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“So do you,” she returned the compliment. “I’ve rarely seen a man wear a morning suit so well.” She had no difficulty in acknowledging the simple truth. He was a very handsome man in a style that hitherto hadn’t been her cup of tea. She went for a gentler look. If Sean’s looks were often described as “boyish”, this guy was hard set handsome, with electricity crackling all around him. Strong cleft chin. Very tall, very lean with a strongly built frame. Not macho. Nothing as self-conscious or as swaggering as that. Here was a guy who was strong in every sense of the word. Maybe too aggressively male for her taste. And how exactly was he eyeing her?
“Shall we go in?” Cal suggested smoothly. Obviously they couldn’t go back down the steps. She had exquisite creamy skin and the nearest thing he’d seen to golden eyes. It was the oddest thing, but he wanted to sweep off that confounded hat so he could see her hair, which appeared to be a wonderful vibrant bright copper…no, amber, which no doubt accounted for her name.
“Just what I was thinking,” she agreed in a sweetly accommodating voice.
It didn’t fool him one bit. This was one beautiful woman laden with intent. She was here for one singular purpose. To create an almighty stir. So far she was doing extremely well. Little whispers were being passed from one wedding guest to another. There was a lot of compulsive head swivelling, short gasps. Some were staring openly, making no bones about their avid interest. Not that he altogether blamed her for doing this. It took a lot of nerve. But it was his job to stop her. It must have been appalling for Amber Wyatt, squarely in the public eye, to be so publicly humiliated. Sinclair must come from a long line of jackals.
“See you later on, Tim,” he called to his young cousin, aware that Tim was looking after them in wonderment as he swept this gutsy, downright foolhardy young woman inside the church.
Who is he? Amber, despite appearances, was only just managing to keep her nerve. She had to admit this guy was something to behold—and chock-a-block with surprises. She had fully expected to be exposed as a woman in the commission of a serious crime, yet he was acting as though they were a couple. Did he feel desperately sorry for her? Or was he someone who would bundle her out of a side door after a few chastening words? It took her roughly ten seconds to hit on the last option. He wouldn’t have much difficulty doing it. He was several inches over six feet and looked superbly fit. She could see the ripple of lean muscle beneath the close fit of his jacket. He was enormously self-assured. Probably had every reason to be. The unshakeable air of male supremacy that generally put her teeth on edge was well in evidence. It warned against any outrageous behaviour on her part. That and a certain glitter in his eyes. They were—well—lovely, though he would probably cringe to hear that. Shots of sparkling colour in his bronzed face—the cool green of one of her favourite gemstones, the peridot. She couldn’t help registering that not only was the colour remarkable, so too was the intensity.
One thing was certain. She had never seen him before in her life. She’d remember. She liked the fact that she had to tilt her head to look up at him. Not something she did every day. Sean had been forever asking her to wear low heels or even flatties, when she was a girl for whom high heels were not only a necessity but a passion.
Now that her eyes had adjusted to the cool interior of the church after the brilliant sunshine outside, she could see that it was beautifully decorated. She bit down hard on her lip lest a cry escape her.
Even so, it did. “Aah!”
“You’ll get through it,” he told her, his expression Byronic.
“How did I ever convince myself I loved him? Why did I choose him of all the men in the world to marry?” she wailed.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time? You couldn’t have been short of other offers.”
“So what does that say about me? I’m a very poor judge of character?” Zara, unfairly regarded by some as an airhead, had seen through him right from the beginning.
“Maybe love—or what passes for it—truly is blind.”
“It wasn’t love.” She shook her head. More being in love with love. The constant awareness that her biological clock was ticking away? She was twenty-six. She wanted kids. She loved children and they loved her. She had four godchildren at the last count. She was a real favourite with her friends. A marvellous, trustworthy babysitter.
Time to break off her philosophical meanderings with her new best friend.
Masses and masses of white and soft cream flowers shimmered before her distressed eyes. Roses, lilies, peonies, double cream lisianthus, carnations, gladiolus and the exquisitely delicate ivory-white petals of the Phalaenopsis orchids, all wonderfully and inventively arranged. And oh, the perfume! The rows of dark polished pews were lavishly beribboned in white and cream taffeta.
Amber just stood there, letting it all overwhelm her.
Her rescuer drew her to one side as the wedding guests continued to stream in. Amber watched dazedly as he acknowledged this one and that, giving what appeared to be a reassuring inclination of his head to a stony-faced society matron in a drop-dead ghastly misfit of a hat. If looks could annihilate, Amber was sure she would be gasping her last breath. But of course! It was the bride’s mother. As such, didn’t she have a right to demand Amber be thrown out? Mrs Rosemary Erskine in the flesh was an awesome sight.
