The Wedding Secret

“You became my responsibility the moment I brought you home,” he refuted gruffly.

Jenna was touched by his chivalrous sentiment, and startled by the deeper layer of resentment she detected in his tone.

“Why did you do it?” she asked quietly. “You could have left me to fend for myself.”

He scoffed at that. “Sweetheart, you were far from being able to take care of yourself. You were in no shape to be left alone, and your options were limited. I was your safest bet.”

“Thank you.”

He shrugged off her gratitude. “So, what do you plan on doing now?”

“You mean now that I’m no longer someone’s bride?”

Almost at the altar—will these nearlyweds become newlyweds?

Welcome to Nearlyweds, our brand-new miniseries featuring the ultimate romantic occasion—weddings! Yet these are no ordinary weddings: our beautiful brides and gorgeous grooms only nearly make it to the altar—before fate intervenes and the wedding’s…off!

But the story doesn’t end there…. Find out what happens in these tantalizingly emotional novels by some of your best-loved Harlequin Romance® authors over the coming months.

To Catch a Bride

by Renee Roszel

#3660

The Wedding Secret

Janelle Denison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my niece, Brianna—may you find a hero as strong and handsome as your dad. As always, to Don, for being all that, and more.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

THE bride had the face of an angel and the body of a goddess, all wrapped up in yards of shimmery white fabric that spilled like liquid satin all around her. The incongruity of so much lily white material in an establishment where sinful fun was a Saturday night invitation made Garrett Blackwell do a double take as he slid onto a vacant stool at the bar.

He wasn’t the only one staring at the lone bride occupying the far corner booth, drinking, or rather gulping, dark liquid from a snifter. Leisure Pointe was rocking with loud music and rowdy as ever with good-natured arguments and boisterous laughter, but the main attraction seemed to be the lady in white. The women eyed her with curiosity and speculation, while any one of the men looked willing and eager to stand in for the nonexistent groom.

Garrett couldn’t blame them. She was a head-turner, the kind of woman a man could make a real fool of himself over. Huge blue eyes, full lips that begged to be kissed, and flawless, satiny skin that seemed to glow with warmth. Hair the color of sun-dappled wheat was pinned on top of her head, half of which had escaped to fall in a riot of springy, spiral curls around her face and down her back. The off-the-shoulder design of her wedding gown, dazzling with pearls and sequins, dipped low enough to hint at nicely rounded breasts, then nipped in to what appeared to be a tiny waist. He imagined she had long, slender legs to match, and cut off his thoughts before they traveled to more forbidden territory. What skimpy lingerie she might be wearing beneath that dress was none of his business.

“She’s a looker, isn’t she?”

Garrett finally turned on his stool and faced Harlan, the burly man who tended the bar and owned the joint. Harlan wore a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, old worn jeans, and suspenders to hold them up, though the thick girth of his belly could have done the job just as easily.

“What she looks like is someone who made a wrong turn off of Interstate 44 coming out of St. Louis.” No one as city-polished and elegant as her would deliberately head to the small town of Danby, Missouri, unless they’d gotten lost. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Damned if I know.” Harlan pried open a long-neck and set the bottle in front of Garrett, knowing his preferred drink. “Nobody seems to know who she is or where she came from. Never seen her around Danby before tonight, and she’s got a face and a body no healthy, red-blooded man would forget, if you know what I mean.”

Oh, Garret knew exactly what Harlan meant. He didn’t have to turn around to remember what she looked like, to recall the wild crush of hair a man could lose his hands in, full breasts made more lush by her slim waist, or to experience that unwanted stirring of desire that had skirted the edges of his own sanity. Shifting in his seat, he lifted the bottle of beer to his lips and took a long drink of the cool, malty liquid in an attempt to banish his wayward thoughts. “So, where’s the groom?”

