Bride By Friday

About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright

“I have a problem here,” Charlie confessed

“I’m not sure who I am.”

“You’re not sure?” Tessa glared This was getting crazier by the minute.

“Well...” Charlie’s blue eyes glinted with laughter.

“Until a week ago, I was Charles Cameron, cattle farmer But now... According to this, I’m Lord Charles Cameron, thirteenth Earl of Dalston. Owner of a grand-sounding title, and—if you’ll agree to marry me—owner of one rather decrepit castle and all it contains..”

Trisha David is a country girl, born on a dairy farm in southeast Australia. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a “very special doctor,” Trisha writes medical romances as Marion Lennox and Harlequin Romance® stories as Trisha David In her other life she cares for kids, cats, dogs, chickens and goldfish She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost!) Oh, and she teaches statistics and computing to undergraduates at her local university

Bride by Friday

Trisha David

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘MARRY me?’

‘I...I beg your pardon?’

On second thoughts, maybe this was rushing things. He’d been sitting beside Tessa Flanagan for all of five minutes.

‘It was just a thought,’ Charlie said hastily. Uh-oh. His gorgeous fellow passenger was staring at him as if he’d landed from Mars, and he really had only been thinking aloud. How to retrieve a situation like this?

If ever there was a time to lay on the Cameron charm, this was it.

Charles Cameron lifted a pile of papers from his drop-down table, and let it fall again as if the weight of the pile explained all. Then he sighed, giving Tessa the benefit of his very nicest smile. It was a totally heart-stopping smile, and it usually worked a treat.

‘I know it’s sudden, but the way I’m reading this, it’s either marriage or lawyers,’ he told her. ‘And you sure beat lawyers!’ Charlie directed his fantastic smile straight at Tess, and it showed absolute appreciation.

Which just showed how deranged the man was, Tess decided, staring at him in astonishment. She hadn’t slept since she’d heard about Christine. Tessa’s trim figure was disguised by the jogging suit she was wearing for comfort on the long flight. Her short, blonde curls were tousled and unkempt, and her eyes were shadowed and way too large for her face.

And this man—a complete stranger—was asking if she’d marry him!

She eyed him warily for all of ten seconds, as if he was about to sprout Martian antennae. Charlie kept smiling. Finally Tess came to the conclusion that he was nuts, but harmless nuts. Maybe even nice nuts.

‘Yeah, right,’ she said blankly and turned away, trying to block him out.

She couldn’t block out his presence. Nutcase or not, Charles Cameron was a difficult man to block.

Charlie was six foot three without his boots on. He had broad shoulders, but he didn’t carry one ounce of spare fat. The man was sheer muscle, his body narrowing to long, long legs stretched out under the airline seat. He was wearing a short-sleeved, open-necked shirt and moleskin trousers, and his clothes suited his muscled, tanned and weather-beaten body to perfection.

Despite her distress, it was impossible for Tess to ignore the sheer maleness of the man. He was thirty or so and weathering magnificently. Charlie’s thick black hair was bleached at the tips as if exposed to too much harsh sun. His deep blue eyes twinkled and danced and made you want to smile...

He looked a man apart. Charles Cameron fitted into the surrounding sea of suits like a bull fitted into a china shop—and Charles Cameron was some bull!

Oh, for heaven’s sake... Ignore him, Tess thought desperately, as she clenched her eyes shut. She had enough to worry about without a grinning lunatic she’d never met before proposing marriage from the neighbouring seat.

Like thinking about Christine...

The thought of Christine was enough to stop any hint of a smile. Christine was Tessa’s twin sister—and Christine was dead.

Maybe it was stupid for Tess to feel this bad. Donald had told her over and over that she shouldn’t care. He didn’t understand Tessa’s grief-stricken reaction one bit.

‘For heaven’s sake, Tess, you haven’t seen Christine or your snobbish brother-in-law for six years. Not since your twenty-first birthday. She met that creep and she hasn’t been home since. She’s hardly written. They didn’t even come to your mother’s funeral. And you’ve never been to England to visit her. You’ve never even wanted to visit...’

That was how much Donald knew! Tess had ached to visit her twin, and she longed to travel.

