Bride Required

At seventeen, and confident, she imagined she could handle anything, but she was wrong.

She had no real warning. That was the trouble. Her mother had a headache, but that wasn’t unusual. Dee sat down to lunch with Edward and he was in great form, relating amusing anecdotes about hospital life. She didn’t really notice him filling and refilling his glass. She wasn’t aware of a mood change until it was too late…

Dee shut her eyes now. She didn’t want to relive it. What had happened had seemed unreal, but was no less disturbing because of it. She had panicked and she had run, and this time no one had come looking for her.

She had no home now, no family, no past. She could do what she wanted, be what she wanted. She could marry Baxter Ross for ten thousand pounds and not give a damn.

Why not? Would it be so hard to be Mrs Baxter Ross?

She wouldn’t have to sleep with him. She probably wouldn’t have to eat with him either. Talking might not even be required, unless they had an audience.

Ten thousand pounds, and she could lie in a clean bed without listening for every sound in the dark, eat without worrying about where the next meal was coming from, live without fear constantly in the background.

In fact, even a cynic like Dee could see it—Baxter Ross just had to be a dream come true!

CHAPTER THREE

WHAT was the opposite of a guardian angel? A jinx, Dee supposed. Whatever it was, she had one.

Having tossed and turned for most of the night, she slept when the first rays of light squeezed through the boarded windows and only woke when the air was warm and the sun high in the sky. She didn’t need a watch to tell her she was already far too late. She would never reach the Continental Hotel by nine.

She went all the same, with Henry in tow, and used her last money on the fare. The hotel was posh and exclusive, and its doorman wouldn’t let her past the steps. Reluctant enquiries were made. They confirmed a Dr Ross had been there—had being the operative word. It was her fault for being late, but she cursed him all the same. Couldn’t he just have waited?

She drifted off to the nearest tube station and, without a flute to play, did what she hated and begged outright. Her dismal face drew little sympathy, but enough for her fare home, tea and a roll at Rick’s and two tins of dog food.

She made her way home, thinking the day couldn’t get worse, but it did. She saw the caravans first, parked at the near end of the estate. For a moment she thought they belonged to gypsies, until she saw the vans on the other side and was whistled at by two workmen swilling beers on a caravan step. The developers were moving in.

She raced along to her maisonette, thinking she might already be too late to fetch her stuff, but the flats still stood, doors and windows now plastered with orders to quit and a demolition date two days hence.

She’d known it would be soon. When she’d found the place there had been other squatters around her, but most had since disappeared. She rounded the corner of her block to find the couple from downstairs passing stuff out through a gap in their boarding.

They claimed to have somewhere to go and invited Dee to come along with them, but Dee felt safer on her own.

She went up to her flat and was relieved to find the boarding still in place. She helped Henry in first, because he was too stiff to manage on his own. She collected her things together, ready to move on in the morning, then sat on her dirty mattress, trying not to think of the chance she’d let slip by.

It was some hours later when she heard noises again. They were distant at first, probably coming from the far end of the block. She heard the sound of splintering wood. A board being moved. Perhaps it was someone like herself, looking for a place to sleep. Usually she laid low, waiting for whoever it was to settle.

This time, however, it seemed they were checking every flat, searching for something or somebody, and Dee no longer felt like sitting tight. So she slipped through the gap in the boarding and landed soundlessly on the balcony below, then tried to haul Henry through, but he kept backing away. Having been reluctant to wake, he was even more reluctant to go walking.

Dee heard footsteps directly below her and, panic rising, made another grab for his collar. Unfortunately Henry began to whine and scrape and generally protest at the idea of going through the narrow gap for the second time that day. She leaned further and Henry disappeared altogether in the direction of the bedroom.

Dee might have climbed back in, but the footsteps were no longer below her; they were echoing up the far stairwell. As she withdrew from the window her jacket caught on a nail. The sleeve ripped slightly, then held fast. Rather than rip it further, she shrugged out of it and left it hanging as, in panic, she took to her heels along the balcony towards the other staircase.

A voice called out, meaning to halt her, but all it did was make Dee’s heart hammer with more fright. This was no kid out to vandalise a derelict building, but a full-grown man, and he was after her, his footsteps thundering in pursuit as she jumped three steps onto the landing, then stumbled her way down the next flight.

She landed hard and felt a jarring in her knee, but she kept going. She made for the open wasteland and the cover of darkness. But he was right behind her, running hard, gaining on her, closing in as her knee began to give out. She kept running until the second he grabbed at her, then she cried out in fear and rage as she went crashing to the ground.

Hard male hands kept her there. Face down in weeds and muck, she waited for her worst nightmare to begin. Seconds ticked by in her head before her assailant dragged her round, and it was the longest moment in Dee’s life. Nothing, not even her experiences with her stepfather, had prepared her for this.

Then he spoke, and fear dissolved in an instant. Relief followed, but was quickly sidelined by temper.

She lifted a hand and struck at him.

‘It’s me…Baxter.’ He warded off the blow.

‘I know it’s damn well you!’ she screamed back at him, and took another swipe.

He dodged that one, then grabbed at her arms before she could hit him again. ‘I’m not going to harm you.’

‘No, just break my leg in a rugby tackle!’ she shot back.

‘I was trying to grab your arm,’ he claimed, ‘but you halted mid-flight and I fell with you… Sorry.’

‘Sorry!’ Dee exploded at this utterly inadequate word.

He lifted his shoulders. ‘What else can I say?’

‘Try goodbye,’ snapped a still angry Dee, ‘but first could you bloody well get off me?’

He considered it for a moment. ‘Provided you promise not to attack me again.’

Her attack him? Dee stared at him in disbelief. Unfortunately, being flat on her back, she was in no position to argue.

‘Okay,’ she agreed.

‘Good.’

‘Come on then.’

Dee wasn’t scared of him any longer. There was something so calm and rational about this man, it was hard to imagine him as a threat. But she was still lying beneath him, conscious of the weight of his body on hers.

‘I’m waiting,’ he drawled.

‘What for?’

‘Your promise.’

God, he wanted her to dot the ‘i’s and cross the ‘t’s.

‘I promise not to attack you,’ Dee ground out through clenched teeth.

Baxter caught her eyes, a stormy blue spitting fury. He released her arms slowly and half expected another blow. But perhaps she wasn’t quite that foolish. She remained still as death beneath him, and he levered himself away. He brushed earth and undergrowth from his clothes before offering her a hand.

Dee ignored it. She knew she’d damaged her knee and wasn’t sure if she could stand.

She shot at him instead, ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’

‘Looking for you,’ he responded evenly. ‘I assume you’ve backed out on our deal?’