A British Bride by Agreement Page 3

  “Yes, on the Saturday, and maybe on your proposal.”

  He liked the resolve in her voice. He’d seen glimpses of her determined personality and found it as attractive as her looks, and her British accent.

  “I’ll continue to pray about it.” She set her mug down with a thump.

  He nodded as an understanding passed between them. “As I will.” He stepped forward and touched the side of her face. Her skin felt like velvet. He didn’t want her to see this offer of marriage as just another company deal. Anxious to show he wasn’t some unfeeling businessman, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. Very soft.

  I could be in trouble here.

  ***

  The next evening, Jonathan strode into his dressing room after arriving back from New York.

  His driver walked into the bedroom with his bags.

  Jonathan nodded. “Just leave them there, Orlando.”

  “Yes, mister,” the driver touched the brim of his cap.

  Jonathan tugged at his tie and kicked off his shoes. His back ached from the long flight and his mind was filled with facts and figures on the new cold coffee products they were set to start production on. He undressed and tugged on a tight t-shirt and sweats to go work out. This was the last product development project he needed to wrap up before he became full-time charity director. His pulse sped up. He still hadn’t gotten over the shock of being demoted by his father…

  “It’s the best for the company,” his father said.

  Jonathan eased back in his office chair, setting his hands behind his head. “How?”

  “You’ve done a good job at PD, but now I want to see how you handle the charitable division.”

  “How can handing out money be that hard? Surely one of the girls could do it.”

  “No, I want you to handle this.”

  “This is pay back for the soda deal in Brazil falling apart.”

  “That was poor judgment on your part.”

  Jonathan leaned forward. “I was given inadequate information by your field agents.”

  “A good businessman double checks his facts before he invests thirty million dollars.”

  Jonathan settled back and steepled his fingers. He would not be goaded into an argument with his father. If this is what it took to get to the top, so be it. Jonathan’s eyes flickered over to a picture of he and his older brother when they were fourteen and twelve. He knew it wasn’t his fault his brother had died. “Three months and then I want to be moved out of charity and back to development position.”

  “You’ll move back when I say you’re ready.” His father strode out of Jonathan’s office.

  Jonathan got up and paced in front of the row of windows that overlooked the city of St. Louis. Ever since his older brother died, his father had been hard on him, as if Joshua’s death was his fault…

  Jonathan grabbed a towel and left his bedroom and headed for the in-house gym.

  “Mister Steller!” The driver stood at the foot of the stairs. “Come quickly!”

  Jonathan ran down a wide staircase, thinking of his mother, his sisters. “What’s wrong?”

  Orlando took a minute to catch his breath. “I was putting the car away when I saw a gringo banging on Mrs. Banks door. I stopped to see if there was anything I could do, and the man looked like he’d been in one too many bar fights—really rough, you know. He told me if I was smart I’d mind my own busin—”

  Jonathan sprinted toward the front door, flung it open, and ran down the long gravel path to Emma’s cottage. As he grew closer, he could see a large man pounding on the front door. Emma must be terrified. Why hadn’t she called him?

  Jonathan caught up to the man in a leather jacket who was still beating the door and jerked his arm away. “If you have business,” he gasped for breath, “with Mrs. Banks, you go through me.”

  The guy smirked. “Are you her husband or something?”

  Jonathan noticed the door inched open. He could see Emma dressed in a white bathrobe and wet hair.

  “No, but I am in charge of her,” Jonathan answered.

  The guy turned back to the door. “Aha, lady, you finally decided to answer.” He took a look up and down at her informal attire and headed for her. “Are you here to offer me a special deal?”

  Jonathan leapt and grabbed the guy by the waist and tackled him to the ground.

  Emma screamed.

  Jonathan grabbed the papers from the man’s grasp, stood up, and shredded them. “Now, if you want payment on any of these accounts, you don’t bother this lady. Your demands need to be sent to me—”

  “Jonathan, no.” Emma stepped outside, gripping the collar of her robe and a book of poetry. “These are legitimate bills that I need to pay.” She shot a fearful glance at the ruffian. “It’s just I can’t right now.”

  Jonathan put his arm round Emma’s shoulders and leaned in. “Go inside. I will be there in just a minute.”

  “I—I didn’t mean.” She started pacing. “I wasn’t trying to—”

  “Emma.”

  She stopped pacing.

  “Go. Inside.”

  She shot a glance at the ruffian and stepped back in the cottage.

  Jonathan strode forward until he was one inch from the man’s face. “Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

  “Yeah.” The guy hobbled around his car, rubbing his shoulder. “Mighty fine woman you got there.” He gestured toward the cottage. “I wouldn’t leave her alone at night. Someone might want to pay—”

  “If you value your life, you will stop talking.” Jonathan shoved his hands to his waist.

  The guy glared at him before getting in his car and screeching off.

  Jonathan waited until the back car lights were gone before he lightly tapped on the door, “Emma, it’s me.”

  She opened the door wearing white shorts and a white sweatshirt. “I’m sorry. I feel like I am always causing—”

  “You didn’t create this financial disaster, and you have no one to help you sort it out. So I will.”