It was all so unreal she might have been having an out of body experience. And who was this man who kept a light but secure rein on her? Obviously, he was well known. His thick crow-black hair, swept back from a high brow, had a decided deep wave that was clipped to control. The bronze of his skin wasn’t fake. That tan came from a life in the sun. The light grey morning suit, which a lot of men couldn’t successfully carry off, only served to accentuate his height, width of shoulder and the natural elegance of his body. A man of action? He wasn’t any man about town. Impossible to remain anonymous when you looked like that. He certainly wasn’t a friend of Sean’s—his friends tended to be much like himself—so he had to be from the bride’s side.
“Ms Wyatt, isn’t it?” His voice, as classy as the rest of him, broke into her speculations.
“Round one to you. I can’t for the life of me figure out who you are and I’m really trying.” Though she spoke banteringly, she felt like a butterfly about to be pinned for his private collection. Indeed her heart was fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a cage. He had a beautiful mouth. How odd that she should even notice. Firm, very clean-cut, the rims slightly raised. He was someone Zee would describe as drop dead sexy. She was almost on the point of conceding that herself.
She wondered what he would look like when he smiled. Teeth were important to her. Good teeth. Even on this humiliating day, a woman publicly scorned, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off a perfect stranger. But then that was her training, she reassured herself. Her life as a journalist was spent checking people out, remembering faces. She was naturally observant.
“Cal MacFarlane,” he introduced himself. “I’m the bride’s cousin.”
Her heart shook. But she wasn’t ready to buckle. Instead, she levelled him with a dubious stare. “Really? You don’t look in the least like her.” He looked more like that British actor Clive Owen. The same uber-male aura.
“I’m a MacFarlane, but we do share a grandfather, Sir Clive Erskine.”
“Ah, yes, Sir Clive.” She nibbled on her lower lip as her memory bank opened up. “You’re the Cattle Baron, right?” She was tuned in to a degree.
“Exactly.” Amusement cut sexy little grooves into the corners of his mouth. “You’re awfully audacious coming here, aren’t you, Ms Wyatt?”
She decided to wing it. After all, he couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure. “How do you know Sean didn’t send me an invitation? We were very close up until very recently.”
“So you intend to go out in a blaze of notoriety?” Her skewed gallantry smote his hard heart.
“Mr MacFarlane, I don’t know what you mean.” She let some of the sweetness slide. “I’m dedicated to doing the right thing. Or I have been up to date. And where did it get me? Lighten up. I promise I won’t cause any real bother.”
“You’re causing it already,” he told her very dryly. “This isn’t a joyous occasion, is it? Not for you and not particularly for me. I think, ultimately, my cousin is going to have to pay for marrying Sinclair in more ways than one.”
Amber’s brows rose. “Sweet Lord!” she said reverently. “You’ve got Sean’s measure already! It took me ages.”
“How that must lacerate you.”
“It does. I take it you don’t like him either?”
He inched her further away from the front doors. “I only met him last night. I fear he may be totally unscrupulous which is one reason why I’m standing here with you instead of ushering you out the back.”
Her gaze turned appealing. “Come on, you wouldn’t do that?”
“Not if we can work something out.”
“Actually, I was hoping you wouldn’t interfere.”
“Haven’t I just told you I’m family?” He smiled down into her face.
“Well, I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” God, what a smile!
“I’m not sorry for you. I think you’ve had a lucky escape. So what are we going to do? Team decision. The bride will be arriving any minute.”
“Why, take our seats, of course.” She tried to peer around those wide shoulders.
“Tell you what, I’ll sit beside you.” Humour hovered around his mouth. “How’s that?”
“But I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from the bosom of your family Mr MacFarlane.”
“No problem. On second thoughts, I think we might slip up to the choir loft.” He cast a quick glance upwards. “We can’t be standing here when Georgie and her entourage arrives. By the sound of the clapping outside, it’s about to happen.”
“I do love it when they clap,” she said bleakly. “Supposing we stand here and goggle. After all, your cousin is the wittiest, prettiest, richest girl in town. And the most underhand. She stole my fiancé—such as he is—right from under my nose.”
“And I understand your hurt. But my guess is you’ll live to thank her. I suggest the choir loft. Now. Move it, Ms Wyatt. I’m quite capable of picking you up.”
“What, and fling me over your shoulder?”
“If I have to.” He slipped an arm around her waist and steered her towards the curving flight of wooden steps.
“I don’t know that I want to.” She was endeavouring to resist him but not making much headway.
“I don’t care what you want. Just do it. Sinclair might deserve a bloody good fright but he’s not worth it.”
