MAIL ORDER BRIDE: ARISTOCRAT: The Duke’s Engagement (Historical Victorian Duke Romance) (New Adult Romance Short Stories) (5 page)

A bitter smile curved his mouth.  Maybe he had something in common with this place after all.  He’d heard his parents talking last night about selling some of their stock.  Not for a vacation or to do some of the repairs the old place desperately needed, but simply to pay the bills that were piling up.  Feed and seed bills, utility bills, the payment for the tractor that they would owe for another three years.  He’d left with plans to help them take care of all of that.  Now he was back, jobless and humiliated.  They’d been so proud of him when he’d left.

“Scott!” his mother called up the stairs.  “Suppers on the table!”

And he was simply another mouth to feed.  With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself upright and went down the stairs.  The paper was lying on the table and he picked it up, pulling the want ad section out.  Every day he hoped for something different, but there weren’t very many jobs in the farm town.

He was desperate enough to take anything now, but even that hadn’t turned up any luck.  The grocery store wasn’t even hiring.  He scanned the ads.  A law firm needed a paralegal, but he didn’t have the qualifications to do that.  And the local dentist’s office was hiring a hygienist.  He had even less qualifications there.  At least he’d been in court before.

His father laughed suddenly.  “Hey, I might have found you the perfect job,” he said as he looked over his own section of the paper.

Scott looked up eagerly and saw a large ad surrounded by roses.  “Looking for love?” It read in curlicue cursive.  “Come out to Cargill Estate Friday, April 22
nd
to meet Miss Catherine Cargill, our lovely daughter! The lucky chosen man will be her groom!”

              Scott stared at his father who was chuckling and then at his mother was looking at the paper with wide eyes.

              “That can’t be serious!” she said, dropping a pan of cornbread onto the table. “No one in this day and age would--”

              “That’s the Cargills for you,” Eric said with a shake of his head. “Nothing crazier than a person with money and too much time on their hands.”

              Linda shook her head too. “All the money from those hotels and this is how he spends it? Publicity to marry off his daughter?”

              Scott took a thick slab of cornbread and crumbled it into his potato soup. “Hotels?”

              Linda handed him a napkin. “You know who he is,” she said. “All those luxury hotels? From the rocky peaks of Vail to the shores of Hilton Head,” she said in a refined and soft toned voice. “Come and relax while the Cargills take care of your every need...and want.”

              “Oh,” he said, plunging his spoon into his bowl of soup with a grin at his mother’s acting. “Yeah, I’ve seen that commercial.”

              She smiled back before dishing up her own bowl of soup. “And just think!” she said dramatically. “You could marry into all of that! Scott Cargill, hotelier!”

              He laughed, but the idea stuck with him. Not the idea of running a chain of hotels...that seemed like much more trouble than it was worth...but the idea of being the one to win Catherine Cargill’s hand. With that much money at her disposal, she could help out the ranch. And if she was disinclined to do it...well...even with a good prenup, the other half usually got a good settlement in these cases. He barely tasted the rest of his meal. Maybe he wasn’t quite out of options yet.

Chapter Two:

              Scott stood outside the Cargill mansion staring. There was a massive wrought iron gate and an impeccable lawn stretched behind it. The Cargill’s actually had a fountain. He hadn’t thought people really bought fountains.

Or that the fountains they bought could look like they were worth more than his father’s truck. This one was gold. A huge fish stood on its tail in the middle, spurting water liberally into the air.

He pressed the buzzer and a cool voice asked his name.

He leaned forward, trying to match the accent less voice. “Scott Lawson. I’m here to meet with the Cargills about--” The gate swung open and the voice talked over him.

“Come in. Through the front door, first hallway on your right.”

“Okay.” It was pointless to answer, because the intercom had already been cut off.

Scott took a breath and walked up the driveway. The first hallway on his right turned out to be what he would have called a living room, but what the butler had called a drawing room. A butler, for God’s sake. He hadn’t thought people had those anymore than they had fountains.

He wasn’t the only man in the room. It was a big room, but there were at least 20 other men milling around it. Some of them, leaning near the fireplace, were talking together. In their well cut suits and with their soft hands, he knew that they came from money as well. He couldn’t figure out why they were here.