But Tess couldn’t ignore family ties as Christine had done. Their mother had been an invalid and, after her death, her legacy of medical bills had made visiting Christine impossible.

And now Christine was dead. Her mother was gone, and now her sister. It was the end of her family.

Only it wasn’t the end, of course. There was Ben...

She had to see him. She must! Even if she wasn’t wanted.

‘Hey, if it’s my proposal making you look like this, then forget it.’ The deep male voice rumbled beside her and Tessa’s eyes flew open. It was such a nice voice. Low and growly, but warm and with such depth..

The lunatic’s voice. The Martian.

For a moment, Tess wished she was back in her economy class seat—but only for a moment. As a last-minute passenger, she’d been wedged between a twenty-stone woman who reeked of garlic, and the airline toilet. The tap on her shoulder after the hour’s stop at Singapore—‘Miss, we have a seat available in business class if you’d like the offer of a free upgrade’—had been a gift from heaven.

‘Am I making you look like this?’ the man asked anxiously, and then answered his own question. ‘Nope. I’m sure it’s not me. You looked like this before.’

‘Like what?’ Tess asked before she could help herself, and the man smiled his blindingly attractive smile

‘Like a mermaid who’s lost her sea,’ he said gently. ‘Who’s floundering on the beach and who doesn’t know how to get home.’

A mermaid. Honestly!

Tess glared. ‘I just need some sleep,’ she managed.

‘Hey, I guessed that,’ he told her. ‘That’s why I suggested you come up here.’

‘You suggested...’

‘The seat beside me was empty all the way from Australia.’ He grinned at her look of astonishment. ‘I stretched out and luxuriated no end but, truth to tell, I was lonesome. Then I saw you in Singapore looking like a waif who was about to topple over, and I thought if there was company to be had I wouldn’t mind if you were it. So I pointed you out to the airline people and told them you looked too young to be travelling alone.’ His smile deepened. ‘They agreed—and here you are.’

‘They agreed...’ The man’s audacity took Tessa’s breath away. So that was why she was sitting in business class.

She’d wondered. She looked unimportant and unkempt—the last person suitable for an upgrade to business class. But now... As well as having to humour an obvious lunatic, she also had to be grateful.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘But—’

‘But you have to sleep and I’ve just thrown you a proposal that’s got you all in a tizz,’ he said sagely. ‘I can see that. Don’t answer all at once. Tell you what. You catch forty winks while I sift through these papers again and see if there isn’t any other way out of this mess-and we’ll talk about it later.’

His smile was warm and gentle and infinitely comforting. As if he weren’t a lunatic at all.

‘Here,’ he said, offering her an eye mask. ‘And here.’ A pillow and blanket were added to the ones the hostess had already given her. ‘Now just push this little but-ton...’ He leaned over and pushed the little button and her seat sank back to almost fully reclining. Then, to her absolute bewilderment, he kissed her lightly on the nose. ‘Sweet dreams. See you in London!’

And he placed her eye mask over her eyes and left her to her confusion.

Tessa slept the clock around, and when she opened her eyes her first thought was that she was warm and cared for and that the nightmare had receded.

She was being held.

She opened one eye cautiously—and then another.

In sleep, her head had drooped sideways. The man by her side was now wearing a cashmere jumper—soft and warm and bulky. His seat was also reclining. She was using the stranger’s sweater—his shoulder!—as her pillow, and she could hear the beating of his heart under her right ear.

She sat up as if she’d been hit by an electric cattle prod, and the broad arm around her shoulders was reluctantly withdrawn.

‘Hey,’ the man said dolefully. ‘I was asleep.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Tessa struggled sideways in a muddle of blankets and tried to make her eyes work. The cabin lights were dim and the darkness was intimate.

Sleeping with a stranger...

‘No need to be sorry.’ The arm came back around, possessive and strong. ‘Half an hour till they turn on the lights for breakfast. Snooze a little.’

‘What... what time is it?’ Still she struggled, hauling herself back in the luxurious comfort of her velvet seat.

He sighed and checked his watch. Luminous dials. Expensive watch. ‘It’s three a.m. British time, or midday Australian. Take your pick.’

It didn’t feel like either.

Tessa struggled with the sense that she was dreaming, blinked, blinked again, and then the lights came on.

