Substitute Bride (Beaufort Brides Book 2) (10 page)

Rose was jittery and a little dizzy, and she was more and more
nervous about James, who still wasn’t reacting at all. “Maybe. I don’t know.
But it seems silly to do that to them when it’s not a good idea to begin with.
Why can’t we just tell everyone the truth?”

“You’ve been trying, haven’t you?” Deanna asked, looking
torn between Mitchell’s idea and what Rose was saying.

“Yeah. It doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe some sort of
public statement…”

“No one will believe it,” James said, speaking for the first
time in a long time and surprising all of them.

Rose turned to him breathlessly. “What do you mean?”

“No one will believe it. Genevieve has laid the groundwork
exactly right. Anything I say or do is going to be taken wrong—as some sort of
survivor’s guilt that’s being channeled the wrong way. She isn’t going to stop,
so this is just going to go on indefinitely—until the girls end up getting
really hurt by it. We need to nip it in the bud and take her advantage away.”

“How?” Rose asked, swallowing hard and suddenly knowing what
he would say.

“Mitchell’s right. This could do it. We could tell the girls
most of the truth and then just play the ruse out until the gossip is over and
Genevieve has given up. If I’m publically engaged to someone else, then she can
hardly go around saying I’m still engaged to her. I think she’d be humiliated
enough to just back off.”

“Do you think so?” Rose wasn’t sure. Genevieve seemed on the
edge enough to not be trusted to act rationally in any situation.

“Yeah. So, if you’re willing, maybe we can do it. We could
get engaged for a few weeks and then go back to normal after it’s all over.”

“Could I still be your nanny afterwards?” Rose asked, almost
trembling as she realized what was happening. “I wouldn’t want to do something
that would make it impossible for me to keep my job.”

“Of course,” James said, looking surprised. “There’s no way
in the world I’d want to lose you.”

James wondered if he’d finally lost
his mind as he showered and got dressed for his first outing with Rose in their
fake engagement.

It was a ridiculous plan. Maybe it was the kind of plan an
eccentric, old-fashioned grandmother might come up with, but it certainly
wasn’t a plan that two sensible people should entertain for more than a few
seconds.

But yesterday, as he’d been sitting on the back porch of the
Beaufort house and listening to Rose talk to her sister and brother-in-law, it
had seemed like the only possible answer for their situation. It had made
perfect sense and would work out with minimal consequences. And, after it was
over, everyone could return to their proper slots in his life, with Genevieve’s
slot removed completely.

After all, people ended engagements all the time. So he
would have ended two engagements in one year. Surely men had done that before.
People would just say he still wasn’t over the death of his wife.

Maybe they were right.

He’d been planning to marry Genevieve since she’d seemed
like the best fit for the image of the wife he had in mind—an image that was
based entirely on Melissa. He could see now that he’d latched onto her for the
same reasons Marta and William had—she’d been a substitute for what they’d
lost.

But he could see clearly now. And maybe a fake engagement
with Rose wasn’t any stranger or more artificial than his first engagement with
Genevieve.

After this, he might just give up on romantic relationships
completely. He clearly wasn’t any good at them, and they just seemed to lead
him into trouble.

He’d spent his life following his gut, but his gut was
clearly failing him where women were concerned.

It would be easier if he still didn’t want Rose so much.
Maybe then he could make a rationale decision. But the truth was his body and
heart had heard the idea of Rose being his fiancée and jumped at the chance—as
if all of him were desperate for her.

Maybe he was. Maybe everything but his brain was desperate.
But he still needed his brain to make his decisions, since he had two little
girls who would be affected by any decision he made.

It was too late to back out of the engagement now. They’d
announced it in the local paper this morning, and his phone had been buzzing
with curious inquirers. He and Rose needed to go out tonight and act like a
couple in love, and then the deal would really be sealed, no matter what
Genevieve tried to do to stop it.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t do anything, although he was afraid
that was too much to hope for.

He dressed in khakis and a black dress shirt, hoping he
looked decent and Rose wouldn’t think he was too sloppy or unimpressive. Then
he headed downstairs to where the girls were waiting, grinning at the idea of
this new plan that they didn’t fully understand.

“Where are you and Rose going to, Daddy?” Jill asked.

“We’re going to dinner and then maybe somewhere for dessert.”

“What will you get for dessert?” Julie asked, following up
on the most interesting part of his answer—to her, at least.

“I’m not sure. Maybe ice cream. Or cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes!” Julie cried. “Bring us back one!”

“You’ll be in bed by the time we get back.”

“Oh.” Julie looked crestfallen.

