Marriage On Command

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‘You want to get into my apartment?’

‘It beats pounding pavements all afternoon. Besides, I need somewhere to get into my party gear.’

‘I—’

‘Damien, if you don’t let me do this I’ll come and picket your office,’ she warned. ‘This is urgent.’

‘All right. I’ll phone the building manager and tell him to let you in. Uh—do you have party gear with you?’

She thought there was a certain amount of caution with which he asked this, and smiled to herself. ‘No. But I have a credit card—and I’ll endeavour not to embarrass you.’

The beautician in the department store beauty salon was talkative as she did Lee’s nails and gave her a mini-facial. She was also drop-dead gorgeous, with inch-long fake eyelashes and a streak of pink through her hair. She went by the name of Sally.

‘Got to be a guy involved?’ she hazarded. ‘Planning on doing a Cinderella?’

Lee grimaced mentally; she was unable to do so physically because of the mask on her face. ‘You could say so,’ she mumbled. ‘I know I look a bit strange to be in a beauty parlour.’

Sally shrugged. ‘I take it he’s quite some guy?’

‘Well, yes,’ Lee confessed. ‘He’s one of those dark, damn you kind of men. I mean, he’s all proper and correct most of the time, but you get the feeling that underneath he could be quite different.’

‘The kind to drive women wild?’ Sally suggested.

‘Exactly. I must be mad,’ Lee added.

‘No. I always say go for it. Give ’em a bit of their own medicine. You only live once, you’re only young once, and you sure have the hair and the eyes to do it.’

‘Thanks, but I thought there was more to it.’

Sally glanced down the length of Lee. ‘They say you can never be too rich or too thin.’

This time Lee had to laugh, and cracked the mask.

‘Never mind, it’s ready to come off. Have you got a dress in mind?’ Sally enquired.

‘That’s next on my agenda.’

‘Go for black, and go mini, so you can dazzle him with your legs—there’s a dress right here in this store that would be divine on you. I’m due for a break when I finish you—like me to show you it? I’d almost set my heart on it myself, but I can tell this is a worthy cause so I’ll pass.’

‘That’s—I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but that’s very noble of you!’

‘Wait until you see yourself in it,’ Sally advised. ‘Might just change your mind about yourself. And it might just get him grovelling.’

An hour later, Lee emerged from a cubicle in the dress department of the store and examined herself in the mirror from all angles.

‘What did I tell you?’ Sally said, at the slightly stunned look in Lee’s eyes.

‘You don’t think it’s too—?’

‘No way! Go to it, honey! But I’d put your hair up.’

A couple of hours later she was being ushered into a luxury high-rise apartment at Kangaroo Point, with sweeping views of the Brisbane River and the city centre on the opposite bank.

She thanked the building manager, and as he left dropped several elegant shopping bags onto a claret-coloured settee.

She’d only been in his apartment once before, when he’d asked her to breakfast, but it was equally as impressive today. Acres of off-white carpet, lovely paintings and objets d’art, with touches of hyacinth-pink and blue to complement the claret in the soft furnishings. There was even a bowl of fresh creamy pink carnations on the coffee table.

She looked at her watch and discovered she still had a few hours to kill. Time enough to relax for a bit, so she wandered into the den, turned the television on and lay down on the broad leather couch to watch a movie. In fact, she fell asleep, and it was dark when she woke, although she still had over an hour to prepare herself for the party.

Then she realised her tummy was rumbling so she raided her lawyer’s kitchen, which proved to be a fairly barren experience, but she did find some cheese and crackers, an apple and some grapes. Damien obviously rarely ate at home, although she did notice several bottles of champagne in the fridge. Then she went to look for the spare bedroom. On the way to it she passed the main bedroom, and it crossed her mind to wonder whether her future husband-in-name-only entertained any lovers in it.

She hesitated at the doorway. Common sense told her that Damien would not live like a monk, and ethics persuaded her she should not snoop, so she bypassed the room resolutely. But that spark of curiosity remained.

