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Maybe Married
Leigh Michaels
Pretend marriage–or legally wed?For Dana to guarantee a big promotion, she has to win a huge charity donation from hotshot entrepreneur Zeke Ferris. Unfortunately, Zeke is her ex-husband and could prove awkward! Very awkward, actually. He needs a pretend wife–perhaps they can come to an arrangement…?Dana is wary of the unfinished business between them–not to mention an attraction that refuses to die. Still, it's only a temporary pretense. She can handle living with Zeke for ninety days…. Then Zeke drops a bombshell revelation: they're still legally married!
“She can’t get married till her divorce is final.”
Dana’s jaw dropped. “What? We took care of that years ago. You have absolutely no claim on me anymore, Zeke, so stop acting like a dog in the manger.”
“You’re divorced?” Barclay sounded as if he was about to faint.
“That’s the problem,” Zeke murmured. “She isn’t, actually. There was a little hang-up with the paperwork, and so our divorce never quite went through. Sorry to break the news this way, darling—but you’re still married. To me.”
To have and to hold…
Their marriage was meant to last—and they have the gold rings to prove it!
To love and to cherish…
But what happens when their promise to love, honor and cherish is put to the test?
From this day forward…
Emotions run high as husbands and wives discover how precious—and fragile—their wedding vows are…. Will true love keep them together—forever?
Marriages meant to last!
The Prodigal Wife (#3740)
by
Susan Fox
Maybe Married
Leigh Michaels
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ude4581dc-d304-51f6-b989-fdeb0844eb07)
CHAPTER TWO (#u27ec6556-043d-535a-bbad-ec3cbe06034a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u6e41f007-a961-5d77-acff-ce43c64708a9)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
A BURST of applause, followed by a low buzz of conversation and the telltale rustling of two dozen people rising from their chairs, told Dana that the meeting was over. Just in time, too, she thought. As long as no one hung around for prolonged goodbyes, they might still manage to keep to the schedule.
Beside her, Connie glanced at her watch. “It’s past five. President Howell is cutting it a little fine, I’d say. But then he’s not the one who has to clean up the damage—and he does like to hear himself talk.”
Dana ignored both the comment and the sidelong look which accompanied it. “I’ll start picking up the debris now. As soon as the last guest clears the doorway, you can start to vacuum at this end of the room. Tell the caterers they can begin setting up the bar in fifteen minutes.” She didn’t wait for an answer before she slid open the pocket door which separated the hallway from the drawing room and went in.
Originally, there had been two parlors occupying the entire width of the big Georgian house. But years ago when the university had bought the mansion as a home for its presidents, the dividing wall had been knocked out to make a single enormous room suitable for entertaining crowds. In matching fireplaces at each end of the room, gas logs flickered cheerfully, banishing the gloom of a dreary, rainy late afternoon. Between the two sets of French doors overlooking the veranda was a table holding the ravaged remains of afternoon tea. Dana noted almost automatically that the few leftover cucumber sandwiches looked limp, the strawberries had faded and shrunk, and the petits fours appeared hard as rocks. But then, it was nearly three hours since the tea table had been arranged.
At the far end of the room, nearest the front door, a dozen women were still clustered around the university’s president. Dana heard Barclay Howell’s deep voice, though she didn’t catch what he’d said, followed by a burst of feminine laughter.
Dana stayed as far away as she could, trying to be unobtrusive as she gathered up stale coffee cups, dropped napkins, and—what was half a scone doing under the edge of the love seat, anyway? Getting this room cleared out and ready for the cocktail party which was due to start in less than an hour was going to be an especially big challenge.
She didn’t see Mrs. Janowitz until the matron was within five feet. “Dana, my dear,” the woman said, bearing down on her. “Such a lovely party. I was just telling Barclay how much nicer the events here at Baron’s Hill have been ever since you took over.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Janowitz.” Dana’s hands were full, but the matron was between her and the doorway where Connie had parked the service cart, so she took a firmer grip on both the china and her patience.
“That so-called butler they had before,” Mrs. Janowitz went on, “had no flair. No sense of style. He paid far too much attention to petty things and never looked at the big picture.”
Dana felt obligated to give the woman a warning. “Mr. Beeler will be returning as soon as he’s completely recovered from his pneumonia.”
“Oh, yes, I know.” Mrs. Janowitz’s voice was airy. “You’d hardly want to keep on doing everything yourself. And I’m sure, with his fondness for detail, he’ll be much better at carrying out instructions than in planning things all the way through.”
“I’m not sure you understand. As soon as Mr. Beeler returns, I’ll be going back to my regular job as manager of the conference center.”
