A man with no idea turned naturally to his assistant. In crisis, find Ruby. Fast.

Ruby was summoned peremptorily from the boardroom where she’d been putting things on hold because of Marcus’s absence. The unflappable Ruby was already feeling under pressure. By the time she reached his office she was almost ruffled, and when Marcus told her he wanted her to organise his wedding she was surprised into the unthinkable response of choking.

It took a glass of water before she could make herself understood.

‘You? Married?’

‘What’s wrong with me getting married?’

She thought about it. Marcus was behind his desk. He watched her with patience, seeing her eyes grow round in response to this extraordinary request. Seeing her think it through.

‘To the waif?’ she asked cautiously and he nodded.

‘To Peta. That’s right.’

And Ruby-who had never in Marcus’s lifetime been known to show surprise at anything-proceeded to drop her jaw almost to her ankles.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘It doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not,’ he told her, annoyed. ‘Just tell me what I need to do it.’

She thought some more. She sipped water and took a visible grip. ‘Um… Weddings. I’ve never done weddings. But… Okay. I can do this.’ A bit more thinking. Then, ‘Do you have any preferences?’

‘Preferences?’

‘Like church, civil, white, rose petals, bridesmaids…’

‘No preferences. Just a fast wedding.’

‘How fast?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow!’ Ruby’s voice came out practically a squeak. She regrouped-sort of. ‘Uh, did you say tomorrow?’

‘That’s right. Wednesday at the latest.’

‘There are things like licences. I’m sure there are. Formalities. Queues.’

‘Throw as much money as you need at the problem. Just fix it.’

‘Gee, how romantic.’

‘Ruby,’ he said warningly and her eyebrows hiked.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Just fix it.’

‘Certainly, Mr Benson. Very good, Mr Benson.’ She took a deep breath and he could see she was fighting laughter. ‘Do we know the bride’s name?’

‘Peta.’

The eyebrows hiked again. ‘I know her first name’s Peta,’ she said with exaggerated patience. ‘We’re going to need a bit more information. Just a bit.’

‘Right.’ He handed a sheet of paper across the desk. ‘I had her write down her details. I’m not stupid.’

‘So.’ Ruby looked down at the sheet. ‘Peta O’Shannassy. Aged twenty-six. Australian.’

‘That’s right.’ He hadn’t known. He frowned suddenly. Hell, what was he getting himself into? Peta O’Shannassy. She’d written down her name but this was the first time he’d heard it.

‘She needs me to do this,’ he told Ruby, and she paused from reading the sheet and looked at him. Really looked at him.

‘She’s in trouble?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want to tell me?’

He sighed. But Ruby on side was a force to be reckoned with and he’d learned a long time ago it was better just to give in and tell. Briefly he outlined what was happening and, when he had finished, her face had changed. The laughter had gone. The determination he felt was strangely mirrored in his assistant’s eyes.

Ruby had met Peta. She knew Charles. Marcus’s dislike wasn’t purely personal.

But Ruby was moving on again, on to business. Her speciality. ‘You’ll need a decent pre-nuptial agreement. One that will hold water.’

‘Can you get that underway?’

‘Sure.’ She hesitated. ‘You know, Charles won’t take this lying down. Not if there’s money involved.’

‘I suppose he won’t.’

‘Let me run this past our lawyers,’ she told him. ‘I’ll organise a copy of the will to be faxed here this afternoon. You don’t want to go into this blind. Or…’ She paused and a glimmer of laughter appeared again behind her eyes. ‘Or any more blind than you appear to be.’

‘Right.’

Then she hesitated. ‘Marcus…’

‘Yes.’

‘You know… Peta has her contact address here.’

‘I told her to put it down in case you need her to fill in forms.’

‘Mmm.’ She looked again at the piece of paper and cast a cautious glance at him. ‘Do you know where she’s staying?’

‘It doesn’t matter. This wedding is a formality. Where she lives is her business.’

‘Right.’ There was another thoughtful glance. ‘It’s just… I know this hotel. A neighbour had a friend from Canada who stayed there one night. It’s the cheapest place in town. But he came out of it robbed blind.’

Silence.

It was entirely Peta’s business where she stayed, he told himself.

But of course it was no such thing. Marcus took the written sheet from Ruby and stared down at the address. His…his bride?

‘Can you fix it?’ he asked Ruby.