The spare bedroom had its own en-suite bathroom, she discovered, and, paradoxically, it held all the answers her spark of curiosity cried out to know. Not only was there a full set of a famous brand of luxury cosmetics set out on the marble vanity stand, but there was a robe and matching nightgown hanging from a hook on the wall. A very sensuous robe and nightgown, at that, being fashioned of sheer coffee silk with fine ecru lace inserts.

She raised her eyebrows and tried to picture the girl who owned these telltale items. Tall, she found as she measured the robe against herself. Taller than her five feet four, and a glance at the size on the label told her that this girl was more generously curved, for it was a size larger than the size she took. So, tall and shapely, she decided. Dark or fair? She picked up the brush on the vanity and discovered a couple of long dark strands of hair in it. Definitely a brunette, then. She picked up a tube of lipstick, a deep berry-red, and found a bottle of nail polish that matched it.

OK, she got the picture, she mused. Tall, dark and dramatically attractive—that went without saying when you thought of Damien’s good looks. Not your shrinking violet kind of girl either. Possibly a career girl? Possibly another lawyer?

Then it occurred to her that there might be clothes in the closet owned by this girl—and indeed there were. Not many, but enough to confirm her impressions that this girl was striking and probably a professional career woman. For despite their lovely colours they were severely tailored and very formal.

She looked down at her jeans and boots with a grimace, but then remembered her shopping bags and ran through to the lounge to retrieve them.

The dress she’d bought was uncrushable, which was fortunate because she’d forgotten to hang it up. And as she carried it through to the spare bedroom, along with the shoes, make-up and underwear she’d purchased, she decided that in this dress there was no reason for her not to give any number of striking, professional women a run for their money—despite her chosen career being that of a landscape gardener.

She paused at the thought of her career and swallowed suddenly as Cosmo Delaney swam into her mind’s eye. The surprise acquisition of Plover Park had provided her with the means not only to help her grandparents but also to make the dream of a lifetime start to come true. She and her grandfather had not only been able to maintain the nursery so that a good income was coming in, but she’d also received two commissions to design gardens. She closed her eyes at the thought of losing it all, and reminded herself that was why she was here in Damien Moore’s apartment.

But that posed a question. Was she really prepared to marry Damien Moore to hang on to Cyril Delaney’s bequest?

She sank down on to the bed with her dress in her arms. And where did this tall, dark, striking woman who stored her clothes in his spare bedroom fit in with his proposal to move to Plover Park?

An hour later, she was ready.

Her hair, on Sally’s advice, was up in an elegant twist. The dress fitted like a glove. Her lips were painted to match her nails, and all in all it was a startling metamorphosis from the girl who had sat down to lunch with Damien Moore earlier in the day. She wondered, with a tinge of acerbity, what he would make of her transformation.

She only had to wait a few minutes before his key turned in the lock…

CHAPTER THREE

‘HOLY…mackerel!’

About half the width of the lamplit lounge separated them when Damien Moore stopped as if shot and made his observation at the same time.

Lee’s lips trembled but she managed to say gravely, ‘On the pithy sayings scale that’s nearly as good as…no way, José! Not what you’d expect of a legal brain, mind, but very expressive. Not that complimentary either—but I gather I’ve surprised you?’

He took in the little black dress she wore and blinked. What there was of it hugged her figure. The bodice was heart-shaped, revealing a tantalising glimpse of her décolleté, and was held up by narrow straps encrusted with rhinestones. The skirt stopped well above her knees. High black patent sandals adorned her narrow feet and her legs were bare.

It was a dress her slender figure and her lightly tanned limbs did justice to. It was a dress that revealed a more tantalising figure than he had suspected, and against the black her green eyes were stunning, her freckles almost unnoticeable. Her very light make-up was perfect as well. In all aspects she could suddenly have stepped out of the pages of Vogue…

He spoke at last. ‘It is a bit different from your everlasting jeans, boots and odd scarves—and, of course, your black hat.’

‘I’m a gardener, remember? It needs to be a very special occasion for me to dress up. Would it be too much to ask if you approve?’

