Cattle Baron: Nanny Needed

“I don’t know that I want to.” She was endeavouring to resist him but not making much headway.

“I don’t care what you want. Just do it. Sinclair might deserve a bloody good fright but he’s not worth it.”

“Why don’t we get married?” she turned her head over her shoulder to ask with biting sarcasm.

“Well, you were about to do a hell of a lot worse.”

The organist and the well known lyric soprano who had been hired to sing a selection of the bride’s favourite hymns looked around, startled, as they made their unexpected appearance in the spacious loft.

“Go ahead. Don’t take any notice of us.” Amber wiggled her fingers when she really wanted to scream. The cattle baron could ruin everything. “You have a lot to answer for, forcing me up here.” She kept it to a mere whisper. His ears were set beautifully against his shapely head. Sean’s weren’t. That was why he always wore his hair full and floppy.

“You’ll thank me in the end. Why don’t we find somewhere safe and sit it out? Unless you really do want to see the bride arriving?”

“Don’t you?” She was taken aback. “I mean, you’re family.”

“So I am,” he reminded himself. “You look beautiful, by the way.” As exquisite as a long-stemmed rose. “All things pass, Ms Wyatt. I’m merely preventing you from making a spectacle of yourself. You could lose your job, do you know that? My grandfather has influence everywhere. I believe he was impressed with the way you’ve handled yourself up to date. Don’t give him cause to damage your career,” Cal warned. “My grandfather can be ruthless when opposed or seriously displeased. In coming here today, you’ve run a big risk.”

“Get a lawyer. Sue me.” She broke off as the organist started up with a great ear-splitting fanfare that had her instinctively wrapping her ears with her hands. “God, that’s worse than a car alarm,” she muttered.

Even the cattle baron, used to stampedes, was looking aghast. “I’m tempted to go over to the balustrade and throw something.” The organist, on a roll, belted out the triumphant opening bars of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. Why, oh why, did organists have to hit the keys so hard? Pianists didn’t hit the keys like that, even at a double forte.

“One can only wonder how the soprano will compete when her time comes,” Cal observed sardonically.

“How corny can you get? Mendelssohn!” Tears sprang into Amber’s eyes.

“No time to cry,” he warned her.

“Mr Tough Guy.”

“No, I’m a softie at heart. And no point in taking it out on the composer. Poor old Mendelssohn had to work like everyone else.”

“Except your cousin,” she reminded him tightly. “She must have fallen through the cracks. So are you going to take a peek at what she looks like? The dress is said to have cost thousands and thousands. I’ve heard she’s carrying a teeny bit of excess weight.”

“And who knows how long her pre-wedding diet will last?” He glanced down at the jilted Ms Wyatt, seeing the combination of delicacy, strength and intelligence in her features. He also saw the tremendous upset. She was very lovely. Beauty could sometimes be severe. She was beautiful in a tender way. Not even an old cynic like him could view such a woman with indifference. “Now, don’t go worrying about me. I’ve been to a thousand weddings.” He took a firm hold of her hand, just in case she decided to storm the balustrade.

“Is that what made you determined to remain a bachelor? You are, aren’t you? You don’t look tamed at all.” In fact he looked as untamed as a high coasting eagle.

“I’m comfortable with it,” he told her smoothly. “If I didn’t want children, I don’t think I’d get married at all.”

“Same with me. But don’t you get lonely, way out there in the Never Never?”

“Don’t have time to be lonely,” he said.

“I spotted you right off for a hard-working man. Listen, I’m going to take a peek. No one would hear me if I yelled something impolite, with that bloody organ.” She stood up and immediately he joined her.

“Promise you’ll be good?”

“When haven’t I been good?” she muttered bitterly.

“Just make sure you don’t throw your hat.”

“Would you blame me?”

“I prefer you keep it. I love it.”

He gave her another one of his smiles. It had the most peculiar effect on her knees. And his teeth were perfect. Beautifully straight and white.

“Keep your chin up, Amber. I may call you Amber? You can’t really love a man who crawled out from under a rock.”

The bride wore white duchesse satin decorated with crystals, silver beads and thousands of seed pearls, hand-applied. The waist appeared narrow, so she had to be wearing a boned waist-cincher, which made her bosom flare out of the tight-fitting bodice. Her sheer organza veil, complete with long train, was held off her face by a diamond tiara that Amber considered pretentious. The wedding guests didn’t. They responded with a spontaneous burst of applause that seemed to go on over-long, even for a billionaire’s granddaughter. The bridesmaids—there were four—all taller and slimmer than the bride, wore strapless chiffon gowns in pastel colours with tiny flowers twisted into their faintly messy height-of-fashion hairdos. To add to the spectacle, there was an angelic little flower girl with golden curls carrying a basket brimming with rose petals that she was scattering about the aisle with joyful abandon. The women guests wearing high heels would have to be very careful when the time came for them to step back into the aisle or come a cropper.

