Childhood in Portsmouth meant grubby knees, flying pigtails and happiness for SARA WOOD. Poverty drove her from typist and seaside landlady to teacher till writing finally gave her the freedom her Romany blood craved. Sara is happily married and has two handsome adult sons, Richard and Simon. She lives in the Cornish countryside. Sara’s glamorous writing life alternates with her passion for gardening, which allows her to be carefree and grubby again.

Second-Best Bride
Sara Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

IT SHOULD have been the happiest day of her life, not the worst. Weren’t weddings supposed to make people cry with joy? Claire felt closer to howling, and joy didn’t come into it. Misery, yes. Disillusionment. Selfpity and embarrassment. Not much cause to laugh there.

She huddled deeper into the corner of the limousine, staring at the billows of ivory taffeta where her voluminous skirt had been spread carefully over the cream leather seat. And she wondered how on earth she could bring herself to speak. The words were quite simple. No long syllables to tangle a tongue. ‘I can’t marry Trader’. So why did they ball up together and stick in her throat?

A sour-tasting sickness heaved and rolled in her stomach. She closed her soft-green eyes tightly and counted slowly to ten till the nausea went away. After her hen party, she should have gone home. Disastrously for her peace of mind, she’d let Phoenix persuade her to stay on for a couple of brandies and an intimate chat.

Big mistake. Better to have remained ignorant. Her tongue slicked nervously over her dry lips, removing the final traces of peach lipstick. All night she’d dwelt on the things Phoenix had said till she’d been half tearing her hair out with despair.

She stole a look in her father’s direction. He was a picture of contentment: a handsome man, his unfamiliar face glowing with anticipation. Daunted by his delight, Claire couldn’t quite pluck up the courage to tell him the bad news.

Her heart thudded away while the smooth, ostentatious limousine purred along with its mockery of fluttering satin ribbons on the endless bonnet. They were alarmingly near to the grey stone church. And Trader. And the hundreds of guests. A hot wave swept over her.

‘We’re late,’ commented her father crossly. ‘Your fault. Good crowd, mind.’ His hand crossed her vision in a flash of gold and ruby rings, waving royally. ‘It’s their entertainment, I suppose,’ he grunted, with all the contempt of a Channel Islander for the unsophisticated people of remote Ballymare. ‘I suppose weddings and funerals add drama to their drab, small lives.’

They’d get drama, thought Claire. This would be a wedding and a funeral rolled up in one! And oh, the shame of it! She shuddered. Faint from skittering nerves, she placed her hand on her father’s arm, flinching at the ragged, good-natured cheer that arose outside when the car slowly drew up to the kerb.

Deep breath. Calm voice. Firm, decisive. ‘Don’t get out! I can’t go through with the wedding!’ she cried shakily, forcing the words through her pale, dry lips in a sudden, gabbling rush.

‘Whaaat? Sweetie——!’ Her father reached to grab her trembling hand and she withdrew it, backing away warily.

‘No!’ she said huskily. ‘I won’t budge! I won’t change my mind!’

‘The woman’s mad!’ Her father took one close look at her set face and his mouth went grim. ‘Driver! Go round the block again! Claire, what are you trying to do, give me a coronary? I’ll make you marry Trader if I have to carry you——’

‘I think the guests might notice if the bride arrives struggling and screaming over your shoulder,’ she retorted defiantly, finding his idea ridiculous. She was close to laughing hysterically—or was she nearer to tears? Whatever. Far too many emotions were thrashing around in her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she went on sympathetically. ‘I really am. But my mind’s made up.’

‘Well, unmake it. Are you nuts?’ asked her father aggressively.

‘No,’ she said forlornly. ‘Sane at last.’

‘But it’s been “Trader, Trader, Trader” ever since I arrived in Ireland five days ago! You’re nervous, that’s all. Snap out of it, sweetie!’ Seeing her set mouth, her father changed tack, holding back his temper and turning on the charm that had coaxed a lifetime of women into his arms, hissing the words through perfectly capped teeth. ‘Of course you’ll go through with it! Honeymoon in the Seychelles, palm trees, blue skies, hot sun…The expense! The marquee alone cost——’

‘I know. A fortune. You told me.’ She gave a faint, sad smile. His materialistic nature always surfaced. ‘I’m terribly sorry to do this to you!’ Her huge eyes pleaded with him in vain for comfort. ‘Dad——’

He scowled. ‘Jack. I told you! I don’t like being reminded that I’m old enough to be the father of a twenty-two-year-old woman. Now shape up,’ he snapped. ‘Fast.’

‘That’s the trouble. I’ve shaped,’ she muttered.