Harlan cleared dirty glasses off the counter and set them in the soapy water filling the sink behind the bar. “Haven’t seen one, though she’s had a few marriage proposals from the young bucks here tonight. They’ve been swarming around her like flies on a horse’s tail, and making a general nuisance of themselves.” He shook his head, something fiercely protective lighting his brown eyes, the kind of look one would expect from the father of three teenage daughters nearing the dating age. “I finally had to tell them to back off and leave her alone. She doesn’t look like she’s interested in the kind of company they have in mind, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from sending her drinks. Five snifters of Amaretto. I just told Becky to cut her off and not to accept any more orders from her admirers, unless it’s for coffee.”

A smile twitched the corner of Garrett’s mouth. Harlan appeared and acted like a big, gruff grizzly, but he was a kind and fair man. He ran his establishment efficiently and didn’t begrudge a person a good time. But it was also known by anyone who frequented the place that Harlan didn’t like trouble in his bar, didn’t allow arguments to escalate into brawls, and he always looked after the patrons who’d imbibed beyond their limit.

Like the bride without a groom.

Harlan moved to the opposite end of the bar to fill drink orders, and Garrett found his gaze sliding her way again. She was a fascinating feminine creature, made more intriguing by the mysterious circumstances that had brought her to Danby, and how out of place her presence was in Leisure Pointe. Dressed like a fairy princess, and possessing a natural beauty that was as stunning as it was arousing, she was like a glittering diamond nestled among drab rhinestones. She didn’t belong, and had city sophistication written all over her.

When Harlan returned, Garrett expressed his thoughts out loud. “Who in their right mind would drop her off here?”

“Her limousine driver.”

Garrett frowned. “I didn’t see a limo out front.”

Grabbing the bar towel slung over his shoulder, Harlan dried a beer glass and set it in the rack above him. His mouth stretched into a tight line of disgust. “The guy didn’t stick around. He followed her in with a suitcase and told me that she asked him to stop here. The prissy fellow said his contracted time was up, that he wasn’t waiting around, and she was on her own.”

“That’s it?”

“He did mutter something about having to drive all the way back to St. Louis, so I’m assuming that’s where she came from.”

But it explained little else.

Harlan sighed and braced a beefy forearm on the bar surface. “I need you to do me a favor, Blackwell.”

Garrett lifted a brow. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like what you have to say?”

“Aw, come on,” Harlan groused. “I just want you to go over there and ask the lady who we can call to pick her up.”

The request was simple, straightforward, and required minimal interaction, but Garrett didn’t do damsels in distress—not anymore. Not when the last woman he’d rescued had taken advantage of his generosity and duped him in a very life-altering way.

His expression must have conveyed his grim thoughts because Harlan was quick with a response. “I’m sure I could get a line of volunteers to do the deed if I asked, but I suspect that most of the men in here would proposition her instead. Considering the frame of mind she’s in…”

Garrett scowled. Harlan’s words didn’t paint a pretty picture. Dammit all, anyway, he thought irritably. He’d come to Leisure Pointe to relax and unwind, have a few beers and shoot the breeze with Harlan and some of the old cronies who’d been his dad’s buddies before he’d died. The same old boring Saturday evening routine—so unlike his brother’s weekend of partying, women, and generally raising hell with his own friends.

Rylan. Seeing a way out of Harlan’s well-meaning intentions, Garrett squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke in the bar, searching for a dark, tousled head of hair and a quick charming grin that belonged to his younger brother.

“Why don’t you find Rylan and get him to do it?” Garrett suggested. Though his brother enjoyed the fairer sex, and they flocked around him like bees to honey, he’d never take advantage of a woman. The honor and respect their mother had instilled in her boys was deeply ingrained, but Garrett doubted Charlotte Blackwell would ever have anticipated the steep price her eldest son had paid for being so chivalrous.

His eight-year-old daughter was a constant reminder of just how honorable he’d been. Too bad Chelsea’s mom hadn’t been equally responsible, or faithful—to him, or the little girl she’d never truly cared about.

“Your brother left with Emma Gentry over an hour ago,” Harlan said. “And he didn’t look like he was going to be back any time soon.”

