Backwards Honeymoon

“I gathered that much,” Jonah said dryly. “So what are you going to do instead?”

“I’m…leaving.” Kathryn caught at his sleeve. “Please, I’m desperate. Will you help me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell me exactly what’s in it for me.”

She looked up at him and let her voice go sultry. “What do you want?” In a rush of gratitude, Kathryn said, “I’ll give you anything you want….”

Leigh Michaels has always loved happy endings. Even when she was a child, if a book’s conclusion didn’t please her, she’d make up one of her own. And though she always wanted to write fiction, she very sensibly planned to earn her living as a newspaper reporter. That career didn’t work out, however, and she found she ended up writing for Harlequin instead—in the kind of happy ending only a romance novelist could dream up!

Leigh likes to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa 52501-0935, U.S.A. Or e-mail: leighmichael@franklin.lisco.net

Books by Leigh Michaels

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3628—THE CORPORATE WIFE

3637—THE BRIDAL SWAP

3656—A CONVENIENT AFFAIR

3672—HIS TROPHY WIFE

Backwards Honeymoon

Leigh Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

STILL holding his comb, Antoine looked at Kathryn in the mirror and tugged at a glossy black curl until it descended to lie just right across the white lace shoulder of her gown. Frowning just a little, he stood back to study his client’s hair once more, then reached for a spray bottle and began to mist the errant curl.

Kathryn stirred irritably. “Aren’t you finished yet?”

“Have patience, mademoiselle. All must be perfection when you go to meet your bridegroom.” Antoine snapped his fingers. “The headdress!”

An assistant sprang to attention and handed him a delicate wreath of orange blossom. Trailing from it, so delicate that it almost floated, was a floor-length veil edged with lace that matched that on the gown. As his skillful fingers pinned the wreath in place, Antoine murmured, “Mademoiselle is anxious for her wedding, yes?”

“Mademoiselle is anxious to have it over with,” Kathryn said under her breath.

“Dear, dear.” Antoine made a sort of clucking noise with his tongue as he inserted the last hairpin. “There. All is complete. Rest assured I will be waiting for you at the top of the stairs to make certain every hair is in place.”

In that case, Kathryn thought, she should probably allow an extra half hour to get from her bedroom to the temporary altar set up in the ballroom downstairs.

Antoine’s assistant started to gather up his tools, and Kathryn’s maid swooped down on her to make certain that the hairdresser hadn’t put a nick in her makeup. Kathryn fended her off. “It’s all right, Elsa. Go down to the kitchen, please, and bring me a cup of tea.”

“I will call and have it brought up. Though I wish you wouldn’t take the chance of spilling tea on that lovely gown, Miss Kathryn.”

Kathryn’s hands clenched on the edge of her dressing table. “All right, skip the tea.” It took effort to keep her voice pleasant. “Just go away. After all the confusion, I’d like to have a few minutes to myself, Elsa.”

“Of course, miss.” The maid turned away, pausing to hold the door for the assistant.

He laid the last special comb in its fitted tray and picked up the heavy case. “Temper tantrums,” he muttered to the maid as he passed her in the doorway. “All brides have ’em. Trust me. She’s just excited at being so close to getting a wedding ring.”

Kathryn rolled her eyes. Excited was hardly the word she’d have used to describe herself; twitchy was more like it. She supposed it was only natural to be on edge, after a full day of being poked and prodded and treated like a doll. And not the treasured porcelain kind, either, but the sort a small child dragged around by the arm and endlessly dressed and undressed…

At last the room was quiet. She stood up, automatically shaking out the full skirt of the satin and lace gown, but she didn’t look at it in the mirror. Someone else would make sure, before she descended the stairs on her father’s arm to meet Douglas in the ballroom for the ceremony, that each layer was perfectly arranged.

Kathryn didn’t particularly care. She only wanted this wedding—The Wedding of the Century, the newspapers were calling it—to be over.