And felt very alone. A cuddle and some understanding would be nice. But Jack only played the one role: that of a macho charmer. Sadly she took in the dyed black waves and incongruously unlined face. Plastic surgery had meant that her father bore little resemblance to the photograph by her mother’s bedside. It was the face of a stranger.

And Trader was a stranger too, she realised with an awful jolt, twisting her long, slender fingers in alarm. Sunlight shafted in through the window, lighting her pale face and lowered golden lashes, glancing off the facets of the diamonds and emeralds of her engagement ring. It had been hers for barely a week; dreams discovered, dreams realised…Dreams lost? Her breath caught in her throat and she had to fight not to break down.

‘Jack. Please understand,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t marry Trader. I know it’s the eleventh hour. I know it’s embarrassing and annoying and it’ll cause a lot of trouble if I back out—but I’d rather cope with the flak than marry and have regrets for the rest of my life, or be driven to divorce. I never once stopped to think things through,’ she explained. ‘It’s been such a whirl. He never let up once, never left me alone,’ she added helplessly. ‘Trader bulldozed me.’

And she’d allowed it! Secretly, she was appalled. Always thoughtful, always reticent to the point of silence, she’d never let her feelings run away with her so drastically. How could she be marrying someone she’d only known for three weeks?

‘Trader’s like that. Single-minded. Beats you over the head till he gets what he wants,’ grunted Jack.

‘How do you know?’ Claire frowned. ‘You only met him a few days ago.’

‘We talked business a few times,’ said her father curtly.

‘Business?’ she queried. ‘I thought you disliked one another. Did you chat together while I was working at the hotel?’

‘We do loathe the sight of each other,’ Jack acknowledged. ‘But that’s got nothing to do with it. It’s too late to change your mind. You’ve got to be nice to him——’

‘I’ve what?’ she said sharply, unsure she’d heard correctly.

Grim and suddenly old behind the unnaturally youthful face, Jack said testily, ‘Be a good girl and treat him well! Do whatever he wants! Don’t cross him, Claire. There’ll be trouble.’

‘Trouble? Isn’t that being a bit melodramatic?’ she asked in astonishment.

‘I wish!’ said her father gloomily. ‘Take it from one who knows. Handle him with kid gloves. The man’s dynamite on legs. He’ll detonate just for spite. Marry him. For my sake. For your own.’

Fear drained even the effects of blusher on her pale, fine-boned face. Behind the hazy silk of her veil, her eyes looked like two huge mossy smudges as she stared back at her father. ‘I knew Trader was holding something back! I knew he wasn’t telling me everything, that he had a secret!’ she said tremulously. ‘Tell me what’s going on! I’m sitting in this car till you do!’

‘Oh God!’ he groaned. He was silent for a while and she felt like screaming when he hesitated for interminable seconds. ‘OK,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m in trouble. We’ve both got to crawl in whichever direction he orders. He’s calling the tune and I’m dancing. You’re part of the package. Let him have you!’

‘A package!’ Taut in every muscle, Claire leaned forward and let her father’s words roll around her head till they sank in fully. Her lips tightened into a searingly thin line.

‘Yeah. Bastard’s got a hold on me as tight as a ferret.’

‘You do mean Trader?’ she asked faintly. Her stomach gave a lurch again and her small hand flew to the tightly fitting bodice as if it could hold back the swelling misery inside.

‘Trader,’ confirmed her father bitterly. ‘Trader-blasted-Benedict! Terminator bloody III!’

‘She’s late.’

Trader scowled at his best man’s obvious remark. ‘Bride’s privilege,’ he said curtly.

‘Ye-e-es. Sure this is right for you?’ asked Charles with a wise caution. Trader had been edgy all morning. ‘You could walk out now——’

‘And miss out on the chance of a lifetime?’ growled Trader. His head turned with an angry jerk and his eyes raked the aisle grimly. If she didn’t turn up, he’d crucify that father of hers and spread his entrails across their agreement.

An elegant, gloved hand fluttered, attracting his attention. Phoenix. He smiled faintly at her beautiful face, admiring the perfect make-up, noting with approval her air of sophistication and grooming. Phoenix blew him a kiss and he grinned, his black eyes dancing with the love he felt for her. Fee’s features softened as they always did.

He raised a sardonic eyebrow and his broad shoulders, as if to say, ‘Will she, won’t she?’ and Fee gave him a secretive smile. Because they sure shared one hell of a secret. And as he turned back, he hoped to God no one found out before he was well and truly married to Claire.

