Regency Scandals. Sophia James
“I don’t need your interference. I need time.”
“You’re suffering from pretty severe mood swings.”
“My husband has been dead for a month.”
“But you won’t talk about your feelings, and you aren’t in control of them. At least trust me. Talk to me.”
“How can I talk to you when you’ve always pushed us away?”
“I’ve pushed you?” She and Jeff had sent him to boarding school when he was eight. They’d disapproved of every major decision he’d ever made. Discussion had led to recrimination and finally, to silence. He rejected his own thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to air his grievances. Whether or not she would admit it, Leota needed help. At least he could offer a watchful eye. “I’m not pushing,” he said. “I’m asking you to put the past behind us and trust me to help you.”
“You think getting me to see a therapist will help,” she said sarcastically. “I need you to do what your father wanted. If you don’t get married, we’ll lose everything that matters to me.”
Nick hesitated. His marrying Clair would drive her crazy, but at least he’d decided to comply with the will. “You’re right. I have to get married, but you’ll have to trust me to choose the right woman.”
Leota wiped her eyes. “Thank God. Who are you thinking of? Someone I know?”
“You can’t choose a wife for me.” His parents’ choices had been part of his reasons for avoiding marriage so far.
He didn’t want to hurt his mother, but he couldn’t settle for one of the women she and Jeff had paraded past him since college, all beautiful, with bloodlines Jeff approved of. Prepared to love him for his name and the wealth he’d inherit. Clair suited him better.
“I’ve met someone.” Taking Leota’s arm, he led her toward the door. He turned off the light as they went into the hall. “I’ll introduce you to her before I make a decision.”
“You have to look at the rest of her family, too, if you want your marriage to last. What kind of people are they?”
Distaste chipped at Nick’s patience. Had she always been this way, or was she taking Jeff’s stand? “You don’t have to worry yet. Will you let me make an appointment for you with the therapist I told you about?”
“I’m all right now that I know we’ll be able to keep what belongs to us.”
Her relief wouldn’t survive the mention of Clair’s name. So Nick didn’t tell her. She needed to rest. “Try to get a good night’s sleep tonight.”
“I’ll be fine now.”
No matter what he did, he’d hurt someone. He couldn’t marry a woman he didn’t love and pretend he cared for her, and Clair was the only woman he knew he could trust to stick to such a ludicrous bargain.
CLAIR FOUND Nick’s office down a side alley on the opposite end of Main Street from Paul’s shop. No one sat behind the receptionist’s counter or in the waiting room. She knocked on the glass that separated the reception area from the back office.
Nick appeared in a corridor to the left of the desk. When he saw her, his mouth thinned, but he opened the door for her.
“I didn’t expect you.”
“You don’t have a receptionist?”
“She works part-time.”
A muscle in Clair’s cheek twitched. “I spoke to Angus Campbell yesterday.”
“Angus is a good attorney.” Nick led her down the corridor to a small, forest-green-painted office. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Soda?”
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t sure she could swallow. “Angus suggested you and I should discuss specific terms.”
He sat on the edge of his desk. She declined the chair he offered, because she didn’t want to sit at a lower level than he. It put her at a disadvantage. As if he understood the political byplay in her mind, he sat in the chair next to her. Recognizing they were finessing each other—and getting nowhere—she gave in and sank into soft, tufted leather.
“Two terms,” he said. “Marry me, and pretend you want to.”
She tried to picture him as a husband. A woman couldn’t glance his way once and forget him, even if his attraction had more to do with the passion that simmered just barely beneath the surface control. Tall and lean, he had a maleness that distracted her. She couldn’t think of him as the man he was and go through with the marriage he needed. “How much do I have to pretend?”
His smile emphasized his strong jaw. Clair pushed her fingers down the arms of the chair. She ought to put more distance between them.
“In front of other people we’ll touch each other. Occasionally.” He swallowed. Talking about touching obviously bothered him, too.
“Selina told me you’ve moved back into your family home.” Clair had assumed he still lived there, so she was already as accustomed as she’d ever be to the idea of living on Dylan property.
“We’ll share a door,” he said. “I’ll make sure we have adjoining rooms.”
She threaded her fingers together. Her turn to demand. “I want to start repairing my house now. If I leave before our…before the time’s up, I wouldn’t expect you to repay me for any work I do.”
“If you leave?” He leaned forward. “What would make you leave? I don’t want to marry you and have to start over again in a few months.”
She tried to take his lead and think of marriage as a business deal. “I’m just saying if. I don’t know why I’d leave. Some emergency, maybe, but I don’t plan to leave.”
“Do you need time to think? I can’t make a mistake.”
She took a deep breath and held it. If she thought too long, she’d realize a house and land couldn’t be worth marrying the son of her family’s enemy. She wasn’t making dramas. She shouldn’t eat lunch with Nick Dylan, much less marry him.
“I can’t help it.” She met his gaze evenly. “I want my home and my past. I want my memories back.”
“You can’t remember your childhood without living in the house?”
His interest startled her, but again she should follow his example. She had to find a way to live with Nick Dylan for the next year.
“I’d rather not talk about my past or your father.”
Sitting back, Nick stretched his long legs in front of him. “I guess we have a few more terms to iron out before we meet with our attorneys.”
She curled her legs under her and pulled her skirt over them. “I’d like to move home as soon as we sign the prenuptial agreement.”
“But you’ll move into my house after the wedding?”
“Yes. I can sand all the floors downstairs before we put a wedding together.” Her skirt hid the way her knees shook every time she thought about marrying him.
This was the only way she’d ever get her home back.
“LISTEN, CLAIR, I wanted to talk to you alone because I have to assign you to a job at the Dylans’.”
She blinked. When Paul had asked her to his office, she thought she might have done something wrong on an assignment. “What kind of a job?”
“You’re the only person I have who has experience installing fountains, and Mrs. Dylan wants one. I gave her a catalog, and she’s supposed to put in her order this week.”
“You want me to work for her?”
Paul picked at the chipped top button on his shirt.