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“Yeah,” her co-worker quickly agreed, with a very adamant nod. “That was a complete fabrication. We were just playing What-if.”
Jayne nodded again. “I mean, who’d want to hostilely take over Colette, you know? It’s unthinkable.”
“I couldn’t care less about a takeover,” Erik said amiably, honestly. “Hostile or otherwise. That wasn’t the part of your conversation that I found intriguing.”
The two women exchanged glances, then Jayne directed her attention back to him. “Oh,” she said softly.
Erik, in turn, directed his attention to the brunette. “Do you mind?” he said politely. “I think Miss…
“Pembroke,” redheaded Jayne repeated.
“Miss Pembroke, here,” he continued, “can see to my needs.”
The brunette gaped softly at his less-than-subtle dismissal, but she nodded and strode toward another jewelry case. Nevertheless, her watchfulness, Erik noted, didn’t stray far from her colleague. Which he supposed was understandable. You never knew what kind of oddball was going to stumble in from the street and make some bizarre, unacceptable suggestion.
He turned to look again at Jayne Pembroke—Pembroke, he reminded himself firmly, lest he forget again; it really wouldn’t do to forget one’s fiancée’s name, would it? Pembroke, Pembroke, Pembroke—calling up the most disarming smile in his ample arsenal. “No, it wasn’t the takeover part of your conversation that was so intriguing,” he said again. “It was the part about you marrying a multimillionaire.”
Her expression, he noted, changed not one iota, save an almost imperceptible arching of one eyebrow. So he had no idea how to gauge her reaction. Very quietly she replied, “Oh.” Nothing more. Just Oh.
So Erik plunged onward. “Because you see, I myself happen to be a multimillionaire,” he told her with much equanimity.
“Oh,” she said again. And again her expression reflected nothing of what she might be thinking.
Erik took it to be a good sign. Then again, he took most things, short of natural disaster, to be good signs. That was just the kind of man he was.
“Or, at least, I will be a multimillionaire,” he clarified pleasantly. “Once I get married, I mean.”
Jayne Pembroke’s expression cleared then, making her look…relieved? Maybe this was going to be easier than he’d anticipated.
“So you’ve come in to buy an engagement ring for your intended,” she said, her smile returning.
“Yes,” he agreed happily. “That’s it exactly. A ring. A fiancée—and, hence, a wife—will, after all, expect a ring, won’t she? Two rings, actually. One to signify the engagement and one to signify the marriage. Which,” he added, “when you get right down to it, is a damned nice gift, considering the fact that she will only be my wife for one year.”
Now Jayne’s smile fell again, and her expression grew puzzled. “One year?” she echoed, sounding disappointed.
“Well, you can’t expect me to stay married any longer than is necessary, can you?” Erik asked, fighting a twinge of indignation. Honestly. They weren’t even married yet, and already she was finding fault with him. “I mean, I do have other obligations, you know.”
Now Jayne opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged.
“Not that my wife will have to worry,” he said, jacking up the wattage on his smile. “Because it goes without saying that, after we go our separate ways, she will end up with some—” he wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully “—lovely parting gifts.”
Now Jayne, he noted, was looking at him as if she had just discovered he’d escaped from a hospital for the criminally insane. Hmmm, he thought. Perhaps they weren’t quite on the same wavelength as he had assumed they were. Perhaps he wasn’t going about this the best way he could be going about it. Perhaps he wasn’t making himself as clear as he could be making himself.
So Erik straightened to his full six feet, tossed his head in a way that he’d been told by several women was quite boyish and charming, brushed his dark hair back from his forehead, and smiled what he liked to think was his rogue’s smile. “What I’m trying to say, Miss Pembroke,” he began in his most enchanting tone of voice, “is…will you marry me?”
Three
Jayne eyed the man standing on the other side of the counter very cautiously, and debated for a full fifteen seconds whether or not she should stomp her foot down—hard—on the alarm button located conveniently behind the jewelry showcase. He didn’t look like a psychotic, crazed, homicidal maniac. In fact, she thought upon further consideration of his charmingly disheveled dark hair and kind, bittersweet-chocolate brown eyes, he was actually kind of cute. But one could never tell these days. Ultimately, being the kind of woman that she was, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
And also, being the kind of woman that she was, she decided to speak slowly and not make any sudden moves.
“Uuummm,” she began, stringing the single syllable out over several time zones. “That’s uh…” She cleared her throat indelicately and tried again. “That’s really nice of you to ask, Mr. um…”
The potentially psychotic, crazed, homicidal—but kind of cute—maniac closed his eyes in what appeared to be genuine embarrassment, pressed his fingertips lightly against his forehead, made a soft tsking sound and looked very sheepish.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t even introduced myself, have I? I can’t imagine what you must be thinking of me, proposing this way when I haven’t even told you who I am.” He opened his eyes again and extended his hand toward her. “Erik Randolph,” he said by way of an introduction.