It wasn’t that she was having doubts, exactly. She’d made her choice logically, considering every possible factor before deciding that Douglas would make a suitable husband—and nothing had happened to change her mind about that. He was everything she’d looked for in a marital partner. Her father approved of him; Douglas was already an important cog in Jock Campbell’s business. He was well-mannered and good-looking enough; he knew all the same people she did; he had never raised his hand or even his voice to her; and most important on Kathryn’s list, he had enough money of his own that he didn’t need to acquire hers.

No, she was certainly not having doubts about Douglas. It was simply the endless round of preparations that had worn her down.

Still, she reflected, going through all the motions of a formal wedding was little enough to do to please her father. If he wanted her to be the perfect June bride, then Kathryn would comply. And—incidentally—she would give him the means to pay back his social obligations to at least five hundred people by inviting them to her wedding.

Kathryn sighed. It wasn’t like her to be so cynical. It must simply be that she was exhausted from the months of decisions and fittings and parties. But it would soon be over now.

She pushed open the French doors that led to the balcony and looked out cautiously. Her room was at the back of the house, and all the guests were supposed to be herded in through the front. But she was careful to stay close to the doors and away from the edge of the balcony, so no one could catch a glimpse of her even if they’d strayed out of place.

Even without hanging over the railing, though, she could at least take a deep, calming breath. It felt like the first one she’d managed all day. The air was unseasonably warm for northern Minnesota; if she’d realized that summer would come so early this year, she might have chosen a lighter weight of satin for her dress. Dancing in this costume was going to be—

The French doors of the room next to hers were open just a crack, and the murmur of masculine voices rubbed her nerves. Even on her own balcony she wasn’t alone; apparently someone had assigned the next room for some of the ushers to use.

She tried to close out the sound, but the chatter which had surrounded her all day seemed to have sensitized her hearing; she couldn’t help picking out words from the seemingly aimless conversation next door.

“And just in time, too,” a man’s voice said. “Another month and Doug would really have been on the ropes.”

Kathryn heard only a murmur in answer; the speaker must have had his back toward the balcony doors.

“Yeah,” the first man said. “He had to borrow the money from me to rent his tux because his credit cards are all maxed.” Another murmur. “Because he’s been on a losing streak, that’s why. He was hoping that last trip to Vegas—you know, when he was supposed to be in San Diego schmoozing customers for Jock—would straighten him out so he might not have to go through with this after all. But instead he ended up owing the casinos, too, and you know how they are about collecting debts. If this wedding had been scheduled for next month instead, Miss Ice Cube Campbell might find herself marrying a guy with two broken knees.”

It can’t be, Kathryn told herself. They can’t be talking about Douglas.

But there was no one else they could have been speaking of. And there had been a flat, calm note in the usher’s voice which convinced her he was speaking the truth—or at least giving the facts as he saw them. Still, he could simply be wrong, couldn’t he? Perhaps he was misinterpreting what Douglas had said and done…

The hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t go away.

She slipped back into her room and rang the bell for her maid. The few minutes that she waited for Elsa were the longest in Kathryn’s memory.

Douglas, she thought. A gambler so compulsive that he saw a trip to Las Vegas as a way to pay off his previous bets? She’d always thought him a careful spender. A man so broke that he couldn’t afford to rent a tux for his wedding? She’d seen him in formal clothes a number of times; it had never occurred to her that he might not own a tuxedo. A man so desperate…

That he’d lie and scheme to marry me, Kathryn thought.

Elsa tapped on the bedroom door and came in, looking hesitant. Kathryn gulped down her first instinct, which was to send Elsa shouting for Jock Campbell to come upstairs to his daughter right now. There was no sense in sending up an alarm, after all—and no one knew better than Kathryn how quickly a tasty bit of news could spread through the Campbell household. Let Elsa guess what was on her mind, and the butler, the gardener—even the paperboy—would probably know it before Jock Campbell did.

“Please ask my father to come upstairs now,” she said calmly.