“Why don’t we get married?” she turned her head over her shoulder to ask with biting sarcasm.
“Well, you were about to do a hell of a lot worse.”
The organist and the well known lyric soprano who had been hired to sing a selection of the bride’s favourite hymns looked around, startled, as they made their unexpected appearance in the spacious loft.
“Go ahead. Don’t take any notice of us.” Amber wiggled her fingers when she really wanted to scream. The cattle baron could ruin everything. “You have a lot to answer for, forcing me up here.” She kept it to a mere whisper. His ears were set beautifully against his shapely head. Sean’s weren’t. That was why he always wore his hair full and floppy.
“You’ll thank me in the end. Why don’t we find somewhere safe and sit it out? Unless you really do want to see the bride arriving?”
“Don’t you?” She was taken aback. “I mean, you’re family.”
“So I am,” he reminded himself. “You look beautiful, by the way.” As exquisite as a long-stemmed rose. “All things pass, Ms Wyatt. I’m merely preventing you from making a spectacle of yourself. You could lose your job, do you know that? My grandfather has influence everywhere. I believe he was impressed with the way you’ve handled yourself up to date. Don’t give him cause to damage your career,” Cal warned. “My grandfather can be ruthless when opposed or seriously displeased. In coming here today, you’ve run a big risk.”
“Get a lawyer. Sue me.” She broke off as the organist started up with a great ear-splitting fanfare that had her instinctively wrapping her ears with her hands. “God, that’s worse than a car alarm,” she muttered.
Even the cattle baron, used to stampedes, was looking aghast. “I’m tempted to go over to the balustrade and throw something.” The organist, on a roll, belted out the triumphant opening bars of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. Why, oh why, did organists have to hit the keys so hard? Pianists didn’t hit the keys like that, even at a double forte.
“One can only wonder how the soprano will compete when her time comes,” Cal observed sardonically.
“How corny can you get? Mendelssohn!” Tears sprang into Amber’s eyes.
“No time to cry,” he warned her.
“Mr Tough Guy.”
“No, I’m a softie at heart. And no point in taking it out on the composer. Poor old Mendelssohn had to work like everyone else.”
“Except your cousin,” she reminded him tightly. “She must have fallen through the cracks. So are you going to take a peek at what she looks like? The dress is said to have cost thousands and thousands. I’ve heard she’s carrying a teeny bit of excess weight.”
“And who knows how long her pre-wedding diet will last?” He glanced down at the jilted Ms Wyatt, seeing the combination of delicacy, strength and intelligence in her features. He also saw the tremendous upset. She was very lovely. Beauty could sometimes be severe. She was beautiful in a tender way. Not even an old cynic like him could view such a woman with indifference. “Now, don’t go worrying about me. I’ve been to a thousand weddings.” He took a firm hold of her hand, just in case she decided to storm the balustrade.
“Is that what made you determined to remain a bachelor? You are, aren’t you? You don’t look tamed at all.” In fact he looked as untamed as a high coasting eagle.
“I’m comfortable with it,” he told her smoothly. “If I didn’t want children, I don’t think I’d get married at all.”
“Same with me. But don’t you get lonely, way out there in the Never Never?”
“Don’t have time to be lonely,” he said.
“I spotted you right off for a hard-working man. Listen, I’m going to take a peek. No one would hear me if I yelled something impolite, with that bloody organ.” She stood up and immediately he joined her.
“Promise you’ll be good?”
“When haven’t I been good?” she muttered bitterly.
“Just make sure you don’t throw your hat.”
“Would you blame me?”
“I prefer you keep it. I love it.”
He gave her another one of his smiles. It had the most peculiar effect on her knees. And his teeth were perfect. Beautifully straight and white.
“Keep your chin up, Amber. I may call you Amber? You can’t really love a man who crawled out from under a rock.”
The bride wore white duchesse satin decorated with crystals, silver beads and thousands of seed pearls, hand-applied. The waist appeared narrow, so she had to be wearing a boned waist-cincher, which made her bosom flare out of the tight-fitting bodice. Her sheer organza veil, complete with long train, was held off her face by a diamond tiara that Amber considered pretentious. The wedding guests didn’t. They responded with a spontaneous burst of applause that seemed to go on over-long, even for a billionaire’s granddaughter. The bridesmaids—there were four—all taller and slimmer than the bride, wore strapless chiffon gowns in pastel colours with tiny flowers twisted into their faintly messy height-of-fashion hairdos. To add to the spectacle, there was an angelic little flower girl with golden curls carrying a basket brimming with rose petals that she was scattering about the aisle with joyful abandon. The women guests wearing high heels would have to be very careful when the time came for them to step back into the aisle or come a cropper.
