Substitute Bride

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and shuddered. Why had she ever let Bea talk her into this? Still, there was nothing to be gained by sitting around brooding about it. She might as well accept James’s rather grudging invitation and take a look at the place.

It was certainly the kind of house to appeal to her, she decided after a leisurely tour, even if Bea would probably complain that it looked like a museum. All the rooms were graciously proportioned, with carved wooden mantelpieces, lovingly polished antique furniture and dazzling views over the ocean or the hills to the west. Even so, some discreet remodelling had taken place to supply each of the five bedrooms with its own en suite bathroom and to provide a kitchen and laundry that had a colonial look but that still concealed the most up-to-date appliances.

Realising she was hungry, Laura opened the refrigerator and found a tempting array of goodies. Smoked salmon, paté, cold meat, a variety of cheeses, vegetables, eggs, a chicken, a bowl of unshelled prawns. She was just about to take out the ingredients for a ham sandwich when a sudden thought struck her. Why not start cooking dinner herself?

With James’s disturbing presence temporarily removed, her antagonism was beginning to ebb away and she felt more like her usual self. Calm, sensible, anxious to smooth things over. Even that long, sultry, assessing look he had given her when they first met seemed more and more a product of her own fevered imagination. Probably the truth was that he was simply a conscientious uncle, worried that Sam and Bea were embarking on marriage too soon. And if that was the case, it was up to her to try and placate him.

She must do all that she could to show him that she and Bea were both mature, reliable people. And what better way than by pampering him a bit? He would be tired when he came in from inspecting the bull and it was hardly likely that he would really want to make a meal. Of course, he might feel that she was intruding, but on the other hand he had invited her to help herself to a snack. And perhaps it would even soften him up for the moment when they made their final confession. Humming to herself, she lifted out the dish of prawns…

* * *

‘That was an excellent meal,’ admitted James as he drained the last of his coffee with a sigh of satisfaction.

Laura looked at the table with a touch of complacency. Avocado filled with prawns in a seafood dressing had been followed by a stuffed roast chicken with Greek baked potatoes, zucchini and tomatoes and an apple crumble with cinnamon topping and whipped cream. James had opened a bottle of Houghton’s white burgundy and they had brewed fresh coffee to complete the meal. The conversation had gone well too, and she had seen the surprised flash of respect in his eyes when she had made a casual remark about government agricultural policy.

Although they were still fencing with each other, she thought she detected a softening in his initial antagonism towards her. And, rather reluctantly, she had to admit that she found him very interesting company.

‘Would you like some more coffee?’ she asked.

‘All right,’ he agreed, rising to his feet. ‘Why don’t you bring it into the living room? I’m going to set a match to the fire in there.’

As he spoke a sudden, sharp gust of wind set the windowpanes rattling, and a spatter of drops struck against the glass. Striding across the room, James closed the cedar shutters firmly, shutting out the gathering darkness and rain. It was a simple action and yet it made Laura feel odd—as if they were holing up together in some snug, little lair and turning their backs on the outside world. There was something alarming about the idea of drawing close to a hissing, crackling orange fire with James Fraser while a storm raged and buffeted outside.

Suddenly she became aware that he was watching her through narrowed eyes and she dropped her gaze self-consciously. Her heart raced and she no longer felt so certain that she had imagined that sensual glance he had given her earlier in the day. What if he really was wondering what it would be like to take off her clothes and lay her down on the sheepskin rug in the firelight? Bea had once told her that she had a very expressive face, but she hoped devoutly that that wasn’t true! If her face was expressing half the things she was thinking tonight, she was in big trouble…

‘I’ll get the coffee,’ she said, retreating into the kitchen.

When she came into the living room ten minutes later, James was crouched on the hearth, feeding the flames with more substantial lengths of wood. The glow from the firelight made his eyes glitter and highlighted the rugged contours of his face, making him look like some primitive caveman. Suddenly he looked up at her with an expression that made Laura’s breath catch in her throat.

No, she hadn’t imagined that silent, sensual appraisal earlier in the day, for he was doing it again now. And this time she was powerless even to turn her head away. All she could do was stare at him with her lips half parted and her shoulders tensed as if to ward off danger.

Before he went out to inspect the bull, he had changed into denim jeans and an open-necked flannel shirt which was now rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms spiked with dark hair that glowed bronze in the firelight. As he rose to his feet, still trapping her in that mesmerising gaze, she felt again that she was a waif, a stray, an outcast seeking shelter in a hostile world. And it didn’t seem at all likely that this threatening stranger was going to take pity on her.

The cup clattered in its saucer as she handed it to him.

He added sugar, stirred the coffee and drank it down without ever taking his eyes off her. Then he reached behind him and set the empty china on the mantelpiece.