‘Damn,’ the deep voice said mournfully. ‘My prediction was wrong Now you won’t think me a seasoned traveller.’

‘Are you one?’ Tess asked cautiously. The man looked like a farmer. He didn’t come across as someone who flitted frequently around the world on business.

‘Yep. I fly from Warrnambie to Melbourne once a month, rain or shine.’

Tess thought this through.

‘You mean—Warrnambie, Victoria, Australia, to Melbourne, Victoria, Australia? A distance of about a hundred miles?’

‘That’s right.’ His smile told her she was a clever girl. As if he were humouring her instead of the other way around.

‘That makes you a seasoned traveller?’

‘Hey, I’ve been to England before,’ he told her, wounded. ‘But not once a month. Mostly because I don’t like aeroplane breakfasts.’ He yawned and stretched, his big frame touching her shoulder as he moved. The warmth from his body seemed to flow straight through the blankets and into hers.

‘So...’ Tess was making a Herculean effort to keep the conversation sane. This man had organized her a seat and lent her a shoulder. She had to be nice, no matter how breathless he made her feel. ‘So you live at Warrnambie?’

‘That’s where my farm is.’ He was interrupted by the hostess. A moist, warm towel was handed to each of them, held aloft with a pair of silver tongs. Tessa’s companion disappeared under his white towel for a minute or two, rubbing himself down with the enjoyment of a bear under a waterfall. Then he emerged to redirect his attention to Tess. ‘That’s better. A shave and I’ll almost be up to introductions. Don’t go away.’

He stretched his large frame into an upright position and disappeared toward the rest room. Tess was left staring blankly after him, wondering just what it was that made the world seem to hold its breath in this man’s presence.

In fact, it was an hour and breakfast later before they finally got around to introductions, and by that time Tess was almost starting to feel human. She’d washed, repaired the worst of the ravages to her face and, despite her companion’s disparagement of airline food, managed to put away a decent breakfast. It was the first full meal she could remember eating since she’d heard about Christine’s death, and she hadn’t realized just how hungry she was.

Charles watched her with growing concern.

‘You don’t say you like this stuff?’ he demanded, prodding an omelette which bore a strong resemblance to a piece of bath foam. ‘The hens that laid these eggs have serious problems. I think they’ve been fed a diet of rubber pellets and orange cordial.’

Tess chuckled, and was faintly astonished at the sound. That she could laugh...

Charlie Cameron’s smile broadened.

‘Now, how did I know it’d sound like that?’ he said approvingly. ‘The very nicest chuckle...’ He held out his hand and took hers, enveloping her fingers in a strong, warm clasp. ‘Allow me to repeat my proposal. I’ve been through all the papers and there’s nothing else for it. You’ll just have to marry me.’

‘Don’t be...’ Tessa tried unsuccessfully to draw her hand away. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said nervously, glancing up to see just where the hostess was, just in case she needed help to haul off a deranged and disappointed lunatic. ‘You don’t even know me.’

‘I know enough. You’re not wearing a wedding ring and you have the nicest chuckle I’ve ever had the privilege of hearing,’ Charles said. ‘And when we stopped at Singapore and the old Indian lady dropped her baggage, you were the one who got down on her hands and knees and hauled it back together.’ He noted her look of surprise and smiled again. ‘I was in the business class lounge or I would have dashed to the rescue myself—as befits my status as hero and husband material—but I could see what happened through the glass,’ he added. ‘That’ll do as an introduction.’

‘Well, I don’t know you,’ Tessa said breathlessly. ‘For heaven’s sake, this is ridiculous. I don’t know you from Adam and you’re asking me to marry you?’

‘I know you. I’ve read your baggage labels. Tessa Flanagan, and a very nice name too. Tessa Cameron sounds better. But I guess you don’t know me.’ Charles considered. And then he frowned. ‘I have a problem here,’ he confessed. ‘I’m not really sure yet who I am.’

‘You’re not sure?’ Tessa glared. This was getting crazier and crazier. ‘What do you mean—you’re not sure?’

‘Well, I think I’m sure,’ he told her, and smiled apologetically ‘Until a week ago, I was Charles Cameron, cattle farmer from Warrnambie.’

