Джеки Браун – Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom (страница 2)

She sucked in a breath, still not quite able to believe what she had witnessed. All that passion, and for a virtual stranger. Had she ever inspired that kind of excitement in her prospective groom? Had she ever felt it in return? Those questions as much as Derek’s infidelity forced a sob from her lips. She covered her mouth, muffling another.

“Can I get someone for you? Your mother, perhaps?”

“Dear God!” It came out half-sob, half-hysterical laugh. “Why don’t you just dump me over the rail along with my bouquet?”

Her mother was probably hyperventilating at this point. And her poor father had probably fainted dead away after realizing they’d just blown hundreds of thousands of dollars, much of it non-refundable, on a wedding that would never take place. At least he would have all that twelve-year-old Scotch to commiserate with. For a daughter who had spent a lifetime trying to please her difficult parents, she’d certainly made a mess of things.

“I’ll take that as a no.” A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips.

They were nice lips, a little fuller than most men’s, softening the otherwise hard lines of his face. Catherine could only recall having half a dozen conversations with Stephen, all of them about polite, neutral topics. The cousins didn’t share the same interests or circle of friends, but whenever she did spend time in his company, or whenever she ran into him while visiting Derek at the Danbury building, she found herself undeniably drawn to Stephen.

She sensed a sadness about him, a loneliness that she always assumed resulted from losing his mother and father as a boy and being raised by his stodgy grandparents. It was in Catherine’s nature to soothe, to nurture, to comfort. That was the source of the odd attraction, she’d told herself when she’d first begun to feel it. Now, with her emotions reeling, she wasn’t so sure. In fact, she wasn’t sure of anything.

He cleared his throat, and she realized she had been staring at him.

Summoning up her manners, Catherine said, “Thank you for what you did just now. I don’t know what came over Derek, grabbing my arm that way.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Her arm ached, but she resisted the urge to rub it. “No, not really,” she lied. “I hope there won’t be a strain between the two of you because of this?”

Again that enigmatic smile lurked, although this time she thought he seemed a little resigned. “I’m sure this won’t change a thing.”

“Well, thank you anyway.”

Stephen watched her leave, spilling out the train of white silk as she walked down the stairs. He knew from his aunt’s endless chatter that the gown was an original, designed especially for this bride. The small pearl buttons that ran the length of Catherine’s slender spine were the real thing, as were the tiny pearls that edged the neckline. He wondered if it disappointed Catherine that no one would see its beauty this day as she glided down the aisle on her father’s arm. He knew it would most women of her sort.

Debutante. The word alone left a sour taste in his mouth. Admittedly, his opinion of Catherine was colored by his opinion of his cousin. Any woman who would consent to marry Derek surely had to be as shallow and self-centered as he. Still, Stephen was glad she’d discovered what kind of man her prospective groom really was before making a lifetime commitment. Stephen’s regard for her had jumped several notches, watching her dump Derek just before the “I dos” were exchanged. She had literally lost a fortune by doing so, regardless of the prenuptial agreement she had signed.

Downstairs, people were already streaming from the pews, many of them heading straight for her, with pity pinching their mouths into thin smiles. Stephen felt a twinge of it for her as well. No one should be forced to listen graciously to trite and in some cases insincere condolences right after what Catherine had been through. But as he watched her summon up what he thought of as her serene society expression he knew she would handle this with her usual cool grace. That was what debs did, and Catherine Canton did it better than most.

Turning, he saw his aunt heading in his direction, high heels clicking on the tile floor. If not for the Botox injections Marguerite Bledsoe Danbury had had to reduce the wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes, he knew she would be scowling. But the injections had frozen her face into an eerie mask of youthful blankness. Add to that the signature red hair, which she wore longer than most women her age, and a figure that had been liposuctioned and tucked to trimness, and she appeared a good fifteen years younger than her fifty-nine years.

