To Marry Mccloud

What day was it?

Logan and Darcy’s wedding had been yesterday, he remembered that. So today must be Sunday, he decided. No need to worry about getting up just yet. He didn’t have anywhere else to go, no one to see, and Maud, his housekeeper, always had Sundays off. He usually worked all day on a Sunday, grabbing a sandwich to eat if he felt hungry, so there was really no need for Maud to be here—

Then why could he smell coffee?

Champagne delusions? Because coffee was what he most felt in need of? As he had hoped, he didn’t have a hangover, but his mouth felt as if it were full of sandpaper. A cup of coffee was very much on the agenda. He—

No, there was no doubt about it, he could definitely smell coffee. Strong, rich, reviving coffee.

But how—?

‘Wakey, wakey, Fergus,’ chirruped a bright female voice from somewhere over near the bedroom doorway. ‘I’ve brought you up a mug of coffee.’

Fergus frowned, unmoving, eyes still closed, aware that the smell of coffee was much stronger now, but completely uncertain about the plausibility of that first statement. He couldn’t possibly be awake. There was a woman in his bedroom.

Not that it was unknown for a woman to be in his bedroom; he had spent some very pleasurable hours with women in this four-poster bed. Just not last night. Not just champagne delusions, then, hallucinations, too!

‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ that female voice continued teasingly. ‘Sit up and drink your coffee.’

Fergus slowly opened his eyes, wincing as he turned his head, half afraid of what he was going to see.

Deep blue eyes. A long cascade of blue-black hair. A slender female body obviously completely naked beneath his casually buttoned white evening shirt, the legs bare beneath its thigh-length.

Not hallucinations; he had to still be asleep. There couldn’t possibly be an almost naked woman in his bedroom. He distinctly remembered he had left the wedding reception alone yesterday.

‘Coffee.’ She put down one of the mugs she carried on the table beside him. ‘Black. No sugar,’ she encouraged lightly.

Exactly how he took his coffee. But how did she know—?

‘What are you doing?’ he gasped disbelievingly as she sat down on the bed beside him.

She raised surprised brows, smiling down at him. ‘You don’t mind if I sit here and drink my coffee with you, do you…? Or that I borrowed your shirt to wear? It’s cold downstairs in the kitchen.’ She gave a slight shiver before taking a sip from her own steaming mug of coffee.

Fergus stared at her, not sure whether he wanted her to sit with him or not.

She had been roaming around the house, rooting around in the kitchen to find the makings of the coffee, obviously wearing nothing but his shirt! It was just as well it was Maud’s day off! His housekeeper was perfectly aware of his bachelor lifestyle, but that didn’t mean he had to flaunt it in her face.

Fergus turned away, ostensibly to pick up his own coffee and take a sip, but in actuality it was to give him a few more seconds’ thinking space. Except that it didn’t. By moving, he had discovered he was completely naked beneath the bedclothes!

Not that he should have been surprised by the fact, he realised dully. He didn’t remember meeting this woman, didn’t remember coming home with her, so why should he remember taking his clothes off?

There was, however, one undeniable truth to this situation: this woman—whoever she was—had obviously spent the night here. With him. In this bed. And he didn’t remember a thing about that, either!

Not even her name…

How the hell had this happened? Too much champagne on an empty stomach, came the obvious answer.

He remembered leaving the wedding reception. He vaguely recalled going on to the nightclub. After that—nothing!

“‘Thank you, Chloe”,’ she mocked behind him. ‘You’re welcome, Fergus,’ she answered liltingly.

Chloe. Her name was Chloe, he acknowledged with some relief. But he didn’t—

Yes, he did. Some of it was coming back to him now. The nightclub. She had come over and spoken to him. Sat with him, even though he had been less than enthusiastic. Had drunk with him. Gone to bed with him…?

Somehow he seemed to have missed something between drinking the champagne at the nightclub last night and waking up to find her in his bedroom this morning. He didn’t remember the two of them going to bed together at all, let alone—let alone—

How the hell did he get himself out of this one? He groaned inwardly. One thing was certain: he was never going to drink champagne—or anything else!—to excess, again.

‘Er—Chloe…?’ He turned slowly, slightly more awake now, blinking dazedly as he took in this woman’s delicate beauty.

She was so tiny. The hands that were cupped about her coffee mug were almost like a child’s. Hands that were bare of rings, Fergus noticed with a certain amount of relief; at least he didn’t find himself in this predicament with a married woman!

But that it was a predicament, he was in no doubt. How on earth were you supposed to behave towards a woman with whom you had obviously spent the night in bed—a night you didn’t remember? An apology didn’t seem to exactly fit the bill!

‘It’s good coffee,’ he said inanely instead.

‘Thank you,’ she accepted warmly, putting her empty mug down. ‘I simply can’t tell you how wonderful it was to meet you last night, Fergus,’ she added a little shyly

It was…?

Personally, he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of giving of his best in the condition he had been in last night, but who was he to argue if she—?

Damn it, it wasn’t a question of arguing; he simply didn’t remember anything of being intimate with this woman the night before, and he could not pretend otherwise. But he could hardly tell her the truth, either, his conscience warned him softly. Not only would that be insensitive, it would be extremely insulting!

‘I’m glad,’ he answered noncommittally, absently playing with the dark silkiness of her hair as he wondered what to do next. ‘Er—did we—?’ He broke off as the strident noise of the doorbell ringing resounded through the house.

Someone was at the front door!

Obviously, you idiot, he instantly scorned himself. But who on earth could be calling on him at—nine-forty-five, the bedside clock showed—on a Sunday morning?

There seemed only one way to answer that question. But with the beautiful Chloe dressed in nothing but his shirt, Fergus was loath to get out of bed to go downstairs and answer the door. Maybe if he just lay here and ignored it, whoever it was would go away—

The doorbell rang again. Longer this time.

His caller wasn’t going to just go away!

Chloe stood up. ‘Shouldn’t you go and answer that?’ she prompted.

Of course he should. But it could be anybody: his mother, who was in town for the wedding yesterday, or one of the women he had taken out during the last couple of weeks. He could hardly introduce any of them to Chloe when he didn’t even know who she was himself!

‘Wait here,’ he warned as he straightened, sitting up to swing his legs to the floor.

Yep, he was naked, all right. And a quick look round the room told him his dressing gown was in the bathroom where he had left it yesterday morning.

It was stupid to feel in the least self-conscious as he walked to the bathroom to get his robe. And yet he did. This woman might know exactly what he looked like without his clothes on, but he didn’t remember her knowing. He obviously knew what she looked like without her clothes too, but he didn’t remember that, either!

‘I won’t be long,’ he assured her before leaving the bedroom, more relaxed now that he was at least wearing his robe.