“We can eat it tomorrow,” Jill said soberly, causing Julie
to perk up again.

“We’ll see,” James said, smiling down at his girls and
hoping that nothing stupid he did would end up hurting them. “I make no
promises.”

“Please!”

“Please what?” Rose asked curiously, as she came down the
stairs.

James glanced up automatically and then froze as his eyes
landed on her, dressed in a sleek black skirt and clingy green top that hugged
all of her curves.

He wanted her. Every part of him seemed to want her so much.
And, no matter how wrong he kept telling himself it was, the feeling just
wouldn’t go away.

“Oooh, Rosie, you look beautiful!” Jill cried.

“Beautiful!” Julie echoed.

“Thank you, girls,” Rose said with a smile. She looked
poised and not nearly as self-conscious as James would have expected, given the
situation. “You all are going to be good for Kelly, aren’t you? You’re going to
play nicely and not fight.”

“We’ll be good,” the girls promised.

“Kelly is going to be give me a full report when we get
back, so I expect you to keep that promise,” James said, leaning down to kiss
them both.

Kelly was already here, starting to put together some things
for the girls’ dinner, so James said goodbye and told them to run help Kelly.
They did so willingly, laughing about how surprised their daddy would be when
he came home and got a perfect report on their behavior.

“They seem okay,” James murmured, watching them disappear
into the kitchen.

“They seem to think it’s a game, which is good because it
means they won’t take it so seriously.” Rose’s eyes lingered on his face for a
minute before she dropped them. “You look really nice.”

He couldn’t help but be pleased by the words. He’d never
really cared about his appearance much in the past—except always trying to
straighten up his clothes because Melissa liked him to look put together—but
for some reason he wanted to look good for Rose. He wanted her to want him as
much as he wanted her.

That made him think of something else.

He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the ring he’d
bought on his way home from work. He hadn’t had time to commission a ring, so
he had to pick one that was already made. He knew he couldn’t choose a diamond.
Rose would never have accepted an expensive ring from him—not for a fake
engagement—so he’d chosen an amethyst on white gold, the glinting purple stone
beautifully set in a graceful, simple band. It reminded him of Rose—lovely and
mild, full of rich beauty that wasn’t obvious on the surface.

“You better put this on,” he said, a little gruffly,
suddenly feeling awkward about the whole ridiculous scheme. “No one will
believe we’re engaged if you don’t have a ring.”

She stared at the ring with a mingling of awe and confusion.
“It’s…it’s beautiful. But...but you shouldn’t have…I mean, where did it come
from?”

Feeling like an idiot now and not about to admit he’d made a
point of finding a ring that was exactly like her, he mumbled, “It was just
around. You need something. Just put it on.”

He saw her fingers tremble as she slipped the ring on her
left hand, and he was relieved to see that it fit. He’d had to guess about her
size.

“Okay,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Good thinking.”

Something had changed about her—something inexplicable—and
it worried him. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, doing his best to sound natural.

“Sure. Maybe if we treat it as a game too, we can get
through it.”

Something about her words spurred a flicker of worry.
“You’re okay with this, aren’t you?”

“It’s a little too late to pull back if I’m not,” she said,
amusement in her voice.

He’d been opening the door for her but he paused, holding
her gaze. “You need to tell me right now if this isn’t all right for you. You
know you don’t have to do this to keep your job or anything.” He felt an
intense stab of guilt and cursed under his breath. “Shit, I never should have
agreed to this. We can just call it off and say it was a practical joke or
something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, James,” she said, reaching up to put a
hand on his chest. “I didn’t feel any pressure. I wanted to do it. I want this
situation resolved as much as you do. My grandmother got us into it, after
all.”

“No, she didn’t. Me and my baggage got the ball rolling, so
you shouldn’t take any blame on yourself. Don’t do it out of guilt or
anything.”

“It’s not out of guilt. It’s really fine.”

“You’re sure?” He reached up to cup her face so he could see
every emotion in her expression.

“I’m sure,” she said, her eyes unwavering. “So stop stalling
and let’s get going.”

She looked like she was telling the truth, and James had no
choice but to believe her. She was going to be his fiancée—at least for
tonight.

***

Rose had been really nervous about
the evening out with James, but the whole thing ended up going fine. They went
to one of the most popular restaurants in the city—where they could be sure to
be seen by the most people—and then they walked around some downtown streets
until they found a cupcake place. They ate cupcakes and bought two to take home
for the girls.

They had wine with dinner and champagne with the cupcakes so
both of them were a little tipsy on the way home, as they sat in the backseat
and laughed about a couple of James’s acquaintances whom they’d seen tonight.
Both men seemed very impressed with his “score,” a fact that Rose couldn’t help
but be flattered by.