“A word with you, please,” she said when she reached him. Snagging Stephen’s sleeve, she led him to a corner, which provided a modicum of privacy.

“Where is Derek?” Despite that bland expression, her eyes burned with fury.

“I haven’t seen him since he left the choir loft,” Stephen replied. He’d bet his inheritance his cousin was long gone, leaving it to others to clean up his latest mess. His aunt must have reached that conclusion, too.

“There are a dozen reporters and photographers, most of them tabloid, hanging around outside, waiting for a shot of the new Mrs. Danbury. I want Catherine out of here. Now.”

Her first concern, as always, was herself. The young woman who would have become her daughter-in-law was now merely a liability to be dealt with.

“I’m sure her parents will take her home.”

“See that they do.”

It was not a request but a command. Marguerite never asked Stephen for anything. She made demands and expected her demands to be met without question or complaint. Stephen acceded to her wishes, even though he thought Catherine might have had enough of the Danburys for one day. Still, he’d rather she had to face him than his aunt.

He heard Catherine’s voice as he approached the bride’s room. The emotion he’d detected earlier, when he’d overheard her conversation with Derek, had been carefully edited out. “I’m fine, Mother, really.”

“It’s too bad about the wedding,” her younger sister Felicity said. “You look stunning in that dress.”

Stephen rapped his knuckles on the semi-open door. “Excuse me,” he said. “May I come in?”

Catherine glanced over at him and he witnessed for a brief instant the strain she otherwise hid so well. She smiled, revealing an odd little dimple just to the left of her chin, a small bit of imperfection that somehow only enhanced the beauty of her classical Grace Kelly features.

“Of course.”

He stepped into the room, closing the door.

“Stephen, dear, I was just telling Catherine not to let this little indiscretion ruin things,” her mother said. “She and Derek can put this behind them.”

In their social sphere, he knew, infidelity was often brushed under the rug. Wives weren’t supposed to make waves, at least not publicly, and husbands were supposed to be discreet in their dalliances. Times might have changed, but obviously that was the pabulum still being force-fed to each new batch of old-money debs.

“I hope she doesn’t share your opinion,” he said, his gaze never leaving Catherine’s.

“Well, I do,” Felicity said. “I’d marry him, and keep this incident as leverage.”

Catherine’s sister was eighteen years old, and though he’d only met her on a couple of occasions just before the wedding, she appeared to be as spoiled as she was outspoken.

Catherine sent Stephen a bemused smile, but said nothing as her sister and mother continued to chatter on about the mistake she was making.

“My aunt sent me to tell you there is a limousine outside when you are ready to leave. The tabloid photographers are lining up, and surely more are on the way.”

“Oh, dear,” her mother said, fanning her face. “This is such an embarrassment.”

Catherine looked embarrassed, all right, but Stephen didn’t think it had anything to do with Derek at that moment. She reached up, as if to take off her veil.

“I wouldn’t take the time to change,” Stephen advised, knowing full well that a woman in shorts and a tank top could require half an hour. Who knew how long a woman in full wedding regalia would need to undress?

“He’s right, Catherine. Gather up your things. You can change at the house. Felicity, go find your father.”

“The house?” A pair of finely arched brows shot up in question. “I’d like to go back to my apartment, Mother. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to be alone.”

“Nonsense. You’ll come to the house.”

It was if she hadn’t spoken at all, Stephen thought. Worse, it was as if she were a child, rather than a grown woman of twenty-eight. He watched as she turned and began to gather up her belongings, but then she dumped them back onto the vanity and marched to the door.

“Where are you going?” Deirdra Canton called.

Catherine’s gaze never strayed from Stephen’s. “I’m leaving. Now. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Stephen didn’t say a word. He simply opened the door, took Catherine by the arm and led her away.

“Thank you,” she said a moment later. “That’s twice you’ve come to my rescue today.”

He shrugged off her appreciation. “Don’t thank me yet. We still have to outwit the paparazzi.”