A British Bride by Agreement Page 2

  At the reverberation of braking screeching, her head shot up.

  A black jaguar swerved into the truck’s path. Jonathan Steller climbed out of the driver’s side.

  ***

  Jonathan’s insides hammered. Thanks to Kurt’s call, he’d turned around and headed back to the house just in time. Shoving his keys into his pocket, he dug out his checkbook, as his family’s longstanding motto, ich werde hilfe—I will help—demanded.

  He’d spent his whole life living up to Steller expectations.

  The driver stuck his head out the window. “Move the car, Mr. Steller, or I’ll have to run over it.”

  Thunder boomed, adding to the tension in the air. Jonathan swiped at the rain on his face with his sleeve. “How much?”

  The driver swung open the door and dropped to his feet. “With all due respect, sir, I can’t just unload—”

  “How much?” Jonathan snapped. At the sound of a woman’s weeping, he turned around. The sight of Emma crying filled him with fury. He glared at the driver. “Don’t. Move.” Then he strode over and lifted her to her feet. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded as the rain began to fall steadily.

  He handed her a handkerchief.

  Another worker came around the truck and spoke to the driver. “Just collect the money, and let’s get out of here.”

  “Excuse me,” Jonathan said to Emma as he paced back to the two men.

  The driver retrieved his clipboard from the truck’s dashboard and shoved the papers in front of him.

  Clive, Jonathan’s butler came and stood beside him. “Do I need to summon security?”

  “No.” A few scribbles of Jonathan’s pen, a quick tear of vellum paper, and the matter was resolved. “Now get off my property,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Look, Mr. Steller, I’m just doin’—”

  Jonathan grabbed him by a fist full of collar. “You’re nothing but a bully. And if you say one more word, I will reach for the .45 I keep under my driver’s seat.” With a slight shove, Jonathan let him go. He gestured toward Clive. “See that the piano is taken to the music room before it gets too wet—”

  “No, it’s mine.” Emma charged at Jonathan, her short blonde hair in wet, wild tangles.

  A pang of sympathy rang though him, but he kept his face still. He hated bullies, and he had a painfully soft spot for those who were being abused. “I’ll keep it for you.”

  The truck started up and swerved out of the Steller driveway, just missing Jonathan’s jag.

  “Is my piano now a bargaining chip?” Her shoulders, now soaked with rain, heaved with emotion.

  He studied her beautiful skin and pink lips. Unfortunately, he inadvertently had Emma Banks over a barrel. A negotiating position he preferred in matters of business, but this agreement wasn’t business. He wanted her to accept his offer, but he didn’t want her to feel she had to. “I’ll only keep it until you get settled, wherever you’re going.”

  She stuffed her hands in her jean’s pockets. “Oh, I’m—if you could, that would be brilliant.”

  “Great.” He tugged on his suit coat and straightened his tie. Did Emma see his rather aggressive behavior? He pressed his lips. Of course she did. He hoped it didn’t deter her. “Do you want to come in and dry off?”

  “No.” She shook her head, her eyes looking around as if weighing her options. “It was lovely, er… good to see you again.”

  He’d always found English accents charming. “Am I lovely, or the piano?”

  Instead of answering, her gaze followed the workers from the Steller house who carried her instrument into his house. A protection blanket slipped revealing it to be a Steinway concert piano.

  She handed Jonathan his handkerchief and cast him a nervous glance. “I used to play professionally.”

  Did she think he’d expect her to sell such a dear possession? Although based on the creditors’ nonstop calls to his accountant’s office, she couldn’t afford not to. The suspicion in her gaze unnerved him. “If you’ll tell me where to send your piano, I’ll arrange to have it moved properly.”

  She bit her lower lip.

  How could a woman look so beautiful and be soaking wet?

  “If you could give me a couple more days…” Her gaze fell. “I need to get a few more things sorted out...”

  “Just let me know. Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He took her arm. “Let me give you a ride back to the cottage.”

  The wind picked up and the rain began to fall at an increasing pace. She merely shook her head and pulled away from him.

  He watched her as she trudged back down the lonely path toward the cottage. If only she’d think about his proposal, albeit a dry and logical one. Dede, his fiancée, had been all wrong for him. And it took her jilting him for him to see it. Her beauty, charm, wealthy background, had blinded his ability to make a wise choice. He’d never make that mistake again. He’d vowed on the steps of the terrace on his rain-soaked wedding day, he’d never be led by his feelings again. Next time he picked a wife would be a cold, calculated decision, one that would live up to his family’s expectations. And this rain only reminded of him his unshakable decision.

  ***

  Emma sat at her kitchen table with her head in her hands for what seemed like hours, her heart aching. She fingered the slick Fed Ex package she had found on her doorstep when she’d gotten back home. It was from her parents. The envelope contained a first-class one way advance purchase ticket to London, a request from their charted accountant for a list of her debts, the contact details for a freight forwarder to ensure the piano was brought home safely to London, and a told-you-so letter scolding her for marrying, the poor excuse for a husband.

