The Rags-To-Riches Wife

The Rags-To-Riches Wife
Metsy Hingle

He hadn't known the name of the woman he danced with at the masquerade ball.Not even after their one night of passion. For millionaire Jack Cartwright never expected to see her again. Then he received a letter informing him of his "secret" lover's name and threatening to expose the fact that working-class Lilly Miller was expecting Jack's child.He was not going to submit to blackmail. And if that meant marrying Lilly, a virtual stranger…let the wedding bells ring.

METSY HINGLE

The Rags-To-

Riches Wife

For Melissa “MJ” Jeglinski

A very special lady, an even more special friend

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Metsy Hingle for her contribution to the

SECRET LIVES OF SOCIETY WIVES miniseries.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Author

Coming Next Month

Prologue

Coming tonight had been a mistake. She didn’t belong here, Lily Miller told herself as she stood at the door of the ballroom and stared at the elegantly dressed men and women. From the looks of the crowd and the amount of diamonds on display, every member of Eastwick, Connecticut society had turned out for the black-and-white ball. And she certainly didn’t belong with them.

She should leave now before she started crying and made a fool of herself. But she couldn’t leave yet—not without telling Bunny Baldwin. After all, it had been Bunny who had insisted Lily attend the masquerade ball in the first place. Bunny had even gone to the trouble of providing her with a proper gown to wear to the fund-raising event.

Remembering the gown, Lily smoothed the skirt with her gloved fingertips. The strapless black confection with the tulle petticoat was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. It was a dress for a princess. Only she wasn’t a princess. She was no one—not even someone’s daughter. Fighting back tears, Lily tried not to think of the detective’s phone call an hour ago, informing her that he’d hit another dead end in the search for her mother.

Face it, Lily. If the woman had wanted you, she never would have left you in that church all those years ago. It’s time to stop wasting time and money searching for someone who doesn’t want you, who never wanted you.

“Dance with me.”

Lily blinked, then found herself staring up into the blue eyes of a tall, dark-haired stranger. He was dressed in a tuxedo and wearing a black mask, and for a moment she wondered whether he was real or if she had imagined him. “Pardon?”

“Come dance with me,” he said and extended his hand.

“Thank you, but I’m not—”

“How can you say no when they’re playing our song?”

“Our song?” Lily repeated and recognized the first chords of “Music of the Night” from Phantom of the Opera. “How can we have a song when we don’t even know one another?”

“Why don’t we change that?” he said and, taking her hand, he led her to the dance floor.

Lily didn’t resist. And the moment he took her into his arms, it was as though a magical web engulfed her. All the pain seemed to dissolve. All she could see were those unwavering blue eyes, looking at her as though she were the only person in the world. All she could feel was the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the heat of his breath on her neck. There was something exciting yet safe about the masks. With the mask, she wasn’t unwanted, unloved Lily Miller. With the mask, she was a woman who was desired, a woman for whom there was no past, no future, only now.

One dance spun into another and another and another still. And when he led her outdoors onto the terrace and kissed her, she didn’t feel the chill in the air. All she felt was the strength of his arms, the hunger in his kiss.

“It’s almost midnight. The ball will be over soon,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I don’t want the night to end.”

“Neither do I,” she admitted and he kissed her again. He tasted of champagne. He tasted of desire and every nerve in her body sang beneath the feel of his mouth.

“Then don’t let it,” he told her. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a hotel key card. “I’m staying in the hotel tonight. Room 503. Meet me.”

Nervous, Lily reached for the gold locket at her throat, the disc bearing the initial L, that she’d been wearing when the nun had found her in the church. Only the locket wasn’t there. She’d taken it off after the detective’s call, she remembered. And for the first time in her life she didn’t have her locket to hold on to, to remind her that she was reliable, sensible Lily Miller.

“Will you come?” he asked.

Taking the key card, she said, “Yes.”

One

Her secret was safe, Lily Miller reminded herself again as she stared past the sea of mourners to the casket. A crack of thunder sounded overhead and clouds darkened the Eastwick skyline, causing the mid-May temperatures to dip below the fifty-degree mark.

“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust,” the minister began.

Tears welled in Lily’s eyes and she reached into her coat pocket to retrieve a tissue. Dabbing at her eyes, she thought of the woman she had come to mourn—Lucinda “Bunny” Baldwin, the darling of Eastwick, Connecticut, society, the editor of the titillating Eastwick Social Diary and the woman who, oddly enough, had been her friend. How was it possible that she was dead, the victim of a heart attack at age fifty-two?