reported from the window. “So are the people she’s sitting closest to. There’s no sign of Tristan…he must have sent one of the staff to speak to his mother.”

Tristan hadn’t even had the courage to face his mother himself? How pathetic he was, Suzie thought in disgust. What a lucky escape she’d had…and such a close escape…and she could thank Mack….

Her eyes clouded. She didn’t want to be indebted to Mack Chaney.

Mack felt a tinge of anxiety. He’d seen that look before. Don’t get cold feet now, Suzie. “I promise I’ll give you your freedom afterward, Suzie, the moment you ask. I’ll sign anything you want me to.” His eyes burned into hers, challenging her—even as he held his breath.

As Suzie stared back at him dazedly, her mother spoke up again, Mack’s promise reassuring her. “Suzie dear, if you’re going to go ahead with this wedding, we’d better get moving. The celebrant will be waiting downstairs. You’ll have to brief her of any changes you want…”

“She’ll think we’ve gone mad,” Suzie said faintly.

Mack’s dark eyes glinted. She was actually going to go ahead with it! He hid his relief. “Mad about each other,” he corrected smoothly, trying to curb his impatience. He didn’t want her backing out now….

“I’ll go down to the garden and let people know that you’re coming.” Ruth was already moving toward the door. “I can just imagine their shock, Suzie, when you turn up with an unruly-haired biker in black leather instead of Tristan Guthrie!”

“They’ll only have eyes for the bride,” Mack murmured, “not for the man by her side.”

“Oh yeah?” Lucy breathed, eyeing him avidly. Mack was far more romantic, in his dangerous, brooding sort of way, than the impeccable, golden-haired Tristan, who’d turned out to be a bit of a wimp.

Mack held out his hand to Suzie. “Shall we go down?” He gave her a rallying smile.

The sight of his smile reassured Suzie as nothing else could. This was what she’d dreamed of once…walking down the aisle with Mack Chaney…before she’d realized she would never be able to rely on him…that he wasn’t the responsible, settling-down type.

But she didn’t have to worry about the future. They wouldn’t be married long enough. She could believe in the dream and just for today live the dream.

She took his hand and smiled back. A smile she knew she must keep up for the rest of the afternoon.

Somehow she managed it, but her head was still whirling and she was barely conscious of her feet touching the ground. She was barely conscious of anything, except vague impressions.

The official wedding photographer waiting at the foot of the stairs, the marriage celebrant coming forward to discuss the service and deal with the necessary paperwork, the barrage of cameras as she and Mack stepped out into the sun-drenched garden, the sighs of admiration as her bridal gown was duly inspected and approved and finally the stunned faces of the guests as she walked between them with Mack by her side, Lucy following close behind.

They exchanged vows in front of a shady gazebo, with Mack producing a wedding ring which, he confided, had belonged to his mother. Mack had been close to his mother, so the ring would mean a lot to him. Suzie was touched by the gesture.

“I do,” she heard herself answering when the time came, and suddenly she was married, and everyone was waiting for Mack to kiss her. He did….

The cameras went mad. As a newlywed couple, they had to sign more documents at a table in the gazebo, before enduring another barrage of photographs, not only from their own official wedding photographer, but from the clamoring fashion media. The guests, many resplendent in Jolie fashions, were also photographed. Suzie’s bosses were ecstatic.

It was a relief to finally escape the media circus, the bridal couple retreating with their guests to the reception house, where the media weren’t permitted. But they had their pictures and went away happy, dispersing quickly, keen to be the first with their fashion scoop.

As the guests spilled into the various rooms of the brightly lit, flower-bedecked reception house, champagne and appetizers were served, and the noise level rose. Everyone was having fun, the mood heightened by the astonishing turn of events.

Tristan and his mother had wanted a formal reception, but Suzie had insisted on a party instead, with a smorgasbord-style buffet set up in one of the rooms and a towering profiterole dessert instead of a formal wedding cake. A jazz band was playing in the conservatory, and some of the guests were dancing already.

“Can’t we get out of here?” Suzie begged Mack as they moved from room to room, neatly avoiding probing questions. A good few of the guests were Tristan’s friends, who’d stayed on out of curiosity. “I want to go home. You must want to escape, too. Nobody will notice we’ve gone. With all these rooms, we could be anywhere.”

“Fine with me.” Mack’s dark eyes were unreadable. “We’ll slip out the back way. But you’d better let your mother know.”

“I guess so. You wait here.” Suzie dashed off, weaving through the crush until she found her mother, flopped in an armchair. “Mum, I need to get away from everyone. I’m exhausted. I’m going to slip away.”

Her mother nodded in sympathy. “I’ll come home with you,” she offered. “You must need a comforting shoulder to cry on after all that’s happened.”

Suzie hid her alarm. The last thing she wanted was her mother’s sympathy—especially if she started commiserating about Tristan! She immediately changed tack. “Mum, Mack and I are going to have a quiet drink somewhere away from all the fuss. I’ll be home later tonight,” she promised. “I’ve no intention of spending the night with Mack,” she assured her mother, who nodded in relief.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she added, and fled.