Garrett wasn’t surprised. He and his brother shared the same house, which Garrett had inherited from his mother when she’d moved to Iowa to live with her sister four years ago. But at twenty-six, Ry came and went as he pleased. More often than not, Friday and Saturday nights were spent elsewhere. Garrett didn’t care with whom, as long as Ry stayed out of trouble.

“How about Otis?” Garrett eyed the man sitting at the far end of the bar. “He’s pretty harmless and can do the job just as well as I can.”

“Otis is a randy old fart.” Harlan glanced at the other man, then back at Garrett, a dark frown bunching his bushy brows. “Just look at him. He’s gawking at her, his mouth is hanging open, and he’s all but drooling! Do you honestly think he’d be able to put together a coherent sentence when he’s so obviously tongue-tied?”

Garrett couldn’t help but laugh, and as his gaze scanned the males sitting at nearby tables, he realized that Otis wasn’t the only one lusting over the voluptuous bride. Amazing that one woman could have such an effect on so many men.

“For crying out loud, Blackwell, I’m not asking you to marry the girl.” Harlan was back to arguing, and his brand of good-natured harassment, all the while mixing drink orders on the pad in front of him. “It’s getting late, and if she lives in St. Louis, it’s going to take someone a good hour to come and get her.”

“Fine,” Garrett said, feeling duly chastised for resisting such a quick and simple task for a friend. “You owe me, Harlan.”

“Yeah, yeah.” A sudden twinkle entered Harlan’s eyes, one that matched the slow, satisfied grin on his face. “Go on. I’ll have a cold one waiting for you when you get back.”

Garrett grumbled one last complaint that did nothing to change Harlan’s mind. Sliding off his bar stool, he headed toward the corner booth. The sooner he got this awkward errand over with, the sooner he could resume his mundane Saturday night activities.

Many curious eyes watched Garrett’s progress across the room, making him uncomfortably aware of how conversations stalled as he passed by tables. This was a first…Garrett Blackwell approaching a woman in Leisure Pointe. It was a known fact that he didn’t consort with the females in Danby beyond a polite nod or greeting. The few bolder, wilder ones that had attempted to pursue him he’d turned down as tactfully as possible, no matter how enticing the offer.

He’d never been one for gratuitous sex, but he wasn’t a monk, either. Far from it. The few women whom he’d had affairs with over the years lived in other towns where gossip and speculation couldn’t touch them, or his family. The women he chose to date also knew and accepted up front that he wasn’t looking for anything serious. He had no intention of letting any woman manipulate his emotions again.

Blowing out a deep breath, Garrett severed those thoughts and opted to slide into the booth opposite where the bride sat, instead of standing at the edge of the table to conduct his business. The cozy corner table afforded him and the woman a modicum of privacy, away from most prying eyes and ears. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass her, or provide entertainment for the masses.

She’d been staring into the depths of the dark liquid swirling in her snifter, looking so lost and dejected. Confused even. As soon as his jeans-clad legs tangled with the froth of satin beneath the table she glanced up, startled by his sudden appearance.

He opened his mouth to speak, and found himself broad-sided by the color of her eyes. At a distance, he’d been able to detect that they were blue, but up close and personal, they were incredibly striking—a soft shade of periwinkle, rimmed in a darker sapphire with the tiniest threads of gold shot through the middle. Her lashes were long and thick, her brows delicately, perfectly arched. A natural beauty mark just above her lip on the left side drew his gaze to her full, soft mouth. A mouth that inspired a dozen provocative thoughts.

Despite the symbol of purity and innocence her wedding gown implied, there was a natural, subtle air of sensuality about her. A contradiction of guilelessness and allure that aroused a man’s basic interest. Yet he got the distinct impression that she wasn’t aware of her appeal, didn’t know the mesmerizing effect she had on men. She didn’t flaunt herself, didn’t tease or flirt to attract attention. She didn’t need to. Mother Nature had blessed her—or cursed her, depending on how she viewed the situation—with a perfect face and body and a vibrancy that seemed to naturally radiate outward.