Oh, well, that explained everything, Jayne thought as relief coursed through her. Even though she had only moved into 20 Amber Court a month ago, she had grown up in Youngsville, so she knew all about the Randolph family. They were like local royalty. They kept the society pages of the Youngsville Gazette in business. The Randolphs were purported to be one of the wealthiest families in the state of Indiana. And they were rumored to be one of the most eccentric families in the state, too, from what Jayne had heard and read.
If Erik, here, was any indication, the eccentricity thing was no rumor at all.
Still, from all accounts the Randolphs were harmless. They were, in fact, gregarious, magnanimous people, known throughout several states for their wealth, their prominence, their numerous and varied social causes and their limitless philanthropy. But never had she heard anyone refer to any of the Randolphs as psychotic, crazed or homicidal. Which, naturally, was quite a relief.
Nevertheless, she still felt a bit cautious as she extended her own hand and shook his. Then he grinned as he gripped her fingers firmly—but not homicidally or maniacally—and Jayne relaxed.
“Mr. Randolph,” she said, feeling glad that she had hesitated setting off the alarm. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she added, uncertain what else to say. After all, she couldn’t very well tell him she accepted his proposal, could she? As an afterthought she added, “I’ve heard so much about you.”
He nodded amiably, as if he was in no way surprised to hear her say this. “All good things, I hope.”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “From all reports, you’re quite the charmer.” And also quite the odd duck, she added to herself.
“Well then, you have me at a disadvantage,” he told her, still smiling, still relaxing her. “Because I’m afraid I know little about you. Other than the fact that you, too, appear to be quite charming. And that you are in need of a wealthy husband. Which,” he hurried on before she had a chance to contradict him, “works out perfectly, because I, in addition to being wealthy, am in need of a wife.”
Oh, dear, Jayne thought. They were back to that, were they? Very diplomatically she said, “Well, I wish you luck in your search, and I’ll be happy to assist you in finding the perfect ring to present to your fiancée. But I couldn’t possibly accept your offer myself.” She smiled, too, what she hoped was a kind—and in no way homicidal-mania-provoking, just in case—smile. “Even if I know of you, I don’t know you. So I really couldn’t accept your proposal. Not that I’m not flattered,” she hastened to add for good measure. “Now about that ring,” she hurried on further. “Personally, I think the square-cut diamonds are just so lovely, especially in the white-gold setting, and very—”
But Erik Randolph was not to be dissuaded that easily. “No, no, no,” he interrupted her gently. “You don’t understand. It isn’t necessary for my wife to know me.”
Jayne arched her brows curiously. Eccentric, she thought, really wasn’t an accurate word for Erik Randolph. No, she was beginning to think the term delusional might better describe him. “Oh?” she said.
He nodded knowingly. “The marriage will be in name only,” he told her. “Oh, certainly, we’ll have to live together, to fulfill the terms of the agreement, but that won’t be a problem.”
Wondering what it was that made her prolong this discussion, Jayne nevertheless asked, “Um, no?”
“Certainly not.”
Well, naturally, a man would think that way, she thought. Especially a delusional—oops, she meant eccentric, of course—man like Erik Randolph. But Jayne kept the observation to herself and, in an effort to conclude this part of their dialogue and move on to the next, said instead, “Well, I’m sure you’ll find the right woman soon. Now then, we have a very good selection of square-cut solitaires that you might find—”
Before she had a chance to direct his attention to the jewelry showcase, however, Erik interrupted her again. “Oh, I believe I’ve already found the right woman,” he said.
Oh, Jayne didn’t think so. She met his gaze again—really, he did have the most beautiful brown eyes, thickly lashed and so dark she could scarcely see where the irises ended and the pupils began and…and…and…
And what was it they had been talking about? she wondered vaguely. Oh, yes. He had asked her to marry him, and she was trying to explain why she couldn’t.
It was all coming back to her now.
“Yes, well, as I said,” she tried again, “I’m very flattered that you would ask, Mr. Randolph, but I really can’t marry you. Truly, I can’t. I’m afraid I decided a long time ago that before I married a man, I wanted to, well, know him. And being in love with him would be even more helpful. But thank you, anyway. Now about that ring for your intended, whoever she might turn out to be…”
Jayne tried once more to turn his attention to the array of sparkling diamond rings that lay in the glass case between them. But Erik Randolph would have none of it. Instead of focusing his attention on the exquisite gems, he eyed Jayne with much consideration and interest.
“You don’t think I’m serious, do you?” he asked.
Actually, Jayne suspected he was serious. Which was entirely the problem. Aloud, however, she only said, “Well, can you blame me?”
“I suppose it does make sense that you would draw such a conclusion,” he conceded. “How often do strangers come in from the street and propose marriage, right?”
“I think I can safely say that you’re my first.”
For some reason, he smiled very suggestively at that. Then, “Well, I assure you, Jayne Pembroke, that I am completely serious. I want you to marry me.”
“You fell in love with me at first sight, is that it?” she asked playfully.
