The Cowboy's One Night Bride (3 page)

Well, this is it.

Jack opened the door and held out a hand. Anthony watched as a young lady with curly locks of thick, black hair emerged and daintily hopped out from the carriage. She was wearing a silken dress that made her bosom and ass look exquisite, even from a distance. As she turned her face in his direction, Anthony let out a gasp.

She was stunning, with flawless skin and sensual lips that curled into an uncertain smile.

She was also obviously not Chinese.

“Look, Mister Davies, she looks exactly like the princess in my book!”

As his prospective bride’s emerald green eyes met his stormy blue ones, he smiled with no apparent mirth.

“Yes, she does, Marie. Well, that’s a surprise.”

As he walked over to greet them, his mind was racing. This girl was obviously not the one whose description he had read in the form. Had there been a mix-up? Either way, someone had fucked up along the way, and he was going to find out who.

Chapter 3

Gianna’s heart was racing a mile a minute. Here he was: her future husband if everything went well. Extremely tall and tanned, he looked older than she expected. His shaggy brown hair was touched with silver and he was smartly dressed in a tweed vest, a pair of denim jeans and a pair of cowboy boots.

“Welcome back, Mrs. Beauchamp. I do apologize for troubling you this morning,” he murmured distractedly as he raised her hand to his lips in greeting, making the woman titter happily. Well, at least his manners were exquisite, and he was obviously well loved by his staff.

He turned towards her now. Gianna felt dwarfed as he towered over her, his dark blue eyes piercing as he ran them over her.

“And a very warm welcome to you,” he enveloped her hand in a firm, strong grasp. His lips were soft and warm as they brushed against her skin. Not used to such gentlemanly treatment, she blushed a little.

“Thank you, Sir. The pleasure is mine,” she bowed her head in greeting.

“Let’s dispense with the formalities,” his voice was strong and flowed like molasses. “You can call me Anthony, Miss …?”

As his voice trailed off questioningly, he raised an eyebrow. Gianna swallowed. This was the moment of truth.

“Feng Ling.” She prayed her voice reflected none of the nervousness she felt.

Raising both eyebrows now, he searched her face and she forced herself to hold his gaze.

“Feng Ling’s mother is Italian. Such a lovely mixture, isn’t it?”

Gianna could have hugged Mrs. Beauchamp. The old woman twinkled kindly at her and smiled reassuringly.

“Is that right? Yes, quite lovely.” Not releasing her hand, Anthony walked in the direction of the hotel and she matched her pace to his. As they reached the glass doors, she stared in wonderment at the stone statue to her side. It looked intimidating, with a flat nose and great mouth that opened to reveal sharp stone fangs, reminding her of a cat. One paw lined with sharp claws rested on an intricately carved ball.

“I trust you like the shishi?” he murmured as he followed her gaze. Confused, Gianna looked at him. His eyes flickered as he tipped his head towards the statue.

“Oh, yes,” she hastened, cursing herself for her carelessness. This must be one of those dreaded Chinese statue things that she was supposed to be familiar with. “Yes, it is beautifully crafted. I’ve never seen a bear quite so majestic and unique. It’s truly one of a kind.”

Raising an eyebrow in a quizzical expression, Anthony intoned, “Then you must not have noticed his exact twin.” Looking around him, she was dismayed to see the exact same statue in a mirrored pose.
Those cursed things must come in pairs.
Unsure of how to react, she jumped a little as Anthony guffawed loudly.

“Forgive me, my beauty. I have a weakness for bad jokes. Do come in, out of the sun.” He opened the glass door for her and stepped back with a little bow.

“After you.”

++++++++

Anthony wasn’t sure if the strong emotion that pulsed through him was one of rage or amusement. Perhaps both. One thing was for sure, she was a tricky little thing. She had obviously pulled the wool over the eyes of the unsuspecting Mrs. Beauchamp. He was surprised by the boldness behind the blatant lie as she revealed her name to him without so much as blinking. There was some steel behind this one, but if there was one thing Anthony hated, it was being lied to. He had deliberately tested her by using the less common name of the Chinese stone lions and derived some wicked pleasure at watching her squirm.
A bear.

