Satin Doll (43 page)

She glared at him uncomprehendingly. “Who’s Morgan, for God’s sake?”
 

“The car. My automobile you hate so much. I’ll buy you a nice Bentley, sweetheart. You’ll like that better.”
 

“I don’t want a Bentley, I want Inspector Chiswick back!” Sam shouted. “I want Chip, that’s all I ever wanted!”
 

His eyes seared her. “I know, Samantha, that’s why I’m marrying you. I’ve found the one woman who loves me for myself. Can’t you understand that?”
 

Sam gave up and let him kiss her hand, his warm, hard mouth caressing her fingers. She slumped down in her chair. It was Chip, she thought numbly. A cop, an earl, a lord and all those things he’d said. It was unbelievable. He’d wanted her to love him for himself, and that’s why he hadn’t wanted to tell her. And she’d given up everything for him, for love, and now look what had happened.
 

“Oh damn, it’s real, isn’t it?” she whispered, tears standing in her eyes. “I’ve been tricked!”
 

“You haven’t been tricked, darling,” he said huskily. “Please don’t think that. You’re a lovely, brave girl and beautiful and intelligent. You’ll get used to it. Try to see life from the other side and be generous, can’t you? We’re not all bad.”
 

She shook her head. “I can’t be a lady anything,” she moaned. “It’s ridiculous. It’s un-American. I’m giving up everything I’ve ever wanted!”
 

“No, you’re not. You’ll have your boutique, my love. You’ll design clothes, be queen of Carnaby Street, I promise you.” He pried open her hand and kissed each finger tenderly, his black eyes glowing. “You can work hard, travel with me, have my children—”
 

“I have a terrible family. They’re poor,” she cried. “My father’s a rodeo bum. Two of my brothers have been in jail!”
 

“Three of my ancestors were beheaded for treason, one was ambushed and hanged by his tenants in Ireland and my great-great grandfather was deported to Australia for embezzling,” he said, gripping her hand tightly. “Just tell me you love me, Samantha. I need you. I live a hard life in my business and I’m lonely. I want you to make me happy.”
 

She shook her head, too tearful to speak. He was looking at her with so much love in his handsome, devilish face that she knew that whatever his real name was, he would always be Chip to her. He was still the most powerful, wonderful, commanding, magnificent man she had ever seen. And rich, too, she thought wearily.
 

He picked up the napkin with his free hand and used it to wipe away the tears that were slowly sliding down her cheek. “Say it, Samantha,” he murmured. “Say you love me as I love you.”
 

She was aware that people around them in the Connaught dining room were watching them, that they’d caused a commotion wrestling over her hand, and now she was crying when Chip had expressly asked her not to make a scene. On the other hand, he didn’t look too unhappy about it, she noticed. In fact, he looked very happy indeed.
 

“I love you,” Sam choked.
 

After all her terrible mistakes, after all her driving ambition to find success and power and love, some quirky fate had hit her over the head with the whole bundle when she had least expected it. She’d been prepared to give up most of her dreams to be the wife of a cop, and Chip had sandbagged her.
 

“Is your name really Percy Bracegirdle?” she asked, resigned.
 

The man across the table looked at her warily. “That’s one way of putting it, yes, but not usually.”
 

Samantha sighed. “Well, all right,” she said, because she loved him, “I’ll try.” She had a sudden, unpleasant thought. “But do me a favor, will you?”
 

He looked cautiously, one eyebrow cocked. “What now, love?”
 

“For goodness sake don’t say that your name’s Percy Bracegirdle when we get to Wyoming, will you?”
 

He smiled. “What do you want me to say?”
 

She smiled back, her heart in her eyes. “Just that you’re Chip,” she said softly. “And my husband.”