  “But it’s hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  Jonathan didn’t move. “Okay.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and paced into the room. “My husband emptied my trust fund, bank accounts, signed away my Steinway. It’s all rubbish.”

  Jonathan came inside and shut the door. “I know, and my agreement still stands.”

  “No, these bills cannot and will not be part of the agreement.” She continued pacing. “Not that I am saying yes. It’s just these debts are part of my marriage and now that DJ’s gone and he was hiding…” her voice cracked. “All these secrets.” She sat on the couch and buried her head in her hands. “I never knew you could live with someone and have no idea who they are.”

  Jonathan came and sat beside her. “You will let me take care of them—”

  “No.” She shot to her feet. “ I don’t need your help—”

  A screech of a car drew his attention to the front window. Jonathan looked to the front of the house.

  The bill collector’s car swerved past the cottage at breakneck speed sending a spray of rocks clinking against the front of the house.

  “It’s that guy again.” Jonathan took her hand and led her to her bedroom. “Pack an overnight bag. You are not safe here. We have a guest lodge behind the house. I want you to sleep there tonight.”

  Emma opened her mouth, but Jonathan wasn’t in the mood to argue. He grabbed her phone and made a few calls. Minutes later, his driver came and picked them up and drove them to the lighted cottage, with Clive and another young gentleman standing in the open door.

  “Thank you, Clive.” Jonathan nodded. “Nick, have the police been called?”

  “Yes, Mr. Steller.”

  Jonathan took Emma by the arm and led her through the house.

  She sat down on a couch but didn’t say a word.

  “You’ll feel safer here.”

  She merely nodded with
tears brimming.

  Jonathan sat down next to her and gripped her hands. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Emma cast a glance at all the workers bringing in baskets of fruit, dusting off tables, straightening chairs. “I’ve been enough trouble for one night.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  She bit her lower lip.

  He swallowed back the desire to kiss that full lip.

  “What if he comes here?”

  He took a long, hard stare at the lovely face in front of him. How could he have been so foolish? Shaking his head, he squeezed her hands. He stood and spoke quietly to Clive.

  Clive nodded. “Everyone,” he spoke in his articulated voice, “we are done here. Please stop what you are doing and head back to the main house.”

  Within a minute, the house cleared out.

  Nick stood at Jonathan’s side. “Anything else you need, Mr. Steller.”

  “No, Nick, thank you. I’ll see you at the office in the morning.”

  As soon as the door thudded behind him, Emma breathed out a sigh.

  Jonathan took her hand and led her outside to his car and opened the door.

  As she sat, she shot him a questioning look.

  He got in the car and headed for the house. “You’ll sleep at the main house tonight.”

  “Oh, dear.” She looked horrified. “I don’t think this is right. I haven’t agreed—”

  He looked over at her face, still beautiful in the nighttime shadows. “I just want to protect you. Unfortunately, the only guest room is right next to my bedroom—”

  “I can’t. I’m getting out right now.” She pushed open the car door.

  He reached over and shut the door. “I will sleep in a downstairs room. Please don’t argue with me. I need to know that you are safe.”

  Emma nodded, staring straight ahead.

  He could see the easing of her shoulders as if a weight had been lifted.

  He felt ten feet tall.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two mornings later, as Emma stood in her back bedroom, someone knocked, then open her cottage door. A deep masculine voice called out, “Hello?”

  Emma’s nerves jangled as she glanced at her watch. Ten minutes early. Maybe Jonathan was looking forward to their day together as much as she was.

  “I’m almost ready,” she called from her bedroom. She needed a few more minutes to calm herself. She peered, for the hundredth time, at her reflection in the mirror. Her aqua colored sheath dress, the eleventh outfit she’d tried on, didn’t look too bad. Tying a matching scarf around the strap of her purse, surely she could pass for just a carefree girl who was going to spend the day with her boyfriend.

  She slipped on her white heeled sandals with trembling hands. Over the last two days, her mornings had started with prayer. She needed to seek the Lord with all her heart, as logically she should never even consider this mad proposal. But deep inside, God’s peace continued to reign.

  She would feel much better if she could be sure, somehow, that the Lord really knew about the details of her life. He probably was upset at her for not being a better Christian the last two years. Did He know the weighty decision she faced? The debts? The impossible situation she was in?

  She prayed about giving Jonathan an answer, but had yet to receive any specific leading. Today she just wanted to learn more about him, his plans for the future, and what he expected of her. She glanced in the mirror to check her appearance once more. “Other than those life-altering matters, this will be a perfectly, proper date.” Complete with dueling butterflies in her stomach.

  Anxious not to keep him waiting, she scooped up her handbag and left the room, still threading her earrings in place. “I’m looking forward—” At the sight of him, her words died in her throat.

  She hadn’t seen him since his late night rescue. When she woke up the next morning, he was already gone. Now he stood in profile, studying the framed pictures on her mantle, dressed in dark jeans and a white and steel-gray t-shirt. With the scrubby outline of a beard and his hair slightly gelled, he looked quite causal. She had never seen him so ruggedly informal. Or considered how overwhelmingly good-looking—

  He swung around. A glimmer of approval glinted in his blue eyes. “You look…great.”