“Where did she get the tiara?” Amber whispered. “Borrow it from the Queen?”
“The Queen doesn’t give tiaras away, except to her own. Look, why don’t you go and sit down? There’s nothing here for you but heartache.”
Wasn’t that the truth?
CHAPTER TWO
THERE was a proud smile on Sean’s face. He looked happy! Amber had a terrible image of him, cavorting naked on his wedding night, a glass of Bollinger in hand. Sean loved Bollinger. He also loved getting rid of his clothes. Amber forced herself not to make a sound, yet the Cattle Baron took her hand, his grip tight and reassuring. She rather liked the feel of those calluses. What might they be like on a woman’s body? In a mystifying way, just having him there was like being wrapped in a security blanket.
Once during the ceremony she felt faint and he put his arm around her. He smelled wonderful! And he was being so kind when he didn’t look particularly kind. He was a perfect stranger, yet somehow they had made a connection. Either that or he had reasoned that this was the best way to keep her quiet. She couldn’t lose sight of the fact that his loyalty lay with his family. Still, he was being genuinely kind. Some things you couldn’t fake.
* * *
How long was it going to go on? Quite a while more with the Bishop in the spotlight. A handsome man, he traded on the fact that he looked a bit like Prince Philip. She couldn’t have borne a long Nuptial Mass. At least the soprano sang in tune, her high notes soaring above the hellish din of the organ. The organist kept moving about on the stool. Why? Had white ants taken up residence in it? What should the soprano break into, of all things, but that old war horse “O Promise Me?”
It was the blackest of black jokes.
When had Sean first started having sex with his little bride? Amber’s mind was seized by that thought. When had he first realised the Erskine heiress was his for the taking? Not that Sean was all that terrific in bed, she found herself suddenly considering, though he had considered himself a real stud. She, on the other hand, had got around to thinking that great sex didn’t have to mean everything. Well, not absolutely everything. Sean had been such fun—good company, charming, good-humoured, though he did tend to laugh a lot at his own jokes. Then he’d messed up by being miserably unfaithful. There had been a time when she had actually considered letting him move in with her. At least she had been spared that.
When the time came for him to make his vows he spoke in a calm, strong voice that resonated around the church. A born actor. The bride’s responses were as soft and gentle as the cooing of doves. Totally dispirited, Amber slumped back against the Cattle Baron. He’d been great. Pity their paths would never, never cross again. The two of them were pressed together like co-conspirators or maybe, to the casual observer, lovers. She just bet if this guy committed to a woman he would never betray her.
The moment arrived. The Bishop began to ask that crucial question of the congregation. Surely none had the expectation of hearing a voice yell Stop! Amber felt her heart swell with anger. She had done the best she could all these past weeks. She had behaved impeccably, even when mikes had been thrust under her nose and cameras had gone off in her face, recording her instinctive flinch. She had even gone so far as to wish the couple well. But now? Didn’t despicable behaviour count against anyone any more? Had they rewritten all the rules of common decency? It wasn’t that long ago that she could have sued him for breach of promise. Surely some degree of payback was in order? Sean was lucky she was an upright citizen and not some member of a notorious crime family who boasted about giving people who offended them “cement shoes”.
Cal, who had supported the goddess all this time—no hardship whatever—felt the moment of crisis when the adrenalin started to pump through her blood. Her willowy body stirred from near swooning into action. Ms Amber Wyatt was about to cause an upheaval. The question was, what did she intend to do? Her fiery expression indicated something spectacular. Something hugely embarrassing for all concerned and shockingly inadvisable for her. She could finish up waiting tables.
Sinclair and Georgie were as good as married. Nothing could stop that, but at least he could prevent Ms Wyatt from doing something she would live to regret.
“Come here.” He pulled her urgently to him.
Completely off balance, Amber found herself doing exactly what she was told. He was that kind of man. She couldn’t push him away. He was much too strong. She didn’t even know if she wanted to. This was the most extraordinary pseudo-embrace she had experienced in her life.
He literally crushed her to him.
God, a real man! She had a crazy notion of being ravished. Quite possibly she’d let him. If not now, at the first opportunity. Even as her mind spun out of control, he propelled her back across the loft, then, before she could recover, lowered his head and kissed her in a way that she knew with absolute certainty would leave a lasting memory. She even regressed to her teens…all those fabulous bodice-rippers she had devoured.
Her body felt sparkly all over, trembling under the influence of a battery of energising electric shocks. The pressure of that firm mouth coming down over hers, the sheer heart stopping eroticism, had her opening her soft lips like a rose opened up its petals to be drenched by the sun. The pleasure was tremendous.