She’d never in her life considered herself a “score” before.

The only bad moment was when James had given her a ring that
must have belonged to his wife. It obviously wasn’t an engagement ring. It was
beautiful and Rose would have loved it, but she didn’t want one of his wife’s
leftovers, something he’d just grabbed to meet a need. She didn’t want to be
some sort of substitute or replacement, filling a gap left in his life by his
wife, and the ring made her feel that way.

She’d stopped thinking about it now, though, and the rest of
the evening had been just fine.

When the car felt like it was spinning around her, she
realized she’d probably drank a little too much. Her brain was buzzing
pleasantly, and James seemed particularly relaxed and sexy, sitting beside her
with his collar unbuttoned and the front of his shirt wrinkled.

She wanted to brush out the wrinkles. After several moments
of pondering, she decided the best thing to do was to reach over and do just
that.

James stared down at her hand as she pressed it against his
shirt.

She stared down at it too, startled by the sight of her pale
skin and neat, unpolished fingernails against the fabric.

His body beneath the shirt felt firm, hard, really nice.

It was a minute before she realized she was supposed to be
brushing out the wrinkles.

She glanced up to his face and saw he was looking at her.
“Your shirt was wrinkled,” she told him, by way of explanation.

“Oh. It’s not much better now.”

“It’s a little better.” She rubbed at the fabric, to prove
her point. It was still wrinkled.

“Not it’s not.” His voice was warm, very appealing. “Not
that I’m complaining.”

“You like wrinkled shirts?”

“Not really.”

“But you said you weren’t complaining about having a
wrinkled shirt.”

He moved his hand until he was covering her hand on his
belly. “I wasn’t complaining about you trying to fix it.”

“I’m good at fixing things.”

“I know you are.”

“I’m not good at being a fiancée.” She heard the words and,
to her own ears, they sounded kind of silly, like she might be a little too
inebriated to be articulate and coherent.

James seemed to understand them, though. He leaned forward,
a deliciously rough texture in his voice. “I beg to differ.”

She was feeling far too soft and melty, so she decided she
needed to lighten the mood. “Who says that?”

“Says what?”

“Beg to differ.”

He blinked at her. “I said that.”

“I know you said it, and I said who says that?”

He took deep breath and thought through this enigma. “Oh.
Clearly I say that, even if no one else does.”

“Well, that’s good. Got to keep the snotty colloquialisms
alive.” She was particularly pleased with landing on a word as impressive as
“colloquialism” in her condition.

“I’m full of snotty colloquialisms,” he said, leaning back
against the seat and smiling at her.

She leaned forward, drawn irresistibly toward his rare
warmth. “Good to know.”

She wanted to touch him, but that seemed far too dangerous,
so she contented herself with brushing at the wrinkles of his shirt again.

This seemed to progress to rubbing his chest, until her hand
moved higher and she was stroking his jaw.

She heard his breath hitch as her fingers ran lightly over
his lips. She suddenly realized what she was doing, so she quickly pulled her
hand back.

Before she had time to think through the significance or be
embarrassed, he pulled her hand back toward his face. “Why did you stop?”

Part of her knew that he was affected by the alcohol, just
like she was. Not enough for them to be out of control, but enough for their
inhibitions to be seriously down. But that part of her got drowned by all the
rest of this. “I was touching your lips,” she whispered.

His hazel eyes had gone hot—so hot they made her gasp. “So
keep touching them.”

She stroked the tips of her fingers over the thin line of
his mouth, the light touch strangely provocative. Her skin flushed and a
pleasant pressure was developing between her legs. She’d never felt anything
like it before—not from just caressing someone.

He seemed to be affected by the touch too. He let out a
hoarse sigh that was almost a groan, and then reached up to take her hand and
guide it to stroke the rest of his face. His skin was rough with slight
bristles and warm, and she felt like sighing at the feel of the texture against
her hand and fingertips.

Finally, he lifted her hand and pressed a little kiss
against the palm. It was vaguely gallant, but far more intimate than a kiss on
the knuckles.

“Do I get to touch you now too?” he murmured, his mouth
still pressed against her palm.

“God, yes,” she gasped, arching her spine slightly as so
many erotic sensations ran through her.

He straightened up and moved his hand so he was brushing his
fingers over her lips. It felt similarly light, intimate, deliciously
tantalizing. Then he was stroking her face, and she was dropping her head
backward to expose her neck. He caressed her neck, which felt so good she
unconsciously pushed her chest out. Her nipples were tight and tingling with
the need to be touched.