‘And now?’

‘Well...’ He sighed. Then he lifted up one of the papers he’d been studying. ‘According to this, I’m Lord Charles Cameron, thirteenth Earl of Dalston. Owner of a grand-sounding title, and—if you’ll agree to marry me—owner of one rather decrepit castle and all it contains.’

CHAPTER TWO

VERY little was said for the next hour until they came in to land at Heathrow. Too much had happened to Tess for her to continue humouring this nutcase. She was polite—but only just.

‘I’m very pleased you’re going to be an earl,’ she told him, ‘but it has absolutely nothing to do with me. If you don’t mind, I want to read. Go back to your papers and figure out how you can inherit your castle all by yourself.’

She turned her shoulder resolutely away, and ignored him.

Charles Cameron didn’t ignore her. He delved back into his documents but she was aware of him silently watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Drat the man! He threw her right off balance and she had to concentrate.

Tess had a folder full of travel documents given to her by the agent in Yaldara Bay. And instructions that scared the life out of someone who’d travelled three times to Sydney for her nursing exams and that was as far from home as she’d ever been.

Now... she had to go through Customs in Heathrow, find the Airbus office, catch the bus to the coach station-then walk about five blocks to the cheap bed and breakfast the agent had booked for her. She had a map. It was all here. Just follow the instructions.

‘I’m being met by a driver,’ Charles said in her ear and made her jump. ‘I can give you a lift.’

‘I don’t want a lift,’ Tessa said crossly. ‘Thank you. My bus fare is paid.’

‘Very efficient.’ Charles lifted her travel documents and frowned down at the page of instructions telling her where to go. ‘Backblow Street. I don’t know about my future wife staying here.’

‘Well, you go and ask your future wife where she wants to stay,’ Tessa managed. ‘Just leave me alone.’

‘But...’

‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘Please...just leave me be.’

They parted soon after landing.

Charles somehow managed to stay by her side until they hit the queue for Immigration. Then there were two queues—one for British subjects and one for aliens. To her surprise, Charles headed for the local queue.

‘I’ll wait for you on the other side,’ he said, but she shook her head resolutely. Her passage through was surprisingly swift, her luggage was the first off the conveyor belt and then she was at the Airbus terminal knowsing she need never see Charlie Cameron again in her life.

She should be relieved. She should be shaking off the memory of such a lunatic with speed. Instead, she boarded her bus feeling as desolate as she’d ever felt in her life.

It must be Christine’s death, she told herself, and the fact that she was on the other side of the world from Donald. From anyone she knew.

But as she sat on the top of her double-decker bus, heading for central London, the thought of Charlie Cameron’s gentle smile stayed with her.

He was a nut but a nice nut, she decided as she buried herself in the map showing her where to go when she left the bus. She could afford to remember him with affection.

But a tiny voice at the back of her head told her she didn’t want to remember him at all. The thought of his strong arm around her—the feel of his cashmere sweater—the sheer maleness of the man—that was what she wanted.

Oh, yeah? And the thought of being wife to the Earl of Dalston? she told herself grimly. If he’s the Earl of Dalston then I’m travelling on a flying pig. Now stop thinking about lunatics and start thinking about maps.

It took Tess an hour to find her hotel and by the time she did it was still only seven in the morning and she was exhausted.

Donald had presented her with a set of baggage wheels as a farewell present. ‘Because taxi prices are sky high and you’ll be using enough of our house savings as it is,’ he’d told her. ‘Using these wheels, you can walk pulling your things behind you. They’ll make you independent.’

Which they might have if they’d been good quality, Tess thought gnmiy. The streets were rough and the plastic wheels were weak. Tess walked a block before the first wheel buckled. Then she was left with no choice but to carry everything by hand. There wasn’t even a rubbish bin where she could dump her broken wheels. She had to carry them as well.

It was the middle of June. At home it had been crisp and cool in the beginning of winter. Here it was summer. It was too early to be hot but it was humid enough to be uncomfortable, and Tessa’s jogging suit was way too heavy. By the time she stopped outside a dubiouslooking lodging house, she was exhausted.

At least she’d made it. Primrose Place. Bed and breakfast.