“Where did she get the tiara?” Amber whispered. “Borrow it from the Queen?”

“The Queen doesn’t give tiaras away, except to her own. Look, why don’t you go and sit down? There’s nothing here for you but heartache.”

Wasn’t that the truth?

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was a proud smile on Sean’s face. He looked happy! Amber had a terrible image of him, cavorting naked on his wedding night, a glass of Bollinger in hand. Sean loved Bollinger. He also loved getting rid of his clothes. Amber forced herself not to make a sound, yet the Cattle Baron took her hand, his grip tight and reassuring. She rather liked the feel of those calluses. What might they be like on a woman’s body? In a mystifying way, just having him there was like being wrapped in a security blanket.

Once during the ceremony she felt faint and he put his arm around her. He smelled wonderful! And he was being so kind when he didn’t look particularly kind. He was a perfect stranger, yet somehow they had made a connection. Either that or he had reasoned that this was the best way to keep her quiet. She couldn’t lose sight of the fact that his loyalty lay with his family. Still, he was being genuinely kind. Some things you couldn’t fake.

* * *

How long was it going to go on? Quite a while more with the Bishop in the spotlight. A handsome man, he traded on the fact that he looked a bit like Prince Philip. She couldn’t have borne a long Nuptial Mass. At least the soprano sang in tune, her high notes soaring above the hellish din of the organ. The organist kept moving about on the stool. Why? Had white ants taken up residence in it? What should the soprano break into, of all things, but that old war horse “O Promise Me?”

It was the blackest of black jokes.

When had Sean first started having sex with his little bride? Amber’s mind was seized by that thought. When had he first realised the Erskine heiress was his for the taking? Not that Sean was all that terrific in bed, she found herself suddenly considering, though he had considered himself a real stud. She, on the other hand, had got around to thinking that great sex didn’t have to mean everything. Well, not absolutely everything. Sean had been such fun—good company, charming, good-humoured, though he did tend to laugh a lot at his own jokes. Then he’d messed up by being miserably unfaithful. There had been a time when she had actually considered letting him move in with her. At least she had been spared that.

When the time came for him to make his vows he spoke in a calm, strong voice that resonated around the church. A born actor. The bride’s responses were as soft and gentle as the cooing of doves. Totally dispirited, Amber slumped back against the Cattle Baron. He’d been great. Pity their paths would never, never cross again. The two of them were pressed together like co-conspirators or maybe, to the casual observer, lovers. She just bet if this guy committed to a woman he would never betray her.

The moment arrived. The Bishop began to ask that crucial question of the congregation. Surely none had the expectation of hearing a voice yell Stop! Amber felt her heart swell with anger. She had done the best she could all these past weeks. She had behaved impeccably, even when mikes had been thrust under her nose and cameras had gone off in her face, recording her instinctive flinch. She had even gone so far as to wish the couple well. But now? Didn’t despicable behaviour count against anyone any more? Had they rewritten all the rules of common decency? It wasn’t that long ago that she could have sued him for breach of promise. Surely some degree of payback was in order? Sean was lucky she was an upright citizen and not some member of a notorious crime family who boasted about giving people who offended them “cement shoes”.

Cal, who had supported the goddess all this time—no hardship whatever—felt the moment of crisis when the adrenalin started to pump through her blood. Her willowy body stirred from near swooning into action. Ms Amber Wyatt was about to cause an upheaval. The question was, what did she intend to do? Her fiery expression indicated something spectacular. Something hugely embarrassing for all concerned and shockingly inadvisable for her. She could finish up waiting tables.

Sinclair and Georgie were as good as married. Nothing could stop that, but at least he could prevent Ms Wyatt from doing something she would live to regret.

“Come here.” He pulled her urgently to him.

Completely off balance, Amber found herself doing exactly what she was told. He was that kind of man. She couldn’t push him away. He was much too strong. She didn’t even know if she wanted to. This was the most extraordinary pseudo-embrace she had experienced in her life.

He literally crushed her to him.

God, a real man! She had a crazy notion of being ravished. Quite possibly she’d let him. If not now, at the first opportunity. Even as her mind spun out of control, he propelled her back across the loft, then, before she could recover, lowered his head and kissed her in a way that she knew with absolute certainty would leave a lasting memory. She even regressed to her teens…all those fabulous bodice-rippers she had devoured.

Her body felt sparkly all over, trembling under the influence of a battery of energising electric shocks. The pressure of that firm mouth coming down over hers, the sheer heart stopping eroticism, had her opening her soft lips like a rose opened up its petals to be drenched by the sun. The pleasure was tremendous.