The bottomless pit of anger inside him surged up and quickened his breathing, the bitterness of twenty or more years ripping through him till he saw nothing but a red haze before his eyes.

It had gone on long enough. It had begun to cripple his life, threatening to taint the woman he loved. Trader forced himself to focus clearly on the altar rail and make a decision. Ten more minutes. After that he’d leave. And blow the whistle on Jack Jardine.

The cruel smile hardened his granite profile and his long-time friend, Charles Fairchild, shifted uncomfortably. Trader had always been complex, with a dark side he’d never dared to investigate. ‘Bear up. She’s worth the wait,’ he said brightly.

Trader shot a quick look at the aisle and met Fee’s affectionate eyes again. He relaxed and turned back to Charles. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘She is.’

‘Driver! Go round again,’ said Jack tensely as Claire slumped back into the seat and the crushed taffeta sighed all around her. ‘Claire, you’ve got to help me!’ he muttered. ‘My whole business is on the line. Hundreds of my employees all over the world could be out of a job—and it would be your fault! I’m facing ruin!’

‘From Trader? How? He’s only known you a few days!’ she exclaimed, bewildered by what was happening.

‘We’ve just met. But he’s been after me for years. Me and everything I have. Coveting it all! He doesn’t care how he gets it.’

Claire gasped. ‘But…what would he get from marrying me?’

‘Half of everything I own,’ Jack muttered, sounding utterly defeated.

‘He gets money if I go through with this?’ she asked with horror.

‘Money. Property. Control. Half my wealth and possessions go to him as your dowry, I keep the rest.’ Her father’s mouth twisted bitterly. ‘And in return he’ll keep his mouth shut about my tax evasion and a couple of questionable deals. I owe several million dollars. That’s a maximum three-hundred-year gaol sentence in America.’

‘Three hundred…! Oh, Dad!’ she moaned faintly. Now she understood! And Phoenix had been trying to warn her last night. Claire felt weak from shock. It was unbelievable that Trader could have betrayed her and lied so convincingly. A package! The idea rocked her to the core.

Her nagging doubts about the wisdom of their hasty marriage had turned into something really serious. Granted, she’d wanted to delay the marriage to straighten a few things out, but she hadn’t bargained on being faced with an insurmountable obstacle like…like being betrothed to a man she couldn’t respect. One who might not even love her.

‘He—he said he loved me!’ she ventured, a desperately hopeful note in her voice.

‘Oh, sure he does!’ affirmed her father, rather too painfully eager to convince her.

And she remarked with unusual cynicism, ‘I suppose it can’t be hard to love a blindly adoring woman with a tempting dowry.’

Her father shrugged. ‘You get a lot out of this too. You share his half of the so-called dowry, after all. And I’m leaving you the other half when I die. You’re an heiress, you know.’

Claire noted with sadness that he wasn’t intending to leave anything to her mother. ‘I hope you’re not trying to buy my co-operation in this disgusting arrangement,’ she said unhappily.

‘You’d like to be rich,’ he said sullenly. ‘Everyone would.’

‘I want enough money so that Mother doesn’t have to work, that’s all.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Does Trader know that, in addition to the dowry, I will eventually inherit your portion as well?’ she asked slowly.

Her father nodded. ‘He gets the lot eventually, one way or another. The whole Trebisonne empire. So what? He loves you, you love him. That’s not so bad, is it?’

Claire groaned. ‘Yes, it is! How can I marry a scheming rat?’

‘Plenty of women do,’ grunted her father. ‘Why should you be so special?’

Because she wanted to fall in love and marry and be happy forever after. Because she wanted a husband who would walk over hot coals for her, cherish her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others till death them did part.

Not someone who’d put the screws on her father because he’d been fiddling his tax on a grand scale! Her father must be really desperate to give up half his wealth. He needed a lot of money for his extravagant lifestyle in Florida. The rejuvenating surgery alone must have cost thousands. And he’d let slip in a boast one day that he’d lost a million in Vegas. Expensive tastes.

‘Trader didn’t arrive in Ballymare by chance, did he?’ she said harshly. ‘It was no coincidence!’

‘Coincidence? Are you joking?’ scoffed her father incredulously.

Claire gave a little moan. She’d been set up. That meeting on the beach had been carefully planned. Trader was poor and he’d long coveted her father’s money—so badly that he’d sink to blackmail to marry it. She’d known from the first that he’d needed to count the pennies. He wore nothing but comfortable old clothes and their time had been spent walking, talking, eating simple picnic food.