Some men stood in corners, not looking at anyone else, seeming twitchy. He’d had a friend on base that got twitchy like that when he wanted a smoke. They were more obviously there for the money.

He walked over to a large window and looked out. So far so good. He was the only man in uniform. He adjusted his crisp Navy whites just slightly, making sure that they were straight.

“What branch?” a man to his right asked.

“Navy,” Scott said. And then, unable to resist. “SEALS.”

“Hell, every woman goes crazy over a man in uniform,” the man said with an unfriendly smirk. “Wish I’d thought to dig one up. Maybe hit the Army/Navy supply store.”

Scott gritted his teeth, determined not to speak. Even more determined to keep his hands to himself. The last thing he needed to do was start a fight and call too much attention to himself. There was a chance...slight...but a chance, that they would take him at face value. That they wouldn’t go digging through his career.

He’d earned his uniform. Every stripe and bar on it too. But there was more to it than met the eye and he really didn’t want to have to explain himself before he had the money in his hands.

Chapter Three:

More than half the men in the room had gone before Scott heard his name called by the impeccable butler. He followed the man down a hallway lined with Oriental rugs and then stepped into a room lined with books. The Cargill’s didn’t seem to believe in having empty spaces.

“Come in, come in,” called a red haired man. “Scott...Lawson,” he said, looking at a sheet on his desk. “Military man, eh?”

Scott resisted the urge to ask if Andrew Cargill thought he’d picked up the dress uniform at the Army/Navy store and settled for a nod. There was a blonde woman behind the desk, but there was no way that this was Catherine. Though the woman hid her age cleverly, Scott knew that she had to be in her middle 40’s. Her pale blue eyes scanned him as if he was merchandise on sale.

“Have a seat,” she said at last, gesturing to a leather chair in front of the desk.

“Thanks.” He sat down and looked around. There was no one else in the room. Wasn’t he even going to get to see the woman he was hoping to marry?

“Sorry!” A voice said from behind him. “I had to step out for just a--”

She trailed off as Scott stood up. He’d taken off his hat and now he almost dropped it as he put it under one arm and held his other hand out to her. Catherine Cargill was gorgeous.

Red hair fell down her back in waves and her large green eyes looked boldly into his. Her skin was pale and fair, telling him that the red hair was natural. Though she’d tried to cover them with makeup, he saw a faint dusting of freckles across her small nose.

“Scott Lawson,” he said, his voice a little rough.

“Catherine Cargill,” she replied, leaving her hand in his for a little longer than she really needed too.

His hand still felt warm when she took her seat at the side of the desk. In what world did this woman need help finding a husband? There should have been men packing that drawing room constantly, and not out of a desire for money.

“Navy?” she asked as her father dug through some papers.

He nodded, but he didn’t have time to say anything else. Mavis Cargill had cleared her throat and Andrew Cargill’s questions began.

“How long have you been in the military?”

“I joined when I was 18.”

“What are you doing here? Obviously you must be on leave,” Mavis put in.

“Yeah,” he said. “My parents needed some help on their farm.”

Catherine leaned forward. “Their farm?” she repeated.

He glanced at her, hoping that he wouldn’t see scorn on that beautiful face. He didn’t. He saw open, avid, interest.

“They raise cattle and corn and wheat,” he said. “Up closer to the mountains.”

Catherine opened her mouth to continue, but her father spoke over her, while her mother waved her into silence.

“I guess we don’t need to ask about your health,” Andrew said. “The Marines will have checked all that, right?”

“Navy,” Scott corrected automatically. “And yes, but I’m happy to see any doctor you choose.” And pay for, he thought, but he didn’t add that part. “Clean as a whistle with no health issues at all.” That was the absolute truth. Health had not been the reason for his discharge 6 months ago.

The questions went on. What had he done before the military? Worked the farm. That was true. What had made him decide to enlist? He’d wanted to help defend the country he loved. That was almost entirely true. Money had been a factor, but not the only one. What had made him decide to answer the ad? Curiosity. That was a blatant lie. What did he think made him stand out above the other candidates?