This could be interesting.

As they entered the hotel lobby with Mrs. Beauchamp in their wake, Anthony turned to his false bride. Her flushed reaction to the stone-lion fiasco left her cheeks colored prettily pink and her long lashes framed her nervous eyes. Pleased at the impact he had on her, he nodded at his housekeeper.

“I’d like some time alone with my prospective bride,” he announced. Smiling brightly, the good Mrs. Beauchamp replied, “I’ll get Jack to send her suitcase up in a bit.”

“No need for that, I’ll take it from him now.” Anthony swiftly plucked the case from the stable boy’s hands. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Would you please ensure that we are not disturbed?” He called back as he ascended the staircase with his bride in tow. This earned him a tittering of assurances from his housekeeper, who no doubt had some assumptions of the activities they would soon be engaging in. He smirked inwardly. Oh, he had activities planned, alright.

“Right this way, my lovely
Feng Ling
,” he enunciated her name deliberately.

++++++++

To her dismay, Gianna followed Anthony up the flights of stairs. She hadn’t expected to be left alone with him so soon. Despite his polished politeness and well-mannered charm, there was an undercurrent in his actions that made her extremely nervous.

“If I may ask,” she whispered softly, “where are we going?”

“I thought we might have a chat in my study: get to know each other a little better.”

As they passed through the hallway on the third floor, he stopped to point out a particularly breath-taking painting on the wall.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” He gestured at the ink painting of a Chinese lady clad in a flowing, traditional costume. Her jet-black hair was tied in a complicated up-do and her willowy body was thin and delicate.

“An artist’s impression of Yang Guifei, the epitome of Chinese beauty.”

“Yes,” Gianna swallowed. She looked nothing like the lady in the painting and from the way his eyes roamed over her form, she was sure that he had considered this as well. “She is beautiful.”

Turning to face her, Anthony placed both his hands on her shoulders.

“And you are beautiful, too.”

Gently tucking a stray hair behind her ear, he leaned towards her. For a moment, Gianna wondered if he was going to kiss her. Instead, he whispered into her ear.

“In your own
different
way.”

Shit.
Before she could truly experience the fear that coursed through her veins, he was leading her through a great room with a large fireplace and a leather sofa set. The walls were lined with bookshelves and paintings that obviously originated from China. A large crystal chandelier was the centerpiece of the room.

“This is the penthouse. It is my private home within this hotel.”

Tilting his head towards the door on the right, he told her, “That door leads to the bedroom.”

“But for now,” he continued as he led her towards the door on the left, “I thought we’d have our conversation in my study.

Retrieving a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door with a decisive click.

“Right this way,” he gestured for her to follow him.

Gianna stepped into the room and gasped. It looked like a museum, with a range of oddly intimidating knick-knacks, some hanging on the wall and others placed in glass displays. There was a large marble desk in the dead center of the room and a leather armchair on either side. Sitting on one, Anthony waved her towards the other.

“Please take a seat.” Gianna eyed him warily as she perched herself on the oversized chair. His words were polite but there was an edge of steel behind them which made her nervous.

“So,” Anthony leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs in a lazy fashion. “Where should we begin? I want to know more about my lovely bride-to-be.”

Her heart thumping an odd rhythm in her chest, Gianna replied, “As do I about you.”

“Fantastic.” There was something a little unsettling about his broad grin. “Before we start, there’s just something you should know about me.”

Anthony leaned forward in his chair, beckoning her closer. Gianna shuffled to the edge of her seat, unable to take her eyes off that hypnotic blue gaze.

“I don’t like liars.”

Frozen on the spot, she dug her fingernails into her palm so hard that she was surprised she didn’t break her skin.

Anthony’s sudden snort of laughter made Gianna jump.

“Well, that’s not exactly an exciting way to begin this little tête-à-tête, is it?”

Gianna forced herself to laugh along. Oh, he was an unsettling man, going from scary seriousness to mischievous mirth.

“I do apologize. I’m an old fogey. In fact, my daughter is always teasing me about it.”