“If you want to call it a conference center, when it’s really just an old classroom building.” Mrs. Janowitz smiled broadly and patted Dana’s arm. “But of course, my dear, I completely understand that’s the official line for the moment. However, for those of us who can see what’s really going on…” Her voice dropped. “We approve, Dana. I thought you’d like to know.” She strode back across the room and plunged into the still-chattering group around Barclay Howell.
Dana shook her head and dumped the plates and cups she’d gathered onto the service cart. She had no idea what Mrs. Janowitz was talking about and no time to ponder the question at the moment. If President Howell didn’t move these women out in a hurry, they were going to collide at the front door with his cocktail party guests.
As if he’d heard her, the president shepherded the remaining half dozen women into the hallway. Dana watched from the corner of her eye. She’d seen him do it countless times, but it still amazed her how easily Barclay Howell could maneuver people out the door without ever letting them realize they’d been politely sent on their way. Or at least he made it look easy. He’d no doubt had plenty of practice in the time he’d spent as a college administrator, working his way up the ladder to the president’s office.
Connie appeared with the vacuum cleaner, which had been specially chosen for its low noise level rather than its cleaning power, and started on the carpet. Dana was just starting to push the service cart into the hall where it would be out of Connie’s way when Barclay Howell came back into the room, dusting his hands together in satisfaction.
“Dana,” he called. “I’d like a moment with you, privately.”
Dana looked around the room. She still had to freshen up the flower arrangements and move them off the tea table so it could be torn down, and Connie could use help in shifting all the chairs. There was no time to spare for chitchat, but after all, Barclay Howell was the boss. “Let me get rid of this cart first.”
“I’ll be in the music room.”
She pushed the cart down the hall toward the kitchen and then returned to the front of the house. Next to the front door, across the wide entrance hall from the drawing room, was a much smaller, more intimate room. She tapped on the half-open door and went in.
Barclay Howell was selecting music from a cabinet full of compact disks. He put one in the slot and the first notes of a violin concerto murmured through the room. “You did a wonderful job today, Dana,” he said. “Every one of those women was thrilled with the meeting arrangements.”
“Thank you.” Dana frowned. “But I wonder why they were so pleased. There wasn’t anything particularly original about anything I did today.”
Barclay smiled broadly. “Dana, Dana. You must stop disparaging yourself.”
“But in this case it’s true, sir. Those women must have been to hundreds of afternoon teas, and this one wasn’t any different, really. I wonder why they made it a point to tell you that.” We approve, Mrs. Janowitz had said. Dana was beginning to get a ticklish feeling in her stomach as she wondered just exactly what Mrs. Janowitz had meant. “Unless they were just being extra polite.”
“No, it was more than that. You have a certain flair for these things. Sit down, Dana, and let’s talk.” He gestured toward a deeply-upholstered chair.
Dana was torn between wanting to stay and needing to go back to work. Pursuing this conversation right now was really going to ruin her schedule. On the other hand, this was the first chance she’d had to talk to Barclay Howell about anything more important than canapes.
Until the last six weeks, the university’s president had been little more than a name to Dana. But since she’d started working directly with him at Baron’s Hill, she’d begun to realize that he was a very attractive man—and not only because of his looks. Not that she knew him well enough to really judge, yet. But now, suddenly, he seemed to be starting to notice her on a personal level…The ticklish feeling grew stronger.
“The cocktail party,” she began. “I really need to—”
“I’m sure your assistant can manage the details for a few minutes. If there’s one small flaw in the way you handle things, Dana, it’s that you insist on doing so much yourself rather than delegating it.”
The professional half of her would have liked to point out that managing the details was what she’d been hired to do, that Connie was pitching in only because Dana needed help and not because it was Connie’s job, and that Barclay Howell was making everything more difficult at the moment.
There were no doubt more tactful ways to make that point, but unfortunately just now Dana couldn’t think of a single one. So she stayed silent.
“Ever since Beeler got sick and you took over, things here at Baron’s Hill have been going much more smoothly. We’ve done almost twice as many events in the last six weeks as we usually do, but under your direction there hasn’t been a single problem.”
I wouldn’t exactly say that, Dana thought. The problems were there—you just didn’t hear about them.
“The entertainment has been superb, the food delicious, the guests happy.”
And I’m exhausted.
“How would you like to have the job permanently?”
As he talked, Dana’s stomach had slowly settled back into place. So much for the vague feeling that Barclay Howell might have more on his mind than the next round of events at Baron’s Hill, she thought ruefully. Of course, it was just as well that he hadn’t asked her out. Attractive though he was, dating the boss was never a good idea. Too many things could go wrong.