And then she wet her bottom lip with her tongue. Nothing sly or calculated about the gesture, but it certainly grabbed his attention and caused an unmistakable heat to thrum through his veins.

He suddenly felt ridiculously tongue-tied.

A sweet smile lifted her enticing mouth, but it didn’t erase the haunting shadows in her eyes. Blinking slumberously, she slouched onto the table and propped her chin in her palm. She stared up at him in a dreamy sort of way, an effect he attributed to the alcohol she’d consumed.

“Hi.” The one word floated to Garrett on a husky sigh of breath, wrapping around his already overloaded senses like a silky, physical caress.

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to remember his manners. “Ma’am. Are you okay?”

“I’mmm…fine,” she said brightly, and gulped the last little bit of liquor in her snifter. “I’m jus’…great.”

She was far from fine, and closer to the despair fringing her false bravado. “How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Her brows creased as she thought about his question. “Yeah, I think I could use some coffee. Lots of cream and sugar.” She yawned, and her lashes drooped. “No more Armar…etto. It’s making me sooo seepy.” She giggled at her slur, then tried, “I mean ti-erd.”

Stifling a grin, he motioned for the bar waitress and ordered the woman a cup of strong, black coffee. When he glanced back at the bride, he found her brushing at an unmanageable curl along her cheek, which kept springing back into place. A look of utter disgust flitted across her face.

“I hate my curly hair,” she grumbled, blowing a frustrated stream of breath at the unruly strand. “Stupid curls never stay where I put them. Did you know I wanted straight hair when I was a little girl?”

“Uh, no.” How could he have possibly known something so personal when he’d never met her before this evening?

Her eyes drifted closed, and just when Garrett thought she’d fallen asleep she spoke in a soft, wistful voice. “Every birthday I’d blow out the candles on my cake and wish for straight hair like my friend Cindy. It never happened.”

He took in the long, lustrous hair she seemed to curse, too fascinated by those springy, natural curls and the way they might cling to his fingers…or how the caress of the sun might turn the strands to rich gold.

Her eyes fluttered open a moment later, a wealth of vulnerability shining in their depths. Unsure how to reply to her strange conversation, and feeling way out of his element, he played it safe and remained quiet.

“My other wishes didn’t come true, either,” she confessed quietly. “I was supposed to marry a prince charming, and live happily ever after. I guess I’m just not very good at making wishes.”

Becky arrived with the coffee, saving him from having to formulate some kind of response. He knew the liquor was partially responsible for loosening her tongue, but he sensed her babbling about prince charmings and wishes somehow tied into the reason why she’d skipped out on her wedding day.

“Today was suppos’ to be the happiest day of my life,” she said once they were alone again, her soft voice quivering with emotion. “That’s what my mom told me before she died, but it’s the worst day of my life. All I wanted was a teensy-weensy bit of re-spec-ta-bil-ity, but I’ll never, ever be respectable.”

Aw, hell. What offense had she committed that was so awful she believed herself unworthy of respect? Compassion stirred within him, along with a good dose of curiosity over her comment. He quickly stifled both, refusing to tangle himself in this woman’s emotional turmoil. Once he gleaned some pertinent information from her so Harlan could contact someone to pick her up, his duty would be done and he could get back to that cold beer Harlan had promised him.

And forget about this complex, periwinkle-eyed angel who seemed so lost and alone, and very vulnerable…and a possible scandal waiting to happen. The last thing he wanted or needed was speculation into his private life, and this mysterious woman would definitely provide that.

Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, he reached for the cream and sugar and poured a generous amount of each into her coffee, as she’d requested, and pushed the mug in front of her, urging her to drink.

She took a great shuddering breath, and lifted her troubled gaze to his. “Do you think when I wake up tomorrow this will all be just a bad, horrible dream?”

He wished he could offer her that assurance, but instead tried to console her with an easy smile. “If you don’t drink some of this coffee, tomorrow you’re gonna end up with a bad, horrible hangover.”