‘Would you care if I didn’t?’ he countered, and strolled forward, then started to circle her slowly.

‘No.’ She said it a shade sharply, because of course she would, but she’d rather die than allow him to see it. Nor did she appreciate being inspected as if she were a prize filly. It made her wonder if he’d pick up her feet and check her teeth. Not only that, it set her nerve-ends tingling and caused her to feel that she might as well not have bothered to clothe herself at all.

‘In the context of your party,’ she rephrased tartly, ‘it’d be nice to know if I come up to scratch.’

He came round to stand in front of her and a fleeting smile touched his mouth. ‘I think you look sensational, Miss Westwood. In any context. There’s also more to you than your clothes have hitherto led me to suspect, and I apologise for my tactless remark at lunch.’

She bit her lip and tried not to colour as his dark gaze roamed over her exposed flesh—and there was quite a lot of it. She realised, too late, that his reference to her figure at lunch must have lingered in her subconscious and been the reason she’d allowed herself to be persuaded into this dress. A subliminal desire to prove a thing or two to him, to be precise. She might be slim but she wasn’t scrawny. Only to have him see right through her…

She said, after a moment’s intense thought, ‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Damien, but I asked that in a particular context—I need to make a statement! I need to stand out from the crowd tonight. I need to be noticed as your…’ She hesitated, then bit the bullet, ‘As your prospective wife.’

‘There’s little doubt you’ll be noticed,’ he said wryly, ‘but why this sudden change of heart?’

She brought him up to date. ‘I know you told me most of this, but coming face to face with Cosmo Delaney and hearing him say that Cyril had promised Plover Park to him really brought it home, I guess,’ she finished.

He pulled off his jacket and tie and slung them over the back of a chair. ‘I see.’

‘He…he gives me the creeps—Cosmo Delaney,’ she added with a shudder.

‘Do you think he overheard our conversation?’

Lee considered. ‘No. If he’d been that close I’m sure I’d have got the vibes.’ She frowned. ‘You don’t seem at all perturbed.’

Damien shrugged. ‘I spend my life dealing with this kind of thing. I’ve also had a long, busy day.’ He touched a cupboard and a door sprang open to reveal the lit interior of a cocktail cabinet. ‘Like a drink?’

‘No, thanks. Of course,’ she said arctically, and looked around the luxury apartment, ‘being wealthy in your own right obviously gives you a different perspective on all this. It doesn’t mean nearly as much to you as it does to me. It probably doesn’t mean anything to you at all!’ Her green eyes were accusing.

He poured himself a Scotch and soda and took it over to the settee. ‘On the contrary, Lee,’ he murmured as he sprawled back, stretched his long legs out and looked up at her lazily. ‘If anyone could prove I conned myself into Cyril’s will under false pretences, I could kiss my career goodbye.’

She stared at him, then sank into an armchair. ‘Why aren’t you more upset, then?’

He studied his glass. ‘Before I go into that perhaps I should make a point. The easiest course for me at this stage, Lee, would be to withdraw any claim on Plover Park.’

Her lips parted and her eyes widened.

‘I don’t need the place,’ he continued wryly. ‘I don’t need the hassle of all this. And, although I don’t intend to do it, perhaps you should bear it in mind.’

She sprang up, then with a frustrated little sound crossed to the cocktail cabinet and mixed herself a brandy and soda—a process Damien watched with amusement. ‘I’m speechless,’ she remarked as she returned to her chair beneath his gaze.

‘Good. Perhaps you’ll hear me out in silence, then. The reason I’m not going to do it is this. For whatever reason…’ He paused and looked into the distance with a tinge of irony in his eyes. ‘I admired your fight for your grandparents. Nor did I in any way pressure Cyril into putting us in his will. He also left Cosmo a significant inheritance in other forms. So I’ll continue the fight.’

‘That’s all?’ she said uncertainly.

‘No.’ He stood up and looked down at her quizzically. ‘While I may continue the fight, the histrionics are your department, not mine.’

Lee bit her lip.

He smiled faintly, then said abruptly, ‘Are you quite sure you want to do this?’