Read an Excerpt
Strategy for Marriage
By Margaret Way Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
ISBN: 0373037074
Chapter One
Deakin-McKinnon Wedding Reception - McKinnon Riverside Mansion Brisbane, Queensland"Ashe, darling, who is that girl? The blonde in the exquisite green dress?" Mercedes, his aunt by marriage and mother of the bride, dug him in the ribs, a worried frown on her brow.
"You mean Ms. Botticelli?" His answer, even to his ears, was sardonic. "I've been wondering the same thing." In fact he'd begun to marvel at just the amount of attention he was giving that particular young woman and was amazed at the unprecedented thrust of sexual desire she aroused in him. He'd grown cynical, really cynical, about a woman's beauty and her ability to hold a man spellbound. Beautiful women in the style of this blonde reminded him of his runaway mother. The mother he'd hated and ached for since she'd abandoned him and his father when he was ten years old.
"No one on our side seems to know her," Mercedes whispered with genuine concern, her fingers fidgeting with her extremely valuable string of 19 mm Australian South Sea pearls, the finest in the world. "That is to say everyone I've asked. Oh for heaven's sake why am I worried?" She gave a false little laugh. "It's not as though she isn't beautiful and well behaved but I mean it's fairly obvious our dear Josh seems to know her even if he's not going anywhere near her. Would you mind awfully, darling, getting some idea of who exactly she is?"
The fact was he'dbeen about to make his move. For one thing "our dear Josh" was the bridegroom. A possible ex-girlfriend didn't help. "No problem, Mercedes." He smiled down at her. "Leave it to me." He was extremely fond of Mercedes, and his quiet little cousin, Callista, who looked as radiant as she could ever look on this day of days. Sad to say he hadn't taken to her new husband, Josh Deakin. In his most suspicious moments, which were frequent, he was a suspicious person, he thought Deakin the male equivalent of the proverbial gold-digger. At one time he'd very nearly said so, worried Deakin was only after Callista's money. The problem was Mercedes was very taken with him and Callista was clearly head over heels in love. She wouldn't have listened. She'd have dug in her heels. Although Callista dearly loved her mother, at twenty-nine she was anxious to escape the nest, get married and set up her own home. This was a fairy-tale wedding he'd been told. Who believed in fairytales? Certainly not him, though he had to admit Ms. Botticelli looked magical.
Mercedes's rich contralto brought him out of his reverie. "Everything is going marvellously," she said as though at any moment all could change. "The last thing we need is for something - um-um -" She stared across the crowded room at the beautiful blonde, seeking the right word.
"Don't fret. I told you I'd handle it," he soothed, hoping to God it wasn't already all too late. But if Deakin imagined Mercedes and Callista didn't have someone looking out for them, he'd better think again.
"You're my great support, Ashe," Mercedes told him fondly. "I'm afraid I lean on you for so much."
"We're family, Mercedes," he offered lightly when he didn't feel lightly about family at all. He was head of a clan even if his immediate family had gone. His mother with her lover. They lived mostly in New York. His father and his uncle Sholto, Mercedes' late husband, had been killed in a light plane crash five years ago. An event that made some people say the family was cursed. Maybe it was. It had had its fair share of tragedies. So in his late twenties he had become head of the family, head of the McKinnon pastoral empire, executor of the Family Trust. He took his responsibilities very seriously.
As Mercedes, in a very becoming silvery outfit, sailed off toward her guests he acknowledged he hadn't told her he'd had his eye on Ms. Botticelli since she'd gatecrashed the reception. His well-honed instincts warned him that was the case but he didn't want to put a blight on such a day by overreacting. He'd take his time. She'd done it in the cheekiest way possible. Two ushers were guarding the open double doors of the McKinnon mansion taking the wedding invitations from the guests and checking them against their lists when he spotted her arrival from the head of the gallery. He couldn't look away. He who was very good at taking a woman's beauty and aura in his stride. She was tall, even taller in high-heeled sandals. She wore a ravishingly pretty dress, a froth of chiffon, printed in a swirl of different greens. The crossover sleeveless bodice showed a tantalising glimpse of the curves of her breasts, the short ruffled skirt sprinkled with glittering little beads showed off her lovely long legs. High up on one shoulder was a huge rose made out of the same material sprinkled with brilliants like the skirt. It was an outfit only a beautiful young woman with a perfect figure and lots of self-confidence could wear without risking the dress overwhelming her.
So there she was. A long-stemmed mystery blonde, her hair drawn back from her face into a high knot, the rest of her mane cascading down her back to past her shoulder blades. The overhead chandelier, plus the last rays of sunshine, washed her in light, so she gave off a spectacular sparkle. Her skin, he could see clearly, was a smooth textured cream, blushed over the high cheekbones. There was a shallow cleft in her chin; her eyes even at this distance were a clear light green set at a faint slant as were her darkened brows. She looked excited, a beautiful young thing who inexplicably had no partner, so why did he get the odd feeling all the animation didn't spell happy. Far from it. More like nerve-ridden. He moved farther down the staircase feeling another hot surge of desire. It made him irrationally hostile even as it served to remind him he was human.
Who was she exactly? How did she fit in? He thought he knew all of Callista's friends. God knows she and Mercedes had tried to match him up to quite a few, not even listening when he warned them off. He saw her make a little play of rummaging in her glittery purse for her invitation - but then she saw across the marble floored atrium someone she knew. Her face broke into a lovely infectious smile and she waved, calling a name. Instantly, tactfully, the ushers let the beautiful creature go in. Women like that were unmistakably Somebody. Anyone could see that. As a bit of play-acting it was darn near perfect.
Just as he suspected, she didn't head toward anyone in particular. There was no one waiting for her. She walked right on, flashing iridescent glances around the elegant entrance hall massed with flowers. She hadn't been at the church. No way he would have missed her. But she'd turned up at the reception. Interesting! It wasn't a sit-down affair where guests were allotted seats at a table. That might have proved a mite difficult even for an enterprising young woman. Instead a sumptuous buffet had been arranged. It was to be served from the huge bridal marquees that had been erected in the three-acre garden. The dessert table alone Mercedes had told him was one hundred feet long. Mercedes had spared no expense to make this a great day for her only child.
Now they had a gatecrasher. Albeit a woman whose beauty had made the breath catch in his throat. That alone made him laugh and his laugh was deep with self-mockery. In his action-packed life he had no time for a woman who could keep a man in thrall. He had too much on his mind. Too much to do. This woman was Trouble. Moreover she was somehow connected to Josh Deakin, his cousin's bridegroom of only a few hours. The ex-girlfriend immediately sprang to mind. An ex-girlfriend perhaps bent on some kind of disruption. No way! He had the sure feeling at some point he would have to hustle Ms. Botticelli out of the house. And that was quite a while before Mercedes had put voice to her own niggling concerns.
Excerpted from Strategy for Marriage by Margaret Way
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