Elsa looked confused. “But he’s greeting the guests, Miss Kathryn. And there’s still plenty of time before the wedding. You told me yourself that he’d be so sentimental about giving you away that you didn’t want him to come up till you were ready to walk down the aisle—”

“I’ve changed my mind, and I’d like to spend a little time with my father. Please tell him that.”

Elsa nodded and went out again.

Kathryn paced the floor. More than once her hand slipped under her veil to the back of her neck, to the top of the row of tiny satin-covered buttons which fastened the dress. Those fifty buttons running straight down her spine—the mark of a really professional dressmaker—had added a good bit to the price of her wedding gown. Now the irony was that she couldn’t get out of the dress by herself….

She pulled herself up short. Exactly when, she wondered, had she decided that no matter what her father said, she was not going through with this wedding?

With a firm tap on the door, Jock Campbell poked his head in. “Is it safe?”

Kathryn turned to face him. “Daddy—” She bit her lip, not knowing what to say next. Why hadn’t she thought this through before summoning him?

“How beautiful you are, my dear. As pretty as your mother, and that’s saying a lot. Elsa seemed to think you were feeling a bit lonely up here. Wanted the old man’s company, hmm?”

“I wanted to talk to you, yes. I’m…having second thoughts.”

“About getting married? Oh, now, it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

“About Douglas, actually. Daddy….”

“Fine man, Douglas. Everything I could ask for in a son-in-law.”

Kathryn took a deep breath. “You’ve never had any doubts at all about him?”

Was there a flicker of hesitation in his eyes? “No, dear,” he said firmly. “And what you’re suffering now isn’t doubts, or even second thoughts. It’s nerves, pure and simple. Your mother had them, too. She even sent for me, just minutes before our wedding was to start. Told me she wanted to call it off. She didn’t, of course—and look how we turned out. Happy as clams for twenty-five years—and would be happy yet if it wasn’t for…” His voice choked, as it always did when he referred to his wife’s death.

Kathryn watched him strive for control. He had to work even harder at it than usual, but then this was an especially emotional day.

“Daddy,” she said. “I’m really sorry to upset things, but this is not just nerves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kathryn.”

It was a rare day when she heard that stern note of finality in her father’s voice, and something inside Kathryn curled up tight.

“Every bride has nerves,” he said flatly. “If they all acted on the feeling, the institution of marriage would be extinct. I’m going downstairs to get Douglas, and after the two of you have talked, I will accept your apology for doubting my judgment in this matter, and then we’ll go on with a wedding.”

“No!” The word was out before Kathryn could even try to keep the panic out of her voice. She saw Jock’s frown and said more quietly, “No. Please don’t bring him up here.”

“Are you afraid to face him, Kathryn?”

Yes. “I…Of course not.” She groped for an excuse, anything that might do. “I just don’t want him to see my dress before I get to the altar.”

How dumb can you be? she asked. She’d just neatly contradicted herself—saying one moment that she didn’t want to proceed with the wedding at all, then the next proclaiming that the groom wasn’t allowed to see the bride before the ceremony…

It was apparent that Jock Campbell hadn’t missed the idiocy of the comment. He didn’t even comment, just shook his head and went out.

Great job, Kathryn. Next time why don’t you just stab yourself in the heart?

And now the clock was running. Jock would walk down the stairs at his normal relaxed pace, run his eye over the crowd to seek out his prospective son-in-law, pull Douglas aside in a casual way so as not to raise the concerns of the surrounding guests, and escort him upstairs. She had no more than twenty minutes, Kathryn estimated, before the two of them would be at her door.

She could already hear Douglas’s smooth, patrician voice denying any misdeeds, claiming shock and surprise that anyone could make such an accusation. And what was she going to tell her father? That she chose to believe what she’d overheard from an usher rather than accept the reassurances of the man she was supposed to be trusting with her life?

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face down the two of them together. Which left only one alternative.