“I’m not sure,” Scott admitted. “I don’t know them. I just know that I’d really like to get to know Catherine.” He looked at her as he spoke and she smiled before glancing back down at her lap.

“Interesting interview,” Andrew said, standing up. “We’ll be letting you know. We’ve got a lot more people to see!”

Scott nodded, standing up too. The butler appeared in the doorway. How had he known that Scott was supposed to be leaving? If there was a bell, Scott hadn’t heard it.

Suddenly, Catherine held out her hand to him. “It was nice to meet you,” she said quickly.

“It was nice to meet you--” he stopped briefly when he felt a stiff piece of paper graze his palm. He pretended that he’d had to clear his throat. “Excuse me. Nice to meet you too,” he finished.

He waited until he was outside on the lawn to read the note. It was written on a sheet of unlined pink paper with Catherine Cargill engraved at the top in a darker rose. The handwriting was neat and easy to read.

“I feel like an idiot even doing this,”
the note read.
“But do you think that we could meet later? If you look to your left from our front door you’ll see a path. If you follow that path, you’ll find a gazebo. I’ll be there tonight. 2 a.m.”
A scrawl of a signature and then,
“P.S. Please don’t think I’m insane...you’re the first guy all day that’s been even remotely likeable.”

Scott glanced down the path. He knew better than to try to explore the grounds right now, and there was no way that he could just saunter up the front lawn at 2 a.m. Luckily for her...and for himself...he was great with getting into and out of tight spots. He committed as much of the estate to memory as he could, and then headed out, strolling casually around the perimeter. The fence was high, but he was confident that he’d find a way to meet her that night.

Chapter Four:

At exactly 2 a.m. Scott dropped over the wall at the back and waited to see if anyone had heard. He figured that Catherine would have told him if there were guard dogs roaming the place at night, ready to tear him limb from limb, but you could never be too careful. Maybe she’d decided to pick off her suitors one by one so that she didn’t have to get married.

He straightened up when he didn’t hear any noise and walked over to the gazebo. She was facing away from him, toward the path she’d told him to take. He could see her profile in the low lights she’d turned on. He’d been afraid that somehow he’d imagined how beautiful she was. That, in the stress of the moment and his relief that she wasn’t some braying imbecile, he’d thought that she was prettier than she was. He hadn’t. The low lights brought out the golden in her red hair and her figure was amazing in a long straight dress. He thought it was probably made out of silk, or satin, or something because it clung to her body.

His heart hammered in his chest and he had to remind himself that this wasn’t a date. This was...this was...he didn’t know. A business meeting? But he planned to marry this woman for her money and God only knew why she was marrying him. The last thing he needed to do was let it get personal.

He stepped up into the gazebo and she whirled around at the noise.

“I’m sorry!” he said quickly, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She put her hand on her chest and gave him a small smile. “Where did you come from?”

Her jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the wall. “Went over that. There was no way I could have gotten in the front; I saw the cameras.”

Catherine bit her lip. “Those are new.  I’d forgotten about them.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I figured that you weren’t trying to set me up.”

She gestured for him to sit down and she dropped into the swing, facing him where he sat on the low bench that ran the length of the gazebo wall.

“You changed clothes,” she said, pushing the swing gently, so that she rocked just a bit closer.

“Do you know how hard it is to keep an all white uniform clean?” he asked with a grin. “And you changed too.”

He kept having to struggle to keep his eyes on hers. The dress was frustratingly cut. Low, but not low enough. He could just see the swell of her breasts at the neckline.

“You look nice,” they both said at the same time.

She laughed. It was a light, soft laugh and he discovered that he loved the sound of it.

“I think you look a little better than me,” he said, glancing down at his jeans and his plain black tee shirt.

Her eyes skimmed him before she looked up once more. “I don’t know,” she said. “I feel like you’d probably look good in anything.”

Scott’s heart rate kicked up again. “So,” he said, trying to sound businesslike. “What did you ask me here for?”

Catherine’s smile, which had lingered after giving him a thorough once over, vanished. She leaned back in the swing and sighed.

“I guess I wanted to warn you,” she admitted.

