Marriage On Demand

She might have lingered outside the room if she’d realized the huge bedroom was Ford’s, but he’d led her past most of the other six doors along the hall to this one, so she’d assumed he was leading her directly to the room his housekeeper had prepared for her.

The masculinity of the room and the obvious absence of her boxes of belongings, made her halt uncertainly a few feet inside.

“This’ll be our room after the ceremony on Friday. The walk-in’s big enough for your things, so we can move in all but what you need every day as soon as you want to unpack. Zelly’s cleared drawers in the dresser and the chest in here for what you don’t want in the closet. Your room’s through there,” he said, indicating the door at the side of the room, “to make it convenient.”

Rena’s startled gaze shot toward the open door that connected Ford’s bedroom with the next one. Ford went on as if he’d sensed the spark of horror she felt and meant to confront it head-on.

“We’ll be sharing a bed in a handful of days. It’s best for us to live close to each other’s habits between now and then.”

“I won’t sleep with you.”

The quiet words came out on a whispery gust. Ford’s response to that was instant.

“And I won’t marry a woman I can’t share a bed with. You need to plan on that.” The soft declaration made her heart fall, then kick into a wild beat. She looked at him, dismayed that his expression was hard and no-nonsense.

“There’s n-no need for a son.”

“Not for you to inherit, but I want sons,” he went on. “And daughters. I won’t marry a woman who’s not willing to bear my children.”

He was so brutally candid that she felt the room shift. “What if we’re not…suited?”

His stern expression didn’t ease. “Then we’d better set our minds on suiting each other before we go through a ceremony on Friday.”

Though his voice was still low and calm, its steely undertone wrapped around her and squeezed mercilessly. The urge to escape him was profound, but she managed to stifle it.

“What if I…change my mind about this? Or you do?”

Ford’s gaze searched hers. “Then I reckon there’ll be no marriage.”

His words only marginally eased the terrified thundering of her heart. Was the possibility of inheriting Lambert Ranch truly worth all this? If Ford was anything like her father, she’d be trading one tyrant for another. Only this tyrant, Ford, was the one who was the most potentially dangerous.

She’d had no choice about how she’d grown up. She’d be choosing to marry Ford, whatever the incentive, so that meant she’d be getting everything good or bad that would come with that choice.

What kind of man was he, truly?

“You ought to have a look at your room,” he said, and she realized she must have stared at him all this time. And, because he seemed so unerringly perceptive, he’d probably at least glimpsed evidence of her chaotic thoughts.

This man was too strong for her. Worldly, experienced Ford Harlow, who seemed to detect everything, could make mincemeat of her heart and scatter it in the dust without a backward glance.

She jerked her gaze from his face and walked stiffly to the connecting door for the expected glance into the room Ford had assigned her. The details—beyond the orderly stacks of boxes near the connecting door—made absolutely no impression on her. Her whole being seemed only able to focus on the man who stood behind her and the questions that whirled in her brain.

“We need to wash up for supper. Zelly serves at six.”

Ford’s voice was quiet, as if he’d sensed it all, as if he’d known that she was scrambling for something normal to fix on, for something to distract her from the pressure of the shocking demands he’d detailed to her.

All over a piece of land and an inheritance. The notion of marrying a stranger to get either seemed both foreign and immoral. To be expected to sleep with a man she didn’t know from the first day of that marriage was barbaric.

And, for a woman who’d never been kissed, who’d never so much as held a man’s hand, it was absolutely horrifying.

Somehow, she turned and managed to walk out of Ford’s bedroom into the hall, her heart beating so wildly that she was light-headed.

CHAPTER THREE

SUPPER was somber and quiet. The silence in the big dining room was measured by the heavy tock-tock of the ancient grandfather clock at the side of the room. Ford sat at the head of the long table, with Rena to his right.

The polished surface of the glossy dark wood reflected the soft lights of the ornate candelabra that had been placed near their end of the long table. A bowl of cut flowers sat at the base of the candelabra.

The look, as Zelly must have intended, was romantic, right down to the delicate china she’d laid out and the champagne Ford had poured and toasted them with. They both still wore their work clothes from that day, and the odd mix of romantic refinements and common clothes seemed symbolic of a marriage made for ranch land.

Except that no true romance existed beyond the candles, the flowers and champagne. The sight was a startling depiction of the truth: their marriage agreement was focused almost entirely on land, and the only romance in the deal amounted to table decorations put there by a well-meaning third party.

The food was excellent, and Rena got more of it down than she’d expected, but she felt self-conscious every moment. It was a huge relief when they finished and Ford suggested they take their champagne to the chairs on the front veranda.

Ford waited until she’d chosen a seat, then dragged one of the other chairs closer to hers and sat down. He’d angled his chair so they faced each other a bit. Rena took a sip of the champagne she still had left, but was too tense to relax.

“We’re gonna need to talk to each other, Rena. I enjoy the sound of your voice and I’d be interested in anything you’d have to say.”