Marion Lennox - The Last-Minute Marriage

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

‘It’s okay.’

‘I mean it.’ She reached forward and took his hand. Then, before he could guess what she intended, she raised her face and kissed him softly on the lips. It was a token kiss-a touch-a kiss of gratitude and weariness and need for human comfort. It shouldn’t have caused confusion but, as she stepped back, confusion was what she saw in his eyes.

‘Marcus…’

‘I’d better leave.’ His voice was strange. Husky. Unsure.

‘You don’t need to.’ She could sleep on the settee, she meant to say. She meant to add…something. But tiredness and the drugs she’d been given had the better of her and she couldn’t think of anything more to add.

What had she said? He didn’t need to leave? No. She was right. More than that; she very much wanted him to stay. She was so alone.

What a wimp. She caught herself, fighting for her dignity. Fighting through the haze of pain-killers for any sort of sense at all.

‘I meant…’

‘I know what you meant,’ he told her and he smiled. It was his smile that was her undoing, she thought desperately. It was a smile that twisted, distorted, changed her world.

‘But I still think I’d better go,’ he told her. He touched her, a feather-light fingertip tracing of her cheek. Was she imagining things-or was there reluctance to leave?

She couldn’t tell. She was in no fit state to tell anything at all.

He knew it. He swore softly. ‘Lock the door after me,’ he told her. ‘And stay safe until morning. No arguments.’

And that was that. He walked out and slammed the door behind him.

No arguments? She stared at the closed door. How could she argue when he was gone?

She was so befuddled she was past thinking. She gathered her crutches and limped forward, stunned. The first door led to the bedroom. To the bed. It was vast, piled high with a mountain of white pillows.

It looked wonderful.

There was silence all around her. There was silence for the first time since she’d reached this city.

No argument?

She had no argument at all. She hobbled to the bed, let her crutches fall-and let herself fall.

Wise or not, five minutes later she was asleep. But as she slept her fingers rested on her cheek-where Marcus’s fingers had touched.

And Marcus?

He lay in his bed at his club and he swore into the night. One ceremony and he was finished with her, he thought. One ceremony.

But when he’d walked into that place-had seen the louts fighting-men in a women’s dorm-crazy with drink-broken glass…

And Peta, sleeping as if she was so exhausted she couldn’t face waking, even to protect herself.

And then she’d kissed him. Her kiss… It had been so defenceless. So-

So he didn’t know what. All he knew was that when she’d asked that he stay it had taken all his self-possession not to gather her into his arms and sweep her into his bed.

I’ll look after her until she leaves New York, he told himself. That’s all I’ll do. And then I’ll forget her.

Yeah, right.

When Peta had arrived all she’d seen was the bed. And Marcus. When she woke she finally took in her surroundings and they weren’t to her taste at all.

She stretched in the vast, luxurious bed and gazed around her. And winced.

Lat night she’d been stunned, exhausted and doped with pain-killers. This morning…

This place might be comfortable, silent and safe but it was also sterile.

It was like something out of Vogue, she thought, and then thought, Nope. Not ordinary Vogue. Maybe a Gentleman’s Hygienic Vogue, if such a magazine existed.

At a guess it had been decorated by a professional whose brief was clinical, modern and masculine. The place was cool grey and black. Lots of glass and chrome. Nothing out of place.

Ultra expensive.

She tossed back the covers and hobbled the few steps to the window. Not everything met with her disapproval. Below was Central Park. There were horse-drawn carriages driving right by.

The view was lovely.

She turned around to the apartment and winced again. This wasn’t lovely. Not a photograph. Not a personal thing. The place looked as sterile as a hotel.

More so.

Who on earth was this man she was marrying? What was she doing in his apartment?

She didn’t have time for questions. She glanced at her watch and practically yelped.

The only time the funeral director had been able to fit Hattie’s funeral in was really early.

Like…in half an hour?

She had to go. Marcus had grabbed her meagre bag of possessions and it was still in the hall. She’d wear the suit Marcus had given her yesterday and feel grateful for it. She pressed out the worst of the creases with her hands, showered and dressed in minutes and then she paused at the door, ready to go.

She glanced around the apartment and thought that she wasn’t really sorry to leave. The backpacker hotel was awful but if this was home… She’d hate it almost as much.

It was Marcus’s home.