“Warn me?” Maybe there were guard dogs waiting to tear him apart.

“This whole...wedding thing...” She took a deep breath. “It’s basically a scam.”

His eyebrows went up. “How?”

“On two parts.” She rubbed her right hand down her left arm, looking away from him. “My parents want a reality show. They’re already in talks. There was a camera in the room for all of the interviews today. They plan to marry me off in front of the world.”

“Good God, why?” Scott demanded. “They’re not rich enough?”

“They’re never rich enough,” she said dryly. “But that’s not the point. They just want the attention. We’ve got the Hiltons and the Kardashians. They want to show the world the Cargills.”

Scott shook his head in disgust. “Okay,” he said. “So what’s the other part of their little scheme?”

Her fingers twisted together in her lap. “The other part is mine.”

That surprised him even more. He hadn’t taken her for the scheming type at all.

“When my parents started talking about this, of course I said no. What kind of person in this day and age arranges a marriage?” She demanded rhetorically.

“So what changed your mind?”

She sighed and began to push the swing again. The slight movement made her skirt sway and he saw several inches of long, gorgeous leg.

“Money,” she said bluntly. When he started to speak, she held up her hand. “Money of my own. To do whatever I want with. It will be put into an account that they can’t reach. It’s iron clad; I brought in a lawyer to advise me.”

“You didn’t have that before?” he asked, unable to quite believe what he was hearing.

Catherine shook her head. “No. My mother bought everything she thought I needed. I’ve never had a penny in my life. Not that I wasn’t told exactly what to do with, anyway. I was allowed to treat my friends to trips and shopping, but I wasn’t ever allowed to buy jeans or go anywhere but an island on vacation, or adopt a child.”

At his surprised look, she smiled. “I was 12 when I wanted to do that. I mean from those programs where you send money to them. They stay with their parents. Of course, now, I wouldn’t mind adopting for real...when I’ve found the man I really do want to marry.” She looked up at the gazebo ceiling and said, “So my plan is to marry the man, get my money, divorce him, and walk away. Free.”

“I see,” he said, leaning back and looking at her.

She bit her lip, then her thumbnail. “Well?” she finally demanded.

“Well, what?”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that you were smart to bring in a lawyer,” he said honestly.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Go ahead and tell me that I’m a horrible woman for marrying someone just for money!” she said, standing up and beginning to pace. “You don’t know what my parents are like! I’d never get out any other way!”

“Probably not,” he agreed easily, watching her move with feline grace around the small gazebo.

“I wouldn’t!” she said, as if he’d argued with her. “They’d just control me and control me and control me forever! No one would look down on me for leaving if money wasn’t involved!”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“I hate money!”

He shrugged. “I’m not really on speaking terms with it myself.”

It suddenly occurred to her that Scott wasn’t disagreeing. She stopped pacing and stood looking at him. “It really doesn’t bother you that I’d marry someone I don’t even know for money?”

He looked up at her, his dark blue eyes meeting her wide green ones. “Darlin’,” he said. “What do you think all those guys showed up for today?”

She dropped back onto the porch swing in a swirl of skirts and wearing a stunned expression. “Why didn’t I think of that?” she asked.

“Because you’re used to people using you, probably.”

“What about you?” she asked quietly. “What did you want to use me for?”

That hit like a punch in the gut, but he knew that he had to be honest. “My parents farm is in trouble. More trouble than I can get it out of. I was hoping that you’d be able to help me out with that.”

Catherine looked at him seriously. “Do you mean that? You really just want to help your family?”

He nodded. “I really do.”

She smiled suddenly. “You know what? You’ve got an accent...not a strong one, but there’s a little bit of a drawl when you talk about home.”

Scott rubbed his hand over his jaw, feeling a little self conscious. His cowboy accent had gotten him teased mercilessly in the military. He’d thought that he’d finally eliminated it.

“I like it,” Catherine said quickly. “It’s...it’s pretty sexy.” Then, as if she had embarrassed herself, she stood up again. “Well, I guess I’d better say goodnight.” She brushed her hair back off of her slightly pink face and headed for the steps of the gazebo. It was only when her back was to him, that Scott realized how much he wanted her to stay.