  Heat flushed her face. How could I be so attracted to him? She let her gaze fall. “Thank you.”

  “I have something for you.” He handed her a simply wrapped package.

  She tore the paper and gasped when she saw the title. “A first edition Bronte book? How did you know—I love—where did you get this?”

  “I have my sources on both.”

  She nodded, suddenly wishing she had something for him. “Well, thank you. This means a lot.”

  “Good.” He smiled back at her.

  “Where are we going today?”

  “A day in St. Louis, first hockey practice, then a trip to the Arch.” Taking her keys from a hook and handing them to her. “Followed by lunch at the Ritz Carlton, shopping at Plaza Frontenac.” As soon as she was done locking the door, he took her hand in his. “And then dinner at the St. Louis Country Club with my parents.”

  Parents? Her insides clenched. This was making this agreement too real. “Have you told them about us?”

  “They’re aware I’m seeing someone.”

  “Do they know about—will they approve—”

  “Leave that up to me.” He opened the gate that led to the waiting car. “Your parents are in England? What about them?”

  Emma walked out of the shade of the trees and into the glare of the bright August sun. At a very young age, she and her brother had shown musical brilliance. Her parents, wanting to add an air of respectability to their dubious business activities, arranged for Emma to become a concert pianist and David, a classical guitarist. By ages ten and eight, she and her brother began a rigorous touring schedule that lasted until she packed her bags and left home for college. She’d had a few brief conversations with them over the last three years, and had not spoken with them since she’d called to inform them of DJ’s death, and her desperate financial situation.

  “They’re very busy.”

  “Doing...?”

  Her pulse quickened. Should she tell him the truth? Her father was a shady businessman who was very proud of his accomplishments, often comparing himself to the American mafia. But her mother craved respectably, so they became enslaved to a grand house in the right neighborhood, perfect clothing, the best parties, exact manners, well-connected friends, and the extortion of Emma and her brother’s childhoods. “Making money.”

  He studied her for a moment. “No harm in that. Shall we go?”

  She let out a sigh as she slipped into the car, immensely grateful he didn’t push for more information. Maybe she could escape her past.

  First they stopped at The St, Louis Mills hockey rink. Jonathan led Emma to a seat in front of the glass, and put a blanket on her shoulder. “This will take thirty minutes.”

  She sat in chilled awe as Jonathan and another man, Steven worked with the most adorable little boys ages five through seven who wobbled on skates trying to learn the basics of hockey. A few times Jonathan waved up at her. He motioned with his arms around his sides, cold? She shook her head. Just seeing him interact with these pint-sized boys made her heart melt.

  After a while, Jonathan came up to her with a grin wide on his face. “Ready to go?”

  “You really enjoyed that didn’t you?”

  He glanced back at the players who waved at him. “It’s team made of kids who are being bullies. Hockey gives them confidence.”

  She nodded. Her throat suddenly tight with emotion. She would never have guessed he had this side to him. During their day together, she learned several things about Jonathan Christopher Steller that surprised her. In the Arch lift, she discovered he knew how to escape a falling elevator. At the Ritz Carlton, he confessed to being passionate for all St. Louis sports—Card
inals baseball and the Blues hockey team, and at the Plaza Frontenac, while in Crane and Company looking for cards, she found out, like most men, he hated shopping. Sometimes.

  He huffed out a breath, checked his watch again, and leaned into her shoulder. “Are you done yet?”

  The teasing glint in his eyes amused her and she nudged him back. “I just need a few more. So many people have helped me over the last few months, I’m behind on my thank you notes.” Her whole life, she’d always written prompt thank you notes, even for the slightest gift or act of kindness. Perhaps it was a result of her rather grown-up childhood, or maybe kindness had been too rare of a commodity and so it was truly appreciated.

  After paying for her purchases, he took her hand and pulled her toward Saks Fifth Avenue. “This way.”

  “Do you need to get something?”

  There was a glimmer in his blue eyes. “You have an appointment for which we are very late.”

  He whisked her up an escalator, to a back area, and greeted a woman dressed in head-to-toe black. “Madame Durand.”

  “Monsieur Steller. How wonderful to see you.” The thin, French woman kissed him on both cheeks. “We have some grandiose gowns for your friend to consider. The usual to drink?”

  “Of course.” Jonathan and Emma sat in plush chairs as a waiter brought out two tall scarlet drinks.

  “Steller Cherry Soda, Mr. Steller.”

  “Thank you,” Jonathan smiled in gratitude.

  “And for you,” the tiny woman’s gaze raked up and down Emma’s figure. “A diet cherry soda.”

  Emma flashed a glance at Jonathan, who was smirking at the slight.

  The two sat down in front of a small stage. Soon a model slinked out and showed off a suit sparkling with metal threads. Another reed-thin girl followed her in a hounds tooth patterned dress, hemmed in a thick wool fringe, tagged by a thin girl in a long dress of black tulle with a sparkle of crystals. Slowly it dawned on Emma. This show was for her. A tingle went up her spine. She’d never seen a couture fashion show up close. But by the time the thirteenth evening gown pranced past her inexperienced eye, the fashionable designs started to blend together.