“Your daughter, sir?” Gianna brightened. “Was she the little one I met in the lobby?”

“Oh goodness, no. No, my daughter is a mother herself. She’s perhaps some seasons younger than you. You are twenty, aren’t you?”

Surprised, Gianna nodded. She had estimated that he was quite a bit older than herself, but this was unexpected.
He’s old enough to be my father?
Try as she might, she couldn’t prevent the slightest curling of her lip.

“Does that bother you?” Anthony cocked his head to the side. “Knowing that I am so many years your senior?”

“No, Mr. Davies. It … it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

Gianna jumped as Anthony pounded his fist on the table. “Remember what I said,” he enunciated each word deliberately. “I. Don’t. Like. Liars.”

Feeling her temper rise despite herself, Gianna snapped. “Then yes, it does unsettle me, knowing that you’re probably as old as my father.”

Anthony laughed, throwing his head back. “Well, well. The little sparrow has some bite to her. Don’t worry, Gianna. I might be forty, but I can assure you that I am in excellent health, both mentally and physically. My finances are well in order, as is my reputation in this town. You will be very well taken care of, if I marry you.”

Gianna snorted inwardly. She had serious doubts about his mental health, given his somewhat psychotic mood swings. However, it was the word “if” that fixated her.
If
I marry you, he had said, not
when.

Opening his desk drawer, Anthony retrieved a set of documents. “This is the marriage paperwork. Our signatures on this will confirm our matrimony. Half of my assets will be in your name, and the rest of it will be divided amongst Annie and any children we might have.”

Children!
Gianna almost choked. She wondered how she hadn’t thought about something so obvious. She had been worrying so much about keeping up this facade that it never occurred to her that motherhood was something quite close in her future.

“Now,” Anthony held his pen over the paper, “I need to fill in our names, so it would very much oblige me if you could tell me your name.”

Lifting her eyebrows, Gianna stammered. “My … my name? I thought I told it to you.”

Anthony cocked his head. “I’m an old man, remember?” He stared at her unwaveringly. “Your name, please.”

Taking a deep breath, Gianna looked him straight in the eye.

“My name is Feng Ling.”

++++++++

Anthony threw his pen down on the table, watching in satisfaction as the girl jumped. Despite his anger, he couldn’t help feeling impressed by her vigor in sticking to her little tale. He had been deliberately unsettling but somehow, she had always recovered her composure. Was she doing this for money? Was she a seasoned con woman?

Slowly walking over to her, he stared her down. She looked so tiny and fragile in the chair.

“I’ll give you one last chance. What is your name?”

In spite of the slight tremor that animated her white face, the girl’s voice was steady as she spoke.

“My name,” she repeated, “is Feng Ling.”

His temper flaring, Anthony pulled the girl to her feet, ignoring her gasp of surprise and pain as he drew her close to him.

“You must think me a fool,” he said with his jaw clenched. “To think I would fall for your little tale. You’re as Chinese as I am a talking frog.”

“Let me go,” she struggled against his iron grip. “You’re hurting me.”

Anthony barked in laughter. “Hurting you?”
This girl is going to be so easy to break.
Gathering her up in his arms, he sat back on the table as he laid her face down across his knee. She struggled wildly against him as he pinned her down on his lap. The hem of her dress rose up high above her upper thighs, offering a tantalizing peek of her bottom. He felt his groin awakening with interest.

“I have given you numerous chances to own up to your deceit,” he said, satisfied as he felt her stiffen. “But fine. I’ll give you one final chance to convince me that you are who you say you are.”

“Let me up.” Her voice was strained as she tried to turn her head towards him. “Let me up, and we can have a decent conversation about this.”

Thwak!

The girl squealed as he brought his hand down sharply upon her shapely derriere.

“The time for mutual respect is over. Say your piece, or I will discipline the truth out of you.”

When the girl spoke again, her voice was laced with anger.

“I am Feng Ling. My mother is Italian, and my father is Chinese. I have my mother’s eyes and my father’s name.”

She cried out, as his palm went down again.