But she couldn’t deny that there was a flicker of disappointment deep inside her. Dana would have liked to get to know him better, to find out whether he really was as attractive as he seemed. If so, he might even be the one who could…
Then what he’d said hit her with the force of a hammer blow, and she sat up straight. “You mean Mr. Beeler isn’t coming back after all? That was a particularly awful pneumonia, I know, but surely once he’s completely over it, he’ll be able to do his job again.”
“He is recovering nicely, and he’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”
“Then—Oh, I see. It would probably be a good idea for him to have an assistant, at least for a while. That way he could stop when he was tired because I could take over, and—”
Barclay was smiling. “I don’t intend for you to be his assistant, Dana, but his boss.”
“You’re demoting Mr. Beeler and putting me in his place? He isn’t going to like that. He’s been here forever, sir.”
“He’ll have the same position as always.” Barclay sat down on the arm of a chair opposite Dana. “I’m not doing this very well, am I? Let me start over. Baron’s Court will always need someone to manage all the official events that the president hosts, and Mr. Beeler fills that job very nicely.”
“Then I don’t see where I come in.”
“He’s very good with details, but Baron’s Court needs more than that. It needs someone with vision and imagination and a sense of drama. It needs something that’s been lacking ever since I took the job here. It needs…” He paused, as if he expected Dana to fill in the blank.
Dana stayed silent.
“It needs a hostess, Dana. The biggest difficulty about my position here has been trying to handle all the responsibilities alone.” He chuckled. “Not the professional ones, of course. But the social things—making nice with all the faculty spouses and the pennant-waving alumni…I’m certainly not fussing about those people, they’re all quite charming really. But having someone to help with all that…”
“A hostess,” Dana said slowly.
“Yes. You must have noticed how well we work together. We’re a terrific team. And it would be quite a good opportunity for you. Though I wouldn’t admit it publicly, of course, I don’t intend to spend my whole career at a small private university. It’s a good place for my first job in top administration, but I have my eye on something bigger. Much bigger.” He sounded almost coy. “You wouldn’t lose by throwing in your lot with me.”
The ticklish feeling in Dana’s stomach had turned into an actual pain. He couldn’t possibly be saying what it sounded like. Teaming up with him…moving on to a bigger university…being his hostess…It sounded as if the man was talking about her whole life, not just a job.
No, she told herself, she was reading meanings where none existed. He couldn’t possibly mean that.
A wicked little imp at the back of her brain made her wonder what he’d do if she threw herself at him and accepted a proposal he hadn’t made. Watching the always-cool Barclay Howell turn pale and stammer in shock might be entertaining—and it would make him speak more carefully next time, too, instead of dancing around a subject like a politician. But it would hardly be a nice thing to do.
Barclay’s smile began to look a little forced. “Dana, I’m asking you to marry me.”
He was serious? She’d actually been right? She spoke before she stopped to think. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve never even been to a movie together.”
He frowned. “What does that have to do with it?”
The frightening thing, Dana thought, was that as far as he was concerned it wasn’t a rhetorical question. Things like movies, dinners, walks in the park, getting to know each other…all were unimportant. Barclay Howell had made up his mind.
“I told you, we’re an excellent team.”
Funny, I thought proposals were supposed to cover things like love. “Sir, I think it would be best if—”
“Please, my dear. Call me Barclay. Since we’re going to be married—”
Just a few minutes ago, she’d thought it was kind of cute how easily he could manipulate people into doing what he wanted. But now that he was using the knack to try to maneuver her, Dana was feeling something close to panic. “I haven’t agreed to anything of the sort.”
For one unguarded instant he looked startled by the possibility that she would consider turning him down, and then he smiled again. “Well, not yet,” he said affably. “I suppose I was a bit abrupt.”
A bit abrupt? That was one way to put it, Dana thought, though it wouldn’t have been her first choice of words. The arrogance he was displaying was unbelievable, completely unlike the man she had thought he was.
So much for your judgment, she told herself. But then, we’ve always known you weren’t too sharp where men are concerned.
“So I won’t ask you for an answer just now. Take your time, and let me know when you’re ready, Dana.”
As if there could only be one answer. As if she was only delaying just so she didn’t look desperate by snatching at his proposal…
Now she knew what Mrs. Janowitz had been talking about, when Dana had said she’d be going back to her regular job. Of course that’s the official line, for now. But those of us who can see what’s really going on approve.
The woman had known what Barclay Howell intended—long before Dana herself had even suspected. Had he taken a poll, for heaven’s sake? Checked out his little idea with his advisers to make sure they wouldn’t object to his choice of a first lady for the university?
It was just as well he wasn’t demanding an answer right now. She’d have a hard time finding one that wouldn’t singe Barclay Howell’s aristocratic ears.