“Don’t be silly,” he countered. “I don’t even know you.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, I don’t believe in love at first sight. Or any sight, for that matter.” Before Jayne could comment on that—not that she had any idea what to say—he continued, “As I said, the marriage I’m proposing would be in name only. A marriage of convenience, if you will. I’ll be turning thirty soon. And my grandfather, a lovable old rogue, I assure you, decided a long time ago that I should be married by the time I turn thirty. In fact, he’s blackmailing me into it.”
“Can’t you talk to him? Explain that you don’t want to get married?”
“No,” Erik said. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He’s dead, you see.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Erik Randolph looked genuinely bereft as he said, “I am, too. But he was a lovable old rogue, as I said, and I do believe he only wanted what he thought was best for me.”
“And what did he think was best for you?”
“The love of a good woman,” Erik replied promptly.
“Oh,” Jayne said, smiling in spite of the strange situation. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”
“And also one-third of his $180 million-dollar estate,” Erik added, in as matter-of-fact a tone as Jayne had ever heard.
Then his words hit her, and her mouth dropped open slightly, an incredulous little gasp of air escaping. “One-third of…of…of…”
“Sixty million dollars is what it boils down to.” Erik did the math for her, in that same matter-of-fact tone, by golly, when Jayne wasn’t quite able to calculate—or enunciate—the amount herself.
“Well,” she finally got out. “Well. Well, gee. Well, that’s pretty doggone good,” she conceded with much understatement.
Erik nodded, apparently oblivious to her complete astonishment, as if everyone came into $60 million because their lovable rogue of a grandfather willed it to them. “Unfortunately,” he said, “Grandfather Randolph insisted on one small stipulation before I could inherit. That I be married. By the time I’m thirty.”
“And you’ll be thirty soon,” Jayne echoed his earlier sentiment.
He nodded again. “Very soon. In two weeks, to be precise.”
This time Jayne’s jaw dropped a lot more, and the gasp of incredulous breath that escaped was more like a great big whoosh of air. “Two weeks?” she repeated.
He nodded once more.
“You expect to find a woman who’ll marry you in two weeks’ time?”
He eyed her with much concern. “Do you think that’s unreasonable?”
Jayne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He honestly seemed to think he could just waltz right in off the street and ask a woman to marry him, just because he would be coming into $60 million as a result. Then again, she thought, there were probably lots of women out there who would do just that. Especially once they got a look at Erik Randolph in his expertly tailored dark suit, with his silky, dark-brown hair and puppy dog brown eyes and full mouth that was just made for kissing and—
Well, suffice it to say that there were probably plenty of women who would take him up on his offer. Women other than Jayne Pembroke, anyway.
“Um, look,” she said, striving for a polite way to tell him he was nuts. “I’m really flattered,” she said again, “and I wish you well in your search, and I hope you enjoy your…” she swallowed with some difficulty before finally getting out “—$60 million. But I’m not the woman you need, truly.”
He eyed her intently for a moment, saying nothing. Then he asked, “Would you at least let me take you to dinner tonight?”
Jayne shook her head. But she was surprised at how reluctant she felt when she told him, “No, I’m afraid not. Thank you.”
“Oh, please,” he said. “I can explain things better, and you might change your mind. Plus, it would give you hours to get to know me.”
She couldn’t quite prevent the smile that curled her lips in response to both his cajoling and his own earnest grin. “No, really,” she told him. But she could feel her conviction slipping, and she was certain that Erik detected it, too, because his smile grew broader still.
“And once you get to know me,” he added, “you’ll discover just how charming and irresistible—not to mention what a great catch—I am.”
Jayne had no idea why, but she found herself wanting to say yes to his offer. Not the marriage offer, of course—that would be silly—but the dinner offer. Had he been another man who had wandered in off the street and flirted with her, one who wasn’t rumored to be eccentric, and one who hadn’t just proposed marriage to a total stranger, she might very well have given his invitation serious consideration. He was kind of charming and irresistible, after all. Not to mention cute. And he was seeming less and less like a psychotic, crazed homicidal maniac with every passing moment.
So that was a definite plus.
“I’m not sure it would be a good idea,” she said halfheartedly. She told herself she was trying to let him down easily. But she knew she was really only stalling for time, because she discovered then that—surprise, surprise—she really wanted to accept his invitation.
Erik, however, still clearly picking up on her uncertainty, pressed, “Look, if you’re worried about my intentions, you don’t have to tell me where you live. You can meet me somewhere.”
“Gee, I don’t know…”
“And I’ll let you pick the restaurant.”
“But…”
“And choose the time.”
“It’s just that…”
“Please, Jayne,” he said. “You may well be my only hope. And once I explain the situation to you, you might change your mind.”
She wasn’t sure how she should take that first part of his statement, whether being his only hope was a good thing or a bad thing. But she was absolutely certain about the last part of his statement—there was no way she would change her mind, no matter how well she understood what he termed “the situation.”
Still, what would it hurt to have dinner with him? she thought. It wasn’t as though she planned to do anything else this evening. Oh, wait a minute. Yes, she did have plans, she suddenly remembered. She planned to do laundry.
Dinner with Erik was definitely looking better now.