‘What-turn up there and tell her Marcus says move?’

‘I guess not.’ He’d seen enough of Peta to figure that wasn’t the best way to go about things. But… He didn’t get involved. He didn’t!

He was involved. He was involved up to his neck. ‘I need to go,’ he said finally, and Ruby nodded.

‘Of course you do,’ she agreed. ‘Marcus Benson to the rescue. Good grief!’

But Marcus was no longer listening.

Marcus had already gone.


By the time Robert dropped her at the door of her hotel Peta was past exhaustion. She lay back on the hard mattress and tried for sleep. She’d hardly slept since she’d arrived in this country. The doctors had given her pain-killers and warned her they’d make her sleep. She should be out for the count.

But sleep was nowhere.

It wasn’t the noise that prevented her from sleeping. She’d stayed in this place for over a week and she’d learned to turn off from the drunken cacophony that surrounded her.

Nor was she disturbed about her own security. There was something distinctly comforting about having nothing left to steal. Her passport and her airline ticket were in a money-belt next to her skin and there was nothing else.

The throb in her ankle had even eased.

She should sleep.

But how could she? Marcus was with her. Every time she closed her eyes he was right there, filling her head, his gentle eyes probing…

He was marrying her?

The thought was unbelievable. The concept was unbelievable. Marcus Benson was marrying Peta O’Shannassy.

Who was Marcus Benson? She didn’t know. But what could she do about it?

The sensible thing would be to hire a private detective and find out at least a little of the man she intended to marry. She didn’t have enough funds to consider it.

But… Her hand rested on her money belt and the same comforting thought arose.

She had nothing worth stealing. He could hardly cheat her. What did she have? Half a farm, split five ways. She had so many encumbrances she felt weighed down with concrete.

If Marcus was marrying her for anything other than altruism then he had a big surprise coming, she decided.

He could have Harry.

The thought came out of left field and, surprisingly, it was good. Marcus would like Harry. Harry might even like Marcus. Harry was the smallest of her responsibilities but sometimes he felt the heaviest.

Yep. She might love Harry to bits but if Marcus wanted him… She was definitely ready to share.

Sharing. It was a good concept. A great concept. Even if it was pure fantasy.

But it was enough to distract her. Her mind stopped spinning just a little. Exhaustion took its toll.

Finally she slept.


She woke to shouting.

So what was new? People shouted in this place all the time. Half the inhabitants of this boarding house were drunk or stoned or both. But this time it was closer than usual.

Her dormitory held eight beds and the last four beds in the row were covered with fighting bodies. Someone was yelling; there were people punching, clawing, rolling.

There was the sound of broken glass and a woman screamed.

She opened her eyes and someone was grabbing her. Lifting.

‘Put me down!’ It was an instinctive scream of terror.

‘Don’t draw attention to yourself,’ her intended husband told her. ‘Is this your bag? Shut up and let me get you out of here.’


Marcus took her back to his apartment. He brooked no argument, hardly speaking until Robert had deposited them at the entrance to his apartment building, until they’d ridden the lift to the penthouse and he had her behind his closed door.

Even then he wouldn’t listen to protests.

‘I’m marrying you. That involves keeping you alive until at least tomorrow. So have the sense to obey orders.’

She was still dazed, doped with the pain-killers the doctors had given her. Three quarters asleep. But not so far gone that she couldn’t protest. She was balanced precariously on crutches. He’d carried her out of the seedy backpackers’ but that had been the end of his carrying role. She’d emerged to face the doorman of this luxury apartment block on her own two feet-just. ‘I’m not good at following orders,’ she managed.

‘How did I guess that?’ His severe mouth quirked upward into a wry smile. They were standing in the entrance to his apartment and all she could see was black marble and mirrors. If she wasn’t so dopey she’d panic, she thought. She should at least try.

‘I can’t stay here with you.’

‘I guessed you’d say that, too,’ he told her. He pointed to three doors. ‘Bathroom, bedroom, kitchen. I’m staying at my club. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘But…’

She gazed at him, confused beyond belief. This day had got away from her. All she knew was that somehow a day that had started as a disaster had somehow been salvaged, and it had been salvaged because of this man in his lovely suit, with his lovely eyes, with his lovely smile.

Yeah, she was getting maudlin, but he made her feel… He made her feel…

Not maudlin. Something very different from maudlin.