  Why had she given into a moment of helplessness and called them last week? She knew she could never accept their illegal money. Her throat aching, she stared at the pile of bills, the letters from creditors, and documents from three different law offices threatening lawsuits if the debts weren’t paid in full. The amount overdue totaled more than $5,225,000.

  Pushing away from the table, she plodded outside to the back garden and took in a deep breath of the air, clean from the brief rain. Her steps crunched on scattered sticks as she wandered over to the concrete birdbath to pick out the debris. Her mind drifted back to her parents who earned the family fortune by swindling people out of real estate deals.

  After a turbulent childhood, she escaped England at age eighteen with a small amount of trust money from her grandmother and enrolled at the University of Missouri in Columbia. There, on a blind date, she met DJ, the university landscaper. Did she love him, or did she love what he represented—the complete opposite of her parent’s pretentious life style? Misery weighed on her like rainwater on leaves. What now? How could she pay off the debts? Was the thought of marrying a rich man she didn’t know, much less love, more appalling than accepting her parent’s help?

  She unfolded a chair and sat down. Jonathan Steller seemed decent enough, and that he was a believer in Christ made her trust him more, but enough to commit to him for life? She pressed her hands to her face to stop her whirling thoughts.

  She had two options.

  Both of them inconceivable.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The pale gold and orange rays of the fading summer sun had long since streamed across the sky. Now chilled by the growing darkness, Emma slipped back into the cottage, desperately needing a cup of tea. Although it was well past the dinner hour, her appetite was non-existent.

  Flipping on the kitchen lights, she set a kettle to boil and then pulled cookbooks and music books out of the cabinet and threw them into a box. A Bible, a wedding present from DJ’s parents, had been shelved in among them.

  She held the soft, brown, leather book. There was a time in her life, after her in-laws prayed with her to ask Jesus into her heart, when she had read it every day. Conviction picked at the wounds in her heart. Maybe if she’d been a more dedicated Christian, she would have been better
able to help DJ deal with his unhappiness, instead of him using his addictions to deaden his pain. Maybe if she’d tried harder to be a good wife, listened more, prayed more…maybe then his drunken car crash would never have happened. “Lord, if You truly care about me, truly know where I am, show me what to do.”

  Flipping the Bible open, she let her finger land on a scripture. Anyone too lazy to cook will starve. Her shoulders slumped. That’s what you get when you keep your Bible on the same shelf as your cookbooks. Not much help there.

  She pressed her eyes shut, flipped the pages, and tried again. Do not take advantage of a widow or an orphan. If you do and they cry out to me, I will certainly hear their cry.

  A piercing shriek startled her. But it was just the teakettle. She set the open book down and poured her tea. After stirring in the milk, she sipped the hot brew, taking comfort in its smoky yet sweet flavor. Something yellow on the page of the open Bible snagged her attention. A highlighted verse.

  We have run to God for safety. Now his promises should greatly encourage us to take hold of the hope that is right in front of us.

  A slow realization dawned. She’d been trying to solve these problems on her own, instead of running to God. No wonder she was in such a muddle. Warmth flooded her chest. Had God just spoken to her? Had He been just a prayer away all this time? She bowed her head as tears moistened her eyes. How long had it been since she’d prayed?

  “Dear God," she searched to find the right words. “Forgive me for not turning to You sooner. Help me to hold onto Your hope and not my own. Give me Your wisdom to know what I’m supposed to do.” Her voice trembled.

  As she wiped away the tears, a peace settled over her, tempering the wretchedness that had blanketed her for months. She took another sip of tea. Was the hope right in front of her… Jonathan Steller? Could God want her to marry him?

  No. Impossible.

  One thing she was confident of, help would not come from her family. She took her parent’s plane ticket, their letter, and tossed them into the box on the counter. Then, taking one more fortifying sip of tea, she strode back toward Steller Manor.

  ***

  Light flashed in Jonathan’s half-open eyes. He shot up in bed and glanced at the clock. 10:08 p.m. His butler stood in the doorway. “Clive?”

  “It’s Mrs. Banks, sir. She’s waiting for you in the entryway.” Clive harrumphed and left Jonathan’s bedroom door open.

  Slipping on a robe to cover his bare chest, Jonathan headed down the sweeping staircase, trying not to misstep on the thick carpeting in his half-awake state. He’d gone to bed early, as he had scheduled a four a.m. flight to New York on the Steller company jet.

  “Why me?” Emma stood at the bottom of the stairs, her thumbs hooked in her jean’s pockets.

  A thrill shot through him as he came down the stairs. It had been a busy day of letters of credit, faxes from the bank, and calls from their new office in Shanghai, China. He’d put the agreement for her to become his wife out of his mind. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Her green eyes flashed. “I suppose the Steller Soda Company makes that too.”

  “It comes from the Steller coffee plantation in Columbia.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “We hire local people and offer free schooling to their children—”

  “Yes, please.” A tentative smile touched her lips. “I mean,” she removed her gaze from his attire. “I’d like some coffee.”

  “Great.” He seized on the chance to do something. He took a few moments of grinding and brewing his favorite java to fully wake up and sort out his thoughts.

