His Brother's Fiancee. Jasmine Cresswell
this case. I got involved.”
“Running short of money, Jordan?”
He sent her a glance that was somewhere between cynical and indifferent. “I don’t need my father’s money. I have access to plenty of my own.”
“Got a new rich girlfriend?” she asked spitefully, then wondered why Jordan invariably managed to provoke her into bad behavior.
His smile betrayed not a twinge of shame. “Of course.”
She turned abruptly, more hurt than she understood or wanted to acknowledge. “Jordan, this conversation is crazy. I would like to go back to the family room so that we can start a serious discussion of exactly what we’re going to say to the guests tonight.”
“Before you worry about what you’re going to tell the guests, don’t you think you should at least tell your parents the truth?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Your engagement didn’t end by mutual agreement,” Jordan said. “Michael called it off. He left you absolutely no choice in the matter, and yet you’re still protecting him. Why? I don’t believe you love him that much.”
“How do you know Michael called off the engagement?” she demanded.
“You don’t lie very well, Emily. Besides, I’m a hundred percent sure you’d never have pulled a stunt like this hours before the ceremony was due to take place.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think—”
“Maybe not. But you already told me yourself that Michael was responsible.”
“I told you? Of course I didn’t—”
“‘Is the insanity you and your brother suffer from hereditary?’“ he quoted. “‘If so, I guess I should be grateful that Michael decided to dump me.’“
She had said that, Emily realized. It was yet another of the disconcerting things about being with Jordan. Her normal barriers seemed to crumble and she let drop information she would never have revealed to another person.
“I’m not protecting your brother,” she said tiredly.
“No? Seems to me he dumped you, knowing darn well you’d cover his ass. And he was right.”
She flushed. “There just doesn’t seem to be any point in getting everyone angry with everyone else. The engagement is over, there isn’t going to be a wedding, and we need to move on.”
“Good thinking,” he said. “Is that what you plan to say at the bridal dinner tonight?”
Jordan asked the question without expression, yet Emily reacted with a sickening lurch of her stomach. She knew she spent too much of her life worrying about making a good impression, but however much she wished she could throw the inhibitions of a lifetime out the window, she couldn’t. She cared that she was going to humiliate herself and her parents in front of a very large crowd of very important people.
To her dismay, her throat tightened and she felt tears well in her eyes. It had been an exhausting, emotion-charged day, and she was afraid that if she started crying, she would be sobbing hysterically within seconds. She fumbled in the pocket of her tailored pants for a tissue and remembered they were all in her purse, which was still in the family room.
The first tears started to roll down her cheeks. She ordered herself to stop crying, but before she could get herself back under control, Jordan was at her side.
“Don’t cry,” he said softly, taking her into his arms, stanching the flow of tears with his thumbs. “Come on, Em, cheer up. It’s only a bunch of stuck-up old geezers who aren’t worth worrying about.”
She would have expected mockery from Jordan, or at least indifference. His sympathy was so unexpected that it had the disastrous effect of shattering what small remnant of self-control she still possessed. Aware at some deep level that she was allowing herself to do something incredibly dangerous, she laid her head against Jordan’s chest and gave way to the luxury of a noisy, uninhibited bout of weeping.
She heard the tattoo of multiple footsteps coming down the hallway but paid no attention until the pounding began on the study door.
“What’s going on in there?” Michael demanded.
“Let us in!” her father said. “Emily, Jordan—it’s been fifteen minutes already.”
“Are you all right?” Raelene asked anxiously. “Emily, honey, I can hear you crying!”
Jordan’s arms tightened fractionally around her. “I have to let them in,” he said.
“Yes, I know you do.” She tried to drag herself back together again.
He held her at arm’s length, wiping away a final tear. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She looked at him, unsure of herself, but surprisingly unembarrassed. “Thanks, Jordan.”
“You’re welcome.” He unlocked the door and everyone spilled into the library.
“Why are you crying?” Michael demanded.
“What did you need to discuss so urgently with Emily, Jordan?” Amelia sounded barely more friendly to her son than she had been earlier when speaking to Emily.
Jordan was still standing close enough to her that she could see the almost imperceptible flicker of a muscle in his jaw. “We were deciding that Emily really needed to tell you the truth about her broken engagement,” he said.
Her father sent Jordan an approving look. “That’s about the only sensible remark I’ve heard so far today. Since you seem to know what’s going on here, and Emily won’t tell us, why don’t you explain why the wedding’s been called off at the last minute?”
Jordan clamped his arm around Emily’s waist. “She wants to marry me,” he said. “We’ve been trying to fight our feelings for each other, but we couldn’t. Since you have a wedding planned for tomorrow anyway, we were hoping you’d all agree to go ahead on schedule. Except with me as the substitute groom.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ON THE VERY DAY that Michael and Emily became engaged, Amelia Chambers announced her decision to host the prewedding bridal dinner at the San Antonio Federal Club. Founded the year after the Republic of Texas joined the United States, the club was originally intended as a meeting place for the city’s leaders, and its role hadn’t changed much during the 155 years of its existence. Its decor remained stuffy Victorian, with nineteenth-century English hunting prints on the walls, plaid carpet in the bar, and enough walnut paneling to rival a French château. The most powerful people in San Antonio still belonged to the club, and mere money wasn’t enough to get a person elected. For that, you needed the sort of connections the Chambers family had enjoyed for generations. Connections that Holt, Amelia and Michael Chambers continued to cultivate with painstaking care.
Sam Sutton, by contrast, had been too busy establishing a profitable business to waste time acquiring the type of friends who could get him drafted into the inner circle of San Antonio’s social elite. It was only in the past couple of years that he’d started to think how nice it would be to give Raelene the pleasure of belonging to the same snooty club where her granny had washed dishes during the Depression—and been grateful for any leftover food she was allowed to take home.
He had to admit he’d originally thrown Michael and his daughter together in hopes that they might hit it off, and he wouldn’t deny that it had been mighty useful when Emily decided to marry the guy. Holt Chambers’s offer to propose Sam for membership in the prestigious club would never have happened if Emily hadn’t been marrying his son, and the Laurel Acres deal would have been a lot more difficult to negotiate.
By the same token, it was darned inconvenient that his daughter had decided not to marry