She gave a bitter smile. Because according to her aunts, her father had acquired the vast Le Trebisonne fitness centres by a cold-blooded and calculating second marriage to the widow of Philippe Le Trebisonne. And now the empire was being wrested from him by a man of equal cunning—ironically, also by marriage.

Trader and her father were unnervingly alike. And that horrified her. Two irresistible charmers. Both liars.

She winced. So much for being swept off her feet. Next time she’d apply Superglue.

‘Marry him!’ pleaded her father.

‘You’re asking me to sacrifice my future for you?’ she asked with quiet dignity. ‘You’ve only seen me twice in my life before this week. It’s been fourteen years since you last came to Ballymare for a brief visit—and yet you’re expecting my unquestioning loyalty!’

Her father’s hand closed around her shoulder like a vice. ‘If you don’t marry him, Trader will bring the Revenue men down on me and the police and I’ll lose everything. I want to be reconciled with your mother. She loves me——’

‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘Even though you walked out when she was pregnant with me, twenty-three years ago!’ Her mother had loved her father through thick and thin, through infidelity, deceit, callousness. Inexplicable. But she knew that a reunion would make her mother overjoyed. Unfortunately, her father held the key to her mother’s happiness.

More blackmail. And she was being drawn into it whether she liked it or not.

‘We’re here. Again,’ grunted her father, leaping out. ‘Get ready. Remember how ill your mother is.’

Pain sliced through her like a knife through butter. The door opened and the chauffeur’s gloved hand stretched towards her. She stared at it blankly. But her father came around the car, pushed the concerned driver aside and grabbed Claire’s slender wrist with a flash of chunky gold rings, hauling her out with an impatient, ‘Too many people need this marriage. Get a hold on yourself and do your duty!’

Stunned by his lack of compassion, by his cruelty, she stumbled numbly a few yards down the church path through the crowds of friends and well-wishers. Words like ‘fragile’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘ethereal’ came to her ears. For ethereal read shocked, she thought weakly.

Someone turned her around to pose for photographs. Hating to create a scene in public, she let herself be manhandled into position, silently enduring the embarrassment of the friendly compliments from everyone. Everyone loved a bride, she thought soberly. But…did the groom?

Trader was corrupt and grasping and he would change into a monster—as her father had—the minute she became his wife. Her mother had been fooled by Jack Jardine’s easy charm. Why shouldn’t she have inherited that blindness?

‘Smile!’ urged the photographer.

She did her best but her lips kept quivering. This was a farce! But it gave her time to think. ‘A few more,’ she suggested huskily.

Her hand fretted with a hairpin in her marmalade hair. Trader had likened it to a sheet of flamed water at sunset and said he loved it straight and hanging loose. But that morning Phoenix had organised it into alien curls heaped on her head and fixed with an arc of brutal grips. Claire felt like a prisoner, starting a gaol sentence. If only she’d waited and got to know Trader properly! But he could coax a polar bear to part with its fur…

‘OK, that’ll do.’ Jack took her arm and squeezed it. ‘This is it, sweetie,’ he said shakily. ‘Remember, I’d be no good to your mother in prison!’

Her face paled and she swallowed hard. Jack was her father, whatever his faults, and she couldn’t blithely ignore his distress. All her life she’d longed to win her father’s love. She’d tried, heaven knew, but he’d always found her irritating and she’d got in the way. Yet he needed her now and she couldn’t let him down. And she did love Trader. Life without him was unthinkable.

Claire walked from the sun into the shade of the porch. She shivered apprehensively. Butterflies and gremlins were scurrying around her body, making her feel faint. She was afraid to go ahead with the wedding—and horror-struck at the idea of stopping it.

Silent and nervous, trying to find the right thing to do, she waited while her friend Sue adjusted the Southern-belle neckline and fussed with the huge puff sleeves so that the material lay in beguiling folds off the shoulder. Suddenly feeling very naked with so much creamy skin gleaming in the half-light, Claire twitched them up. They slid down again.

‘Leave them!’ teased Sue fondly. ‘You’re marrying a passionate man, you idiot, not a monk!’

‘Passionate!’ she repeated faintly.

Yes, he was. It lay in the darkness of his eyes, the intensity of his words and the hunger in his mouth. Violent emotions lay behind that courteous exterior. Phoenix had said, ‘You’ll have great sex, darling!’ and had made her blush. It had been something she’d blocked out of her mind.

Claire shivered as terror gripped her slim body with its iron hand. Passion meant male lust, passion meant anger: the two things she was scared of facing. And she recoiled from the thought of animal lust and anger entering her life, because she’d seen her mother destroyed by both.