  His proposal of marriage was farfetched, but he reasoned it could benefit both of them. She would gain from his financial help, his protection, and a new start in life. And he needed to have children. He stopped for a moment. No. He wanted children. If he was going to prove to his father he was capable of one day reigning over the three-generation Steller business empire, surely as the only son, part of that was passing on the family name. Only son. The phrase hit him in his gut.

  Once he’d succeeded in every area of the company, his father would surely see him as the heir apparent. Anything was better than being stuck in his soon-to-be position as director of the Steller Charity Foundation.

  He snuck a glance at Emma’s blonde hair and trim figure. What would it be like to touch her silky—he halted his thoughts. Keep it business.

  He filled a mug with the steaming brew and handed it to her. He couldn’t tell her he’d done a complete background check on her and knew her life history in the U.S. in detail, including her desperate financial situation. Or that information from the U. K. on her family was proving strangely difficult to uncover. But he could tell her how happy he was she’d come. “I’m glad to see you. Perhaps, I’m not as ridiculous as you first thought?”

  She took a long sip of coffee. “You still haven’t fully answered my question. Why me?”

  He ran his hand over his mouth, determined to convince her of his sincerity. “I first really noticed you at one of the children’s hospital charity events for our foundation last year. I saw you talking with the sick kids, singing songs with them, hugging, kissing them.” The memory of her bright smile and lilting British voice sent an ache of longing across his chest. He dropped his gaze. She was the kind of mother he’d want for his children. Heat prickled his scalp, and he fixed his coffee. Whoa, relax the emotions. He furrowed his brows and spoke more logically. “I chose you because you’re a believer, you’re about the right age, and you’re musical.”

  She set down her mug. “You picked me because I can play the piano?”

  He smiled at her straightforwardness. “My mother is very musical. Before she married my father, she sang opera at the St. Louis Opera Theater. It would please her to know her grandchildren may have musical potential.”

  Her face fell. Silence echoed between them. Had he offended her again?

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He schooled his appearance to remain calm. She was a beautiful woman, but this time his decision would be based on logic, not emotion. He had to get this right. “Sure, take your time.”

  She took another sip of her coffee and leaned forward, setting her elbows on the countertop. “Thank you for stopping those men today.”

  The deep blue of her shirt brought a glow to her face. How soft was that skin—He swallowed. No one in his family, including past generations, had ever been divorced. He had to make this choice based on facts, not attraction. With a flick of a button, he shut off the coffee machine, and his feelings. “Always glad to rescue a stolen piano.”

  Her green eyes were filled with gratitude. “Well, thank you to my knight in shining armor.”

  Sweat was collecting on his forehead. He needed to get away. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

  Minutes later, he strode back into the kitchen and slid a binder across the granite counter, his confident corporate persona firmly in place. “Before we met to discuss my proposal, I had my lawyers type up letters of intent, stating my objectives.”

  She stiffened. “But how did you—”

  “I wanted to have a clear plan in place in case you were willing to consider my offer.”

  By the firm set of her lips, her defenses were rising.

  “I just hoped you would.” He held his breath. That sounded vulnerable. He tapped the leather file. “We stay married for life. Once we have two children, if you wish, the intimate side of our marriage will cease, but for the children’s sake, we remain a family in every other sense.”

  At the word, children, her stomach knotted. She would love to have child someday, but didn’t know for sure—”

  “Also, there will be no pre-nuptial agreement.”

  Her eyes widened. “B—but why would you risk your fortune?”

  He dipped his head, remembering how hard the family lawyers had fought him on this. Surprising though, for once his father had been very quie
t about his decision. “I believe in the sanctity of marriage. If I make this commitment to you, before God, it is for life.”

  “But you don’t know me.”

  “My parents met and married in two weeks.”

  “But this is different—”

  “I am making an exception for the Steinway.” He flipped open the binder, and leafed through several pages.

  “My piano?”

  “Should you choose to leave me, it will become mine.” As the words left his mouth, he stiffened his posture. It wasn’t to threaten her, but since he’d discovered its significance, he’d decided to use it as leverage. She wasn’t a business deal, but he wasn’t accustomed to losing.

  Her mouth hung open for a moment. “W—what if you leave me?”

  “Not possible.” He flipped through the document to the last page. “Here is a list of grievances for which you can leave me with your piano intact and half my fortune.”

  The first item on the inventory was gambling.

  She scanned the paper and then risked a glance at him.

  “So you’ll consider my offer?”

  Concern furrowed her brow. Her fingers traced the page as she chewed on her lower lip. “When would we marry?”

  His heart sped up. She was softening. “I return from New York tomorrow and my parents fly back from Germany in a couple of days. Perhaps, ten days from now, on the weekend?”

  Her eyes widened, emphasizing the radiance of her green gaze. “So soon?”

  With determination, he closed the binder and pushed it aside. As much as he needed a wife to advance his career, he wouldn’t manipulate her into this. He’d lived his whole life in the shadow of his family’s expectations and he wanted to be sure that she knew what she was in for. Marrying him would be challenging in ways she’d never thought of.

  “Let’s spend this Saturday together and get to know one another. We can talk about this more then. I’ve started working… well, temporarily taking over the charity division of our company and will be very busy at work, so if we could have the matter settled soon...”