A frown marred her delicate brows and she picked up the mug, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic. “I’m fine. Jus’ great.”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed, humoring her, knowing if she tried to stand at the moment she’d fall flat on her pretty face. Resting his fingers beneath the bottom of her mug, he guided it toward her mouth. Her lips settled over the rim, and she took a drink and cringed, at the sweetness or the strength of the coffee, he couldn’t be sure.

“What’s your name?” he asked, figuring he’d start with simple questions and work his way up to the more difficult ones as her mind cleared.

“Jenna Chestfield…” Confusion etched her expression as she considered that name, then she shook her head, causing more of those unruly strands to spill from the top of her head and curl on the soft swells of her breasts straining the bodice of her gown. “No, we never said ‘I do’, so I guess I’m still just Jenna Phillips.”

Just Jenna Phillips. There was a story in that, Garrett was sure, one he didn’t want to get involved in, he reminded himself as his gaze drifted to her left hand. The absence of a ring on her finger backed her claim that no marriage had taken place.

She propped her chin in her palm again, as if her pretty head was getting too heavy for her shoulders to support. Her eyes grew soft, slumberous. “What’s your name?”

“Garrett,” he replied, deciding to keep things between them on a first-name basis.

“Garrett,” she repeated, her husky voice making his name sound very intimate coming from her lips. “That’s a nice, strong, respectable name. Are you respectable?”

Abrupt laughter rose in his throat, but he had the good manners to catch it before it escaped. Wanting to get his chivalrous deed over with, he asked, “Jenna, is there someone we can call to come pick you up?”

She didn’t have to think long. “No.”

He found that hard to believe. “Any family?” Remembering that she’d mentioned that her mother was deceased, he prompted, “Your father, or other relatives?”

She blinked, and an inexplicable sadness filled her eyes, a deep-rooted loneliness that struck a chord in him. “Nope,” she whispered in an aching voice. “No one.”

“How about your fiancé?” he asked. “Can we call him?”

She flinched at the mention of the man who would have become her husband, and her distress returned. He caught a wealth of regret, remorse and insecurities in her eyes before she cast her gaze downward.

“No, he wouldn’t want me anymore,” she said in a voice choked with certainty. “Not after the way I humiliated him and his family. I can’t ever go back.”

Another frustrating surge of sympathy gripped Garrett, and he valiantly tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to care about this woman and her predicament, or why she believed she was such a big disappointment to the man she’d been engaged to marry.

Great. Now what should he do? He glanced over at the bar and met Harlan’s questioning gaze. Other than the woman’s name, and learning that Jenna Phillips was seemingly as much of a loner as himself, he didn’t have much more information on her than he had when he’d first sat down.

Well, he’d done his duty. Now, it was up to Harlan to figure out what to do with the lone bride for the night. He started to ease back out of the booth, but she grabbed his arm, which immediately stopped him. Her hand was soft and very cool against his heated skin, throwing images into his mind of how supple the rest of her body might feel beneath his calloused fingers, against his lips. He inwardly cursed—had he been that long without a woman that a stranger, and someone else’s bride at that, could make him burn with a mere touch?

She’d latched on to him for security, that much was obvious. Meeting her suddenly desperate gaze, he banished those former thoughts from his mind, reminded himself he was done rescuing women, and tipped his head in inquiry.

“Are you leaving me?” Panic tinged her voice, as if she’d just realized that she was in a strange, distant town, in a rowdy, honky-tonk bar filled with men eager to take the place he was about to vacate.

“I just need to go talk to Harlan. Nobody will bother you,” he promised, feeling uncharacteristically protective toward this woman he didn’t know. Not a good sign. He wanted to say it was the same kind of paternal feeling he experienced with his daughter, but there was nothing nurturing about the awareness Jenna evoked. No, his response to her was all male and too threatening to the secure, stable life he’d built for himself and Chelsea the past six years.

And the sooner she found her way back to St. Louis and the life still waiting for her—a life certainly more sophisticated and exciting than this small, mundane town of Danby—the better off they’d all be.