Yet Trader had controlled himself, for her sake. Her chin lifted decisively. She would marry Trader without protest and make it all come out well. Love conquered all. ‘Love reforms Blackmailer’. Her hopes rose again. She could show him what love could do; how it could heal and soften even the most desperate of men, the most power-hungry person who walked God’s earth. She winced. It was a tall order. Her mother hadn’t had much success with her father to date.

But if she could succeed, she’d save her mother the inevitable shock. Claire grimly shut her mind to the memory of her mother’s last angina attack. It had been frightening, terribly harrowing. If anything should happen to the woman who’d devoted her life to her…

‘I’m ready, Jack,’ she said to her father, and was proud of the way her voice remained steady despite her nerves.

‘About time!’ he grumbled, jerking her into motion.

The ‘Bridal March’ began, silencing her giggling bridesmaids. Claire glided into the body of the church in a soft, rich rustle of her huge skirts. At the top of the aisle, she paused, deathly white beneath the softly falling veil, her fingers digging hard into her father’s sleeve.

Curious faces turned towards her. To her left, the lovely, homely faces of many of her Ballymare friends who were chattering excitedly, their affection reaching out and wrapping her in a welcome warmth. Many were from the hotel where she and her mother worked—and where she and Trader had met when he’d come to stay.

But to the right swirled an alien clutch of salon-smooth complexions, exclusive clothes, designer hats and discreetly wafting perfumes that denoted Trader’s few guests. Her solemn eyes swept over them in astonishment because she’d never expected such affluence. But Phoenix had said Trader courted the rich, like her father used to. Did Trader also live beyond his means, toadying to the wealthy? She didn’t know. God help her, she didn’t know.

‘By Jiminy, there’s a few million pounds represented there!’ gloated her father triumphantly in her ear. ‘Clever girl!’

‘Jack!’ Claire’s cheeks burned with mortification. One of Trader’s guests had flinched at her father’s remark.

Miserably she walked at a funeral pace down the long aisle, between the stunning displays of blue and cream flowers that adorned each pew and which drowned her in heavy perfume.

And finally she found the courage to look at Trader. Seeing the heart-stopping spread of his broad back in the beautifully tailored morning coat, she felt the tension in her fingers miraculously ease. Slowly her hand uncurled, longing to touch that neat, dark curve of hair above his tanned neck and to relax the unnatural stiffness of his head.

Oh, God, how she loved him! Her anguished eyes burned into his back. If he’d turn round, she reasoned, everything would be all right. Even at this eleventh hour it would be a joy to find her worries wiped away. She didn’t want to hurt anyone today; not her mother, her father, her friends, Trader…herself.

Turn, Trader! she pleaded. He must know she was there! Her satin-clad feet were tapping on the grating, her many petticoats were rustling. Everyone else was looking! Didn’t he care?

‘Oh, Trader!’ she breathed plaintively.

‘Claire, darling!’ whispered someone close by. With a start, Claire recognised the warm tones of the woman Trader had lived with for most of his life. Phoenix’s beautiful, exotic face swam into focus. ‘You look ill! Should you be here?’

Claire went limp with gratitude. Someone cared. ‘No,’ she husked. Her tongue flickered nervously over pale, dry lips and she gazed at the raven-haired Phoenix, pleading to be saved from her nightmare.

Before that could happen, her father’s strong, expensively tanned hand reached out and patted hers and even he—insensitive to the condition of other people—could see that it was pale and trembling where it lay against the cascades of cream and pastel blue flowers that were appliquéd on to the fabric.

‘Pull yourself together, sweetie!’ he growled.

She was together. That was the trouble. Her rational mind had woken up and it was discovering all the flaws in her dream. Her love had been too unconditional, too trusting. She was an unsophisticated chambermaid. Trader was handsome and desirable.

Like her father! And he’d never been faithful…

Quite suddenly, Trader turned, jerking around with a sharp, impatient movement. She gave a small gasp of hope and her heart quickened its beat. But there was a frown instead of the usual look of adoration on his dark and handsome face; a frown that was replaced by a chilling stare as his eyes swung between her and her tense father. And the hatred between the two men blasted down the aisle with a shockingly tangible force.

‘Oh, no!’ she moaned, panicking.

Blindly, consumed by an unspeakable dismay, Claire tugged her hand from her father’s arm and half-whirled around, hampered by the trailing material and the weight of the long, flower-strewn train. She would run! She’d get into her car, leave Ballymare and never come back!

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Second-Best Bride

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Table of Contents

“Say you’ll marry me now. Or I’ll have to walk out of your life forever. “

Second-Best Bride Sara Wood

CHAPTER ONE

Second-Best Bride
Sara Wood