Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom

“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.”

He hustled her out the rectory door, but the photographers, as if scenting blood, were already there. Stephen blocked as much of their view of her as possible, holding her close and hovering around her like a bodyguard.

“Get in the limo,” he said, all but pushing her inside the door he’d already opened. Behind them flashes popped and people shouted out their names.

Inside, even with the tinted windows, she huddled low on the seat opposite his, looking shell-shocked and shaken.

“I never dreamed this would be how I left the church on my wedding day. I feel like some hideous car crash, gawked at and then gossiped over.”

“Hideous” was hardly the word that came to his mind as he looked at her lovely oval face, with its finely arched eyebrows and dark-fringed eyes the color of sapphires. A man could drown in those eyes. He glanced away. Perhaps Derek had, and that was why he’d considered trading in bachelorhood for permanent couple status when monogamy had never been his strong suit.

“Don’t worry. It won’t last forever. Next week some major star will go into rehab and that pack of vultures will be waiting outside the Betty Ford.”

She let out a startled laugh. “Is that supposed to be the bright side?”

“Only if you’re a desperate optimist. Where do you want to go? I don’t suggest returning to your apartment for a while.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m open to ideas.”

To the chauffeur he said, “Drive around for a while, but start heading toward the Belmont Yacht Club.”

“The yacht club?”

“Trust me.”

“Why not? What else have I got to do this evening?” she said, her tone dry, her eyes suddenly starting to mist.

He fished a white handkerchief from one of his pockets and handed it to her. “Here.”

“I’m not crying,” she said, sounding slightly offended. But she didn’t look at him, and even in profile he could see a tear slip down her pale cheek.

An hour later they arrived at the Belmont Yacht Club, a small and exclusive marina just north of the city. Catherine had been to the club a number of times with Derek, who docked his fifty-four-foot cabin cruiser there, and her own family retained a membership, even though their yacht had been sold when the stock market plummeted, taking a good portion of their heavily invested fortune with it. But she hadn’t realized Stephen also boated. He corrected her immediately when she made the observation aloud.

“I sail.”

That surprised her even more. Of course, sailing would suit someone as quiet and self-contained as Stephen, but his parents, as well as Derek’s father, had died in a sailing accident on this very lake when the boys were barely out of diapers.

He helped her from the limo, and then spoke to the driver as she tried to smooth out the crumpled silk of her dress.

“Meet us back here around one.” Handing the man a sizable tip, he added, “And if anyone asks, you never saw us.”

He grabbed the champagne that had been chilling in an ice bucket in the back of the limo and started for the waterfront, leaving her with little choice but to follow him. Along the way they passed a couple of bikini-clad young women, coming in from a lazy day spent out on the lake.

“Congratulations!” one called. To her companion she murmured, “I wonder which boat they’re going to be rocking?”

And Catherine realized how it must look: Stephen in a tuxedo; she wearing her wedding finery. It was as if they were a couple, setting out for a romantic sunset cruise on Lake Michigan to toast their nuptials and kick off their honeymoon in style.

He must have realized it, too. His gaze swerved to hers, held for a lingering moment, but he said nothing.

Several slips down from Derek’s luxurious cruiser, he swung aboard a graceful sailboat. It was much smaller than Derek’s yacht, which took a five-man crew to operate. But at thirty-eight feet, it could hardly be considered little.

Standing on the dock, Catherine said, “What do you call her?”

“La Libertad.”

The foreign name rolled from his tongue, sounding like poetry, and he stared at her afterward. His gaze seemed defiant, although she couldn’t have said why.

“That’s Spanish for freedom, right?”

“Freedom.” He nodded.

“She’s a beauty. Do you take her out often?”

“As often as I can, which isn’t as often as I like. And the season seems to get shorter every year.”

“Are we going for a sail?”