‘Tell me something,’ he said harshly. ‘What’s the real truth behind all this?’

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_6eb5981b-f5f4-5d1b-b4d2-5297c185758a)

LAURA’S stomach gave a sickening lurch and she stared at him in alarm, momentarily diverted from her unwelcome attraction to him. Obviously he had guessed that she wasn’t Bea and now he wanted an explanation. Well, the only thing she could do was to give him one, apologise abjectly and leave as soon as possible. She only hoped that he wouldn’t take his anger out on her sister once he learnt what they had done.

‘Look, I can see you’ve realised that something is seriously wrong,’ she began awkwardly. ‘You must feel that I’m here under false pretences, but I—’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ he cut in. ‘After all, Sam is legally an adult and he has a perfect right to marry you. I also know from his telephone conversations that he’s head over heels in love with you. What worries me is what you’re hoping to get out of it, Bea.’

Bea. So he hadn’t guessed at all. Laura’s wildly beating heart slowly subsided to its normal rhythm, although she still felt shaken. She stared at James in dismay, feeling as if her brain had turned to cotton wool. What on earth was she supposed to say now?

‘There’s no need to look at me as if I’m an executioner!’ he continued impatiently. ‘It’s just that if you’re marrying Sam, I want to know more about you. And for heaven’s sake tell me the truth!’

‘What do you mean?’ blurted out Laura.

‘I mean, what do you want out of life? What motivates you? What’s your greatest need?’

Something in the urgency of his voice mesmerised her, so that she was unable to lie. A wry smile twisted her lips as she gazed into the dark tunnel of her past. Memories came crowding back to her—of the first frozen grief after her mother’s death, her dogged determination to look after Bea and not be parted from her, her decision that she would work hard and be responsible and make a future for them both. She gave a faint, mirthless whisper of laughter.

‘Security,’ she said.

She saw a brief flash of hostility in James’s eyes, but he nodded his head.

‘Well, that’s honest at all events,’ he retorted. ‘And marrying is certainly one way of getting it. But these days most girls train for a career as well, just in case Mr Wonderful doesn’t show up. Were you so certain of your charms that you didn’t feel the need to train for anything?’

Laura flinched.

‘I did!’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘I—’

She broke off, remembering too late that she was supposed to be Bea.

‘You did what, exactly?’

‘I studied horticulture for a while.’

‘So you have a diploma?’ he demanded.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I dropped out,’ she said, with a defiant lift of her chin.

‘I see. And what did you do then? Start looking round immediately for a rich husband?’

‘No!’ flared Laura, distractedly trying to remember exactly what Bea had done. There had been a period on the dole, a brief job as a croupier in a casino and a year on a working holiday, where the work had been mostly making beds in motels or waitressing in crummy cafés. Hastily she decided not to mention any of that. ‘I got a job in a dress shop and then they asked me to do some catwalk modelling and suddenly my career took off. It was just luck, really.’

‘You rely a lot on luck, don’t you?’ said James in a hard voice. ‘As far as I can see, it was also just luck that Sam fell in love with you. Are you going to depend on luck to make your marriage work too?’

His sarcasm was so burning that Laura felt shrivelled by it. For several moments she looked at him in dismay, unable to find any sensible answer. At last she dropped her gaze, unable to offer any adequate defence.

‘Why do you hate me so much?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t hate you,’ he snapped. ‘I simply think that you’re young and naïve and capable of doing a great deal of harm. What’s more, I’d like to make you think before it’s too late. You’re…how old? Twenty-three? And Sam’s twenty-four! Well, to me you seem very young, and from all I’ve heard about you you’re also very immature. I simply don’t think it’s a good idea for you to rush into marriage. In my opinion you should wait until you’re older and until you’ve known each other longer. You don’t have the experience to see the pitfalls of what you’re doing, but I do.’

‘What pitfalls?’ demanded Laura.

To her dismay he stepped forward and seized her by the shoulders. The room seemed to spin around her and for one wild moment she stood motionless, trapped by the hypnotic golden intensity of his gaze. A shameful rush of desire surged through her at his touch, so hot and raw and primitive that she was shocked by it. Try as she might, she could not shut out her unbearable awareness of his masculinity, of the heat and power and size of him as he loomed above her. His fingers bit into her flesh, making her feel soft and boneless. She took a shallow, fluttering breath and fought down an insane urge to wind her arms around his neck and lift her parted lips to his.

Darting him a panicky glance from under half closed eyelids, she saw that he was fully aware of her response to him. Not only that, but he clearly revelled in it. The amusement that curled his lips sent a hot flush of embarrassment flooding into her cheeks. Why was he doing this? Did he feel an equal measure of desire for her? Or was he simply trying to make a fool of her?