Claiming His Bride

CHAPTER TWO

‘I WASN’T ready for marriage,’ Sorrel said. ‘I was too young.’

‘I suppose so,’ Blaize conceded, with the first hint of understanding he’d shown. ‘I didn’t realise how immature you were.’

‘I know I shouldn’t have left it so late,’ she said. Foolishly, she’d hesitated to upset everyone—Blaize, her parents and his.

Her indecision was compounded by the fact that she’d known the Tarnowers all her life, and all her life the two families had tacitly expected a wedding. Although, being six years older than Sorrel, Blaize had taken little notice of her when they were children. As a boy he had tolerated her, and for a while she’d adored him, trotting at his heels whenever they were together, while their parents looked on with amusement. Even at the stage when she and her friends had little time for boys, Blaize had been old enough not to be counted among that despised tribe, and with the first stirrings of puberty he’d been the object of her innocent fantasies.

And then she had grown up…

‘We were friends for so long…’ she said. ‘Couldn’t we…?’

‘We can’t go back,’ Blaize said. ‘We’re not children any more.’

‘Well, as adults, can’t we put the past behind us? For our families’ sakes, if nothing else?’ He seemed concerned about them.

He looked away from her, manoeuvring them through a gap in the dancers. When he met her eyes again, his were veiled, unreadable. ‘Of course. I can safely promise to keep my hands off you.’

He’d said his threat was a figure of speech and she believed him. Yet there was an astringency in his voice that disturbed her.

The music stopped, and after a moment Blaize released his hold.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

He inclined his head and she tried not to read irony into the gesture. ‘I’ll see you back to your table.’

He didn’t touch her again, and as she resumed her chair and took the glass her previous partner handed to her, Blaize exchanged greetings with her parents, who had also returned to the table.

‘Sorrel tells me she may be staying on,’ he said casually, ‘if she can find a job in Wellington.’

Her mother swept her a look of surprise. ‘You didn’t say anything to us!’

‘I haven’t made up my mind,’ Sorrel said quickly.

‘Well.’ Rhoda sounded approving. ‘It’s time you came home.’

‘High time,’ Ian concurred. ‘It would be nice to have our baby girl back.’

Useless to argue with the description. She was their only child and her father would always see her as his baby, she supposed.

‘Sorry if I let the cat out of the bag,’ Blaize said.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Sorrel shrugged. But she was dismayed at the premature disclosure.

Blaize chatted for a minute longer with Rhoda and Ian, then went to join Cherie, who sat with her head bowed at their table, while three people across from her apparently shared a joke. At Blaize’s approach she turned and smiled, holding out a hand. Blaize took it in his and retained it, seating himself close by her.

Sorrel looked away.

The bride and groom took the floor again, dancing close together.

Regarding the dreamy happiness on Elena’s face, Sorrel felt a lump rise in her throat, accompanied by a sharp envy. Her cousin was the same age Sorrel had been on her own planned wedding day—just over twenty-one—and Elena had known her new husband for only nine months, yet she seemed certain of the rightness of their marriage. What would it be like to fall in love with a stranger and know you wanted to spend your life with him?

Elena, as Sorrel’s mother said, had always been a sensible girl—level-headed, practical, even cautious. But she was surely taking a huge risk now. Sorrel wished her well, passionately. Since first seeing Elena as a tiny, solemn-faced newborn, she had felt protective of her little cousin. Elena had been the nearest thing to a sister she’d ever had. Sorrel was fond of Elena’s two younger brothers too, but the girls shared a special bond that had only strengthened as they grew older.

And Blaize, she supposed, had been the nearest thing to a brother of her own. He too was a sole child, although he had cousins living nearby and was close to them, especially in their teenage years, when he’d seemed to prefer their company above anyone’s. But he and Sorrel had also spent a lot of time at each other’s homes. The Kenyon and Tarnower families had been linked by ties of both business and friendship since early in the previous century.

Ian Kenyon and Paul Tarnower, the eldest sons, had taken over Kenyon and Tarnower Limited from their fathers, and expected to hand it on to their own children. Expected, once Ian realised he was not going to have a son, to see their children, married to each other, produce more Kenyon-Tarnowers to carry on the tradition.

‘Dance again?’ The man beside her broke into her thoughts.

She hesitated, lifting her glass for another sip of her drink. More of their table companions returned and sat down, but didn’t block her view of Cherie’s pretty profile flirtatiously turned up towards Blaize, nor his answering grin as his palm cupped her shoulder. They were almost within kissing distance.

Wrenching her gaze away, Sorrel took a bigger gulp of wine than she’d meant to and nearly choked on it. ‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Let’s dance.’

But somehow the pleasure had gone out of it. She endured the evening until the bride and groom left, after she and Elena had snatched a few private moments and an affectionate hug.

When her parents suggested they leave she was only too glad to comply, making sure her table mate didn’t have a chance to suggest seeing her again as she said goodnight and thanked him for his company.

And that was that, she told herself bleakly when she had thankfully reached her own room, scarcely changed since she’d deserted her old life and the family home. Fervently she hoped for Elena’s continued happiness, but it did throw her own past and present into stark relief by contrast.

What, after all, had she accomplished by running away?

Independence, of course. Unbuttoning the jacket of her suit, she brushed aside the moment of self-pity and disillusionment. She didn’t need a man to live a successful life.

After taking the first job that offered when she arrived in Melbourne—serving behind the counter in a huge department store—she now had her own department and her own staff. She had transformed a rather stuffy section appealing mostly to a wealthy middle-aged clientele by adding lively, funky but good-quality clothes that drew in younger customers. Last year her employers had staved off a head-hunting attempt by considerably increasing her salary, but lately she’d been feeling restless, a little bored.

She unzipped her skirt and found a hanger. Glimpsing herself in the full-length mirror of the wardrobe, she saw her cheeks were slightly flushed, her eyes more green than usual, and glowing.

One thing about meeting Blaize again—he’d got her adrenaline going. She felt more alive and stimulated than she had in years.

Anger did that, she supposed. Maybe she wasn’t entitled, but his smouldering sarcasm had woken a like response in her.

All very well for him to lay the whole blame at her door, but if he’d really cared for her, surely he’d have noticed something was amiss in the days leading up to their wedding?

Or perhaps in his supreme self-confidence he’d simply never given a thought to the possibility that she might not want to marry him. After all, there had been no shortage of other willing candidates.

Which brought her back to Cherie Watson. Who certainly looked willing enough. And was Blaize ready to contemplate marriage again? He was over thirty now, perhaps looking to have children while he was still young enough to enjoy them.

When they’d been engaged they’d both taken it for granted they’d have a family. ‘No hurry,’ he’d said. ‘When you’re ready.’

She couldn’t accuse him of being overbearing. He’d consulted her about everything—where they would live, how she wanted the house they’d chosen decorated, whether she wanted to continue in her job as a junior in a government publications operation. ‘If you prefer to stay home I don’t mind,’ he assured her. ‘I can afford to keep us both.’

‘What would I do all day? Of course I’ll keep working.’

‘Sure,’ he had agreed readily enough. ‘Whatever makes you happy.’

His laid-back air, suggesting not so much a burning desire to make her happy as simply a tolerant attitude to whatever she chose to do, would have been envied by many women. No doubt she’d been unreasonable in finding it vaguely disturbing. Certainly she’d had no wish to be tied to a jealous, possessive husband.