So what? Marcus was nothing to her. Nothing at all.

‘MARCUS…’

Ruby’s phone call woke Marcus from sleep-which was unusual. He was usually awake at dawn, checking the international markets. But he’d lain awake long into the night, deeply disturbed by the events of the day.

Peta had got to him. His intended bride. He didn’t know how but she’d somehow wriggled her way through his defences and made him concerned. More than concerned. Deeply involved.

He hoped she was sleeping. He hoped her bed didn’t seem too big and too strange.

The thought of her alone in his barren apartment was hugely unsettling and for the first time ever he found himself wishing he’d spent a bit more time making the place welcoming. Maybe he should indulge in a few cushions or something. It hardly mattered to him. Home was a place to sleep and dump clothes for cleaning. Strangers organised by Ruby came and magically made the place tidy; fixed his gear; left dinners in the refrigerator on the off-chance that he’d get home hungry.

He hardly noticed.

But he wished his apartment was better now, and by the time he finally slept he’d almost decided to call in another decorator. Which would be a real waste. As soon as Peta left he wouldn’t be interested in the place again.

So why was he fussed now?

Why was she getting to him?

He’d slept fitfully and when Ruby woke him his voice was still slow with sleep.

‘You got her out of there?’ she demanded.

‘What?’

‘The backpackers’ place.’ Ruby sounded anxious. ‘You shifted her?’

‘Yeah. She’s at my place.’

‘Your place?’ He could hear the quickening of interest and he almost smiled.

‘I’m at the club.’

‘Right.’ She thought that through. ‘The club. On the other side of town. That’s cosy.’

‘What is it you want, Ruby?’

‘A marriage.’

It was his turn to pause. ‘There’s a problem?’

‘Not with getting you married. I found a judge who’s prepared to fit you in, and the legal team have fixed everything up.’

‘Then what’s wrong?’

‘It’s the bit about Peta leaving the country that I don’t like.’

‘What don’t you like?’

‘She goes home tomorrow?’

‘I’d imagine so.’

‘And you’re staying here.’

‘What else would I do?’

‘A real husband,’ Ruby said thoughtfully, ‘would go with her.’

Marcus had been lying back on his pillows. Almost relaxed. Now he stirred himself. He focused.

He knew this tone.

‘Ruby, this is not a serious marriage.’

‘That’s not what the legal eagles are going to say,’ Ruby told him. ‘I had Adam and Gloria run through the ramifications of this thing. They say that if any legal gain hinges on a marriage then the marriage has to be seen to be serious. A simple ceremony and wedding certificate isn’t going to cut it. Charles will have it tossed out on the first hearing. Not all your power and influence will make it work unless you’re prepared to spend time together. If you marry the girl, you’re going to have to do it properly.’

‘Do it properly? What are you suggesting?’

‘Well.’ He heard her take a deep breath, as though to launch into something she was unsure of. ‘Adam and Gloria and I have been thinking.’

Adam and Gloria-the firm’s top legal minds. And Ruby. Combined they were his three top people. ‘Adam and Gloria and you,’ he said cautiously, ‘have been thinking what?’

‘That you should take a holiday.’

It was his turn to think.

‘Are you still there?’ she asked.

‘I might be.’ His tone was cautious.

‘You ever had a holiday?’

‘I don’t need-’

‘Marcus, you’ve been making money ever since your mama abandoned you when you were twelve years old,’ she told him and Marcus almost dropped the phone.

‘What the hell?’

‘You think I don’t know? You think none of us know? You’ve fought every inch of your life. Every inch. All you know is how to make money, Marcus.’

‘Ruby…’

‘I know.’ He could almost hear her holding up her hands, backing off a bit. They didn’t intrude into each other’s personal lives. They never had.

They liked it that way.

But it seemed Ruby was intent on breaking the rules in more ways than one.

‘Marcus, I started out in this financial business because my man and my baby were killed in a car crash,’ she told him, her normally matter-of-fact voice becoming gentler. ‘I fill my life with my job now because I’ve done loving and I have nothing left. But you… You haven’t even started.’

Her man and her baby. Ruby had had a man and a baby?

They’d been killed?

He hadn’t known that. Hell, why hadn’t he known that?

He’d never asked. He’d understood that there was something in her history but he’d never asked. It hadn’t been his business.