Moments later she was out in the floodlit courtyard with Mack. The cool air hit them in the face. The afternoon had been sunny and mild—a perfect autumn day—but now it had clouded over, with one ominously dark cloud directly overhead, and there were already a few spots of rain.

She looked round. “The wedding car’s not here,” she groaned. “It must be round the front.”

“You won’t need the wedding car.” Mack was ushering her toward a big gleaming black motorcycle.

She balked. “I’m not riding on that thing. I hate motorbikes.”

“You loved riding with me once.”

“That was before—” She stopped, a deep shudder quivering through her. Before her father had crashed his high-powered Harley into a power pole.

“I know, Suzie, and I’m sorry about your father, but you’ll be safe with me, I promise.”

Safe with Mack Chaney? When had she ever been safe with Sydney’s wild-boy bachelor?

Only he wasn’t a bachelor now. He was her husband. She began to tremble. Reaction was setting in.

As she stood hesitating, Mack’s fingers closed over her shoulders—warm, strong fingers that sent a tingling heat through the delicate lace. “You know what they say when someone falls off a horse.” His voice held a seductively persuasive note—a familiar note that brought back disturbing memories. “Get right back on and get rid of the demons.”

She looked up into his compelling black eyes and shivered, her mouth twisting. The only demon she had to fight was Mack himself. She’d been fighting that particular demon for the past three years, and for another year before that, when they’d been together—on and off. When Tristan Guthrie swept into her life three months ago, she thought that she’d finally succeeded in ridding herself of the demon that was Mack Chaney.

Tristan. Her golden prince. Her charming, sensible, honorable, dependable, perfect…Pah! She should have known he was too good to be true. Hot tears pricked her eyes.

“You want to get away from here or not?” Mack was already mounting his shiny black Harley and waiting for her to make up her mind.

“Yes, get me away! But I—I’ve decided not to go home yet. Mum will be home shortly, and I just can’t face her again tonight. Let’s have a quiet drink somewhere.”

“We’ll go to my place. Hop on!”

His place? But she hardly cared where. She just wanted to get away from here, before someone saw them and tried to drag them back inside.

She looped the long skirt of her wedding gown over her arm—she’d discarded her veil and headpiece earlier—and jumped up behind Mack. He’d pulled his helmet on and had unhooked the spare one for her.

“Here, put this on,” he ordered, thrusting it at her, but she gave a reckless shake of her head.

“I want to feel the wind in my hair. I’ve a lot of cobwebs to blow away.”

“It’s illegal not to wear a helmet,” Mack reminded her with rare deference to the law. She laughed—a brittle, almost hysterical laugh. Illegal? Bigamy was illegal! Not wearing a helmet was hardly the crime of the century. But she took it and rammed it on her head. “Come on, are we going or not?”

“We’re going.” Mack revved the engine. “Hang on!”

She did, clinging to him for dear life as his high-powered machine sprang forward and roared off down the sweeping driveway to the street. The spatters of rain were increasing, great splashing drops now, gathering momentum by the second.

She shut her eyes, relishing the wind and rain in her face because it gave her something else to think about other than the shocking events that had taken place at Bouganvillea Receptions.

She could feel her carefully straightened hair sprouting curls as the rain seeped under the helmet. Well, it hardly mattered now. Tristan wasn’t going to see it. Mack, on the other hand, was bound to make some cutting remark about her new look—her artificial new look—when they finally reached the sanctuary of his home.

Sanctuary? A shiver feathered down her spine. By running off with Mack Chaney, wasn’t she jumping out of the frying pan into the fire?

As they careered round the first corner, Mack suddenly nosed his bike into the kerb and brought it to a halt.

“What are you doing?” she cried as he eased himself out of her grasp and leapt off.

What he was doing, she realized, was peeling off his leather jacket. He had a plain black T-shirt underneath which emphasized the breadth of his muscled chest and exposed the impressive muscles of his tanned arms. She pursed her lips, wondering if he’d added workouts in the gym to his other leisure activities.

“Here. Slip your arms into this.” He helped her into his jacket, which was several sizes too large for her, but felt beautifully snug and warm. “It might protect you a bit.”

Surprised at his unexpected gallantry—but then, Mac had always been a man of surprises, good and bad—she showed her gratitude with a light, “Thanks, Mack. Now you’ll get wet through.”

“Never mind about me,” Mack muttered as he threw a sturdy thigh over his bike and settled back into his seat. There was an edge of mockery in his voice, as if to say, When have you ever minded about me? “Ready to go? Hold on, Suzie!” The big machine shot forward.

The rain was tumbling down. She could feel her wet curls clinging to her cheeks, her neck. She thought of Tristan and her mouth dipped. What would it matter now if she reverted to her natural curls and dropped her sophisticated, ladylike facade? Who was going to care now that her golden prince had turned into a tarnished frog?

Just as her dark prince had, three years ago.

She wondered bleakly if an honest, dependable man existed anymore.

She turned her face into the driving rain, as if that might wash them both out of her mind and out of her life. But it was pretty futile when she had her arms around the dark prince, his ring on her finger and would shortly be arriving at his home.