Tess looked up at her lodgings with dismay. She had to stay in London for a couple of nights—she needed to see her sister’s lawyer before she went north—and accommodation in the city was expensive. Donald and the travel agent had chosen this place for her from a brochure. Surely it hadn’t looked like this in the advertisement?

The place looked just plain seedy. The last primrose to grace Primrose Place had hoisted its roots and departed centuries ago, breathing a sigh of relief as it did. All that was left was a dingy, soot-covered building. The cracked window in the front was plastered with newspaper, and a smell of stale grease hung about the front door.

She had no choice. She had to stay here. Her accommodation was paid.

Tess looked up and down the street. All the buildings here—a long line of terraces three storeys high—were much the same, all slightly unkempt and grubby. The street was early-morning quiet, milk bottles standing empty on each doorstep. A large black car nosed its way into the end of the street and stopped, its engine still running. Its occupants didn’t emerge.

This was like something out of a second-rate whodunmt movie.

Maybe it was because she was very much alone that she felt uneasy. Despite the heat, Tess shivered, and rang the bell fast.

The bell echoed hollowly inside, and she heard a mass of dog flesh hurling itself against the other side of the door. Hardly a welcome. All she heard was snarling.

The snarling ended with a human curse and then the door opened. Her landlord stood before her, still in the bottom half of dirty pyjamas, bald, unshaven and his flabby white chest bare.

‘What d’ya want?’

Tess caught her breath.

‘I’m...I’m booked in here.’ She held out her accommodation voucher. The man took it, kicked the dog back from behind him and sniffed as he inspected it. Then he thrust the voucher back at her.

‘This is for tonight. Come back five o’clock when the doors open. Not before.’ And he slammed the door in her face.

Tess hadn’t cried. Not once. Not when the phone call had come telling her Christine was dead. Not when Christine’s mother-in-law had told her she was crazy to come and she wasn’t wanted. Not when she’d said goodbye to Donald.

She came very close now.

She stood on the greasy doorstep and took great lungfuls of humid air and fought for control. It was seven o’clock in the morning in a strange city and she had nowhere to go.

A hand landed on her shoulder and held.

Tess yelped. There was no other word to describe the sound that came out as she jumped about six inches in the air. When she came down to land, the hand was still on her shoulder, turning her around to face whoever it was accosting her.

But Tessa Flanagan was no victim. As charge nurse at Yaldara Bay Hospital, Tessa’s reactions to emergencies were tuned to be lighting-swift-and now was no exception.

She attacked right back.

During one very boring winter in Yaldara Bay, Tess had enrolled in a self-defence course for women. Then, after an incident with a drunk in Casualty, she’d taught the same class to the junior nurses on her staff. Over and over.

Sometimes she’d wondered whether it really would work. If she was attacked, would she be so frightened that she’d freeze?

Obviously not. Her training worked a treat.

As her attacker hauled her around to face him—before she even saw who was attacking—she thumped her fist fair across his left eye. In the same instant, Tessa’s spare hand dropped and came upward fast, crunching as hard as she possibly could. Right into his private parts.

And Charlie Cameron grunted in agony, fell back and clutched himself where it hurt most.

Tess stared... and stared some more.

‘Charlie...’

‘So who were you expecting?’ Charlie managed, groaning and bent double. ‘Jack the Ripper? Hell, Tess, you’ve damaged me for life!’

‘But...’

‘You’ll have to marry me now. I’m damaged goods. You can’t return me.’

Charlie Charlie, the Earl of Dalston. Charlie, the lunatic.

It was too much. It was all too much. Tess stared down, appalled, and the world spun around her. And finally, after all this time, the tears came.

‘Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry...’

Charlie straightened and stared. ‘Tess... what’s going on here? You hit me where it hurts most and you cry!’

‘I don’t cry. I never cry.’ It was as much as Tessa could do to make her voice work through her tears.

‘Yeah? And I’m Peter Pan.’ He groaned again. ‘Come to think of it, I might be. Isn’t Peter Pan the boy who can’t grow up? Any minute now I’ ll be back to singing soprano.‘ He winced again. He shook his head. ’I don’t believe this. You’ve interrupted the succession of the Dalston line with one fell fist, you’ve given me a black eye and you cry...’