The Marriage Contract

“I’m all right now that I know we’ll be able to keep what belongs to us.”

Her relief wouldn’t survive the mention of Clair’s name. So Nick didn’t tell her. She needed to rest. “Try to get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

“I’ll be fine now.”

No matter what he did, he’d hurt someone. He couldn’t marry a woman he didn’t love and pretend he cared for her, and Clair was the only woman he knew he could trust to stick to such a ludicrous bargain.

CLAIR FOUND Nick’s office down a side alley on the opposite end of Main Street from Paul’s shop. No one sat behind the receptionist’s counter or in the waiting room. She knocked on the glass that separated the reception area from the back office.

Nick appeared in a corridor to the left of the desk. When he saw her, his mouth thinned, but he opened the door for her.

“I didn’t expect you.”

“You don’t have a receptionist?”

“She works part-time.”

A muscle in Clair’s cheek twitched. “I spoke to Angus Campbell yesterday.”

“Angus is a good attorney.” Nick led her down the corridor to a small, forest-green-painted office. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Soda?”

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t sure she could swallow. “Angus suggested you and I should discuss specific terms.”

He sat on the edge of his desk. She declined the chair he offered, because she didn’t want to sit at a lower level than he. It put her at a disadvantage. As if he understood the political byplay in her mind, he sat in the chair next to her. Recognizing they were finessing each other—and getting nowhere—she gave in and sank into soft, tufted leather.

“Two terms,” he said. “Marry me, and pretend you want to.”

She tried to picture him as a husband. A woman couldn’t glance his way once and forget him, even if his attraction had more to do with the passion that simmered just barely beneath the surface control. Tall and lean, he had a maleness that distracted her. She couldn’t think of him as the man he was and go through with the marriage he needed. “How much do I have to pretend?”

His smile emphasized his strong jaw. Clair pushed her fingers down the arms of the chair. She ought to put more distance between them.

“In front of other people we’ll touch each other. Occasionally.” He swallowed. Talking about touching obviously bothered him, too.

“Selina told me you’ve moved back into your family home.” Clair had assumed he still lived there, so she was already as accustomed as she’d ever be to the idea of living on Dylan property.

“We’ll share a door,” he said. “I’ll make sure we have adjoining rooms.”

She threaded her fingers together. Her turn to demand. “I want to start repairing my house now. If I leave before our…before the time’s up, I wouldn’t expect you to repay me for any work I do.”

“If you leave?” He leaned forward. “What would make you leave? I don’t want to marry you and have to start over again in a few months.”

She tried to take his lead and think of marriage as a business deal. “I’m just saying if. I don’t know why I’d leave. Some emergency, maybe, but I don’t plan to leave.”

“Do you need time to think? I can’t make a mistake.”

She took a deep breath and held it. If she thought too long, she’d realize a house and land couldn’t be worth marrying the son of her family’s enemy. She wasn’t making dramas. She shouldn’t eat lunch with Nick Dylan, much less marry him.

“I can’t help it.” She met his gaze evenly. “I want my home and my past. I want my memories back.”

“You can’t remember your childhood without living in the house?”

His interest startled her, but again she should follow his example. She had to find a way to live with Nick Dylan for the next year.

“I’d rather not talk about my past or your father.”

Sitting back, Nick stretched his long legs in front of him. “I guess we have a few more terms to iron out before we meet with our attorneys.”

She curled her legs under her and pulled her skirt over them. “I’d like to move home as soon as we sign the prenuptial agreement.”

“But you’ll move into my house after the wedding?”

“Yes. I can sand all the floors downstairs before we put a wedding together.” Her skirt hid the way her knees shook every time she thought about marrying him.

This was the only way she’d ever get her home back.

“LISTEN, CLAIR, I wanted to talk to you alone because I have to assign you to a job at the Dylans’.”

She blinked. When Paul had asked her to his office, she thought she might have done something wrong on an assignment. “What kind of a job?”

“You’re the only person I have who has experience installing fountains, and Mrs. Dylan wants one. I gave her a catalog, and she’s supposed to put in her order this week.”

“You want me to work for her?”

Paul picked at the chipped top button on his shirt. “I have to ask you to do the job. I’m afraid I’ve heard the story about your family and the Dylans, but their business is important to me. I don’t want to risk an untrained person making a mistake.”

Clair knew her responsibility. “When do you want me to install the fountain?”

“Depends on when it arrives, but I need to warn you, Leota Dylan makes certain rules for people who work in her house.”

Big surprise. “Like what?”

Paul cleared his throat. “She doesn’t want us to mix with the servants or with her or Dr. Dylan.” He licked his lips. “I know you’ll dislike her caste system, and I’m afraid you’ll tell me you won’t do the job, but we’re welcome in the greenhouse and nowhere else.”

Clair had dreaded telling anyone about her upcoming wedding. If she didn’t tell Paul now, he’d wonder why later. She’d agreed to make her marriage look real, but her heart pounded as if she were pointing herself headfirst over the edge of a cliff. “I’m marrying Nick Dylan.”

Paul gaped at her, obviously trying to decide if her engagement helped his business or hurt it. “I guess Mrs. Dylan will have to modify her policy for you.”

HUSHED TONES filled the church. A sibilant “she,” repeated over and over, as the wedding guests spoke of Leota. “She’s not coming. Her own son’s wedding, and she’s not coming.”

Clair listened from the vestry. The undertones sounded almost like a laugh track from a bad TV sitcom. She didn’t care so much for herself. She didn’t embarrass easily, and she might have had to wrestle herself into the church if she were Leota. But Nick probably wanted his mother’s approval. According to the discussions they’d had during the prenuptial negotiations, Leota was one of the executors they had to convince.

The lace cap on Clair’s veil made her scalp itchy. She slid her fingers beneath and scratched, mindful that Leota Dylan didn’t suddenly show up and catch her being unladylike.

With each passing second, escape looked more attractive than marrying Nick. She’d give Leota five more minutes, and then she’d beg the judge to run her down the aisle before she sauntered out there and called the whole thing off.

“Clair, she’s finally here.” Selina fluttered into the vestry, plucking at Clair’s dress like a small bird trying to put its nest in order. “Are you ready?”

“Stop, stop.” Clair caught her hands. “I’m so nervous, Selina.”