Kathryn tore open her closet, grabbed jeans, a pair of sneakers, and the first blouse her hand touched, and plunged into the bathroom. Putting both hands to the back of her neck, she clutched at the wedding gown, braced herself, and pulled hard. Buttons flew everywhere; for a moment the ceramic-tiled bathroom sounded like it was full of exploding popcorn.

She stepped out of the gown and wadded it up in the bathtub in order to leave herself enough room to step into her jeans. Tearing off her veil, she flung it over the door of the shower, then kicked off her white satin shoes and thrust her feet into the sneakers. Only then did she remember that she didn’t have a cent on her, so—listening carefully for noises from the hall—she tiptoed back across the bedroom to where her honeymoon outfit was spread across the bed, dropped her engagement ring atop it, and grabbed the tiny evening purse that lay beside the dress. It was all she had time to take.

Still buttoning her blouse, she ducked back into the bathroom, pausing only to lock the door behind her, and went on through into the sitting room beyond. It opened into a secondary hall, around the corner from the main one which led to the grand staircase. There was no one in sight; she took the back staircase and peered around the corner at the bottom into the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw it empty. All the employees must have already gone to stand at the back of the ballroom in order to watch the ceremony.

A ceremony which was not going to happen.

Kathryn paused for a moment outside the back door, then headed for cover behind the nearest large tree and started to work her way across the garden trunk by trunk. Her plan was so simple it could be summed up in two words: Get away. She didn’t care where, and she didn’t care how.

Her heartbeat slowed a bit as she increased her distance from the house, and with the first hurdle behind her, she turned her attention to figuring out how to get off the estate. Jock Campbell’s big Georgian-style house didn’t look a bit like a moated castle, but with its high brick walls and iron gates it was nearly as impregnable.

And getting out wasn’t much easier than getting in—especially today, when the guards would be extra alert in order to secure all the wedding gifts on the premises, to say nothing of protecting five hundred guests who were all wearing their best jewelry. And in a very few minutes, as soon as Jock discovered her abandoned wedding gown, it would become even more difficult to circumvent the security arrangements.

She was chewing on that, trying to figure out the weak spot in her father’s defenses, when she popped out from behind a hedge into the narrow driveway beside the gardener’s cottage and tripped over a pair of legs sticking out from under an old car.

A growl came from underneath, and a body, lying on a rolling board, slid into sight.

“What the hell—”

Kathryn’s gaze slid slowly from the man’s dirt-splotched sneakers past a pair of jeans so worn that they were barely blue and across a grease-smeared T-shirt. She focused on a pair of broad shoulders, a tanned, rugged-looking face, a thatch of unruly dark hair, and a pair of deep brown eyes that snapped with aggravation.

“Can’t you watch where you’re walking?” he grumbled.

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Oh, you’re one of those people who can’t walk and think at the same time.” He sat up, and suddenly his gaze sharpened. “You’re supposed to be getting married just about now.”

Kathryn looked through him. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Really? Then what’s that bit of orange blossom doing stuck in your hair?”

Her fingers found the stray petals and plucked them loose, then began to seek out hairpins, destroying the formal hairstyle Antoine had worked so hard to produce.

“Katie Mae Campbell in the flesh,” the man mused.

Kathryn bristled. “Nobody has called me that since I was six years old, and I do not plan to make an exception anytime soon. Miss Campbell will do. Or, if you insist, you can call me Miss Kathryn.”

“And as I’m saying it, I should pull my forelock respectfully like a good peasant, I suppose.” He rose slowly, with a panther’s grace, and reached for a rag lying on the car’s fender to wipe his hands.

He was taller than she’d thought; Kathryn found herself looking a long way up. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Jonah Clarke. My father is your gardener, in case you don’t know.”

“Of course I know his name. That explains why you recognized orange blossom from seeing a single petal.”

“He’d be proud of me. Also he’d be charmed that you came to visit, only he’s not here. He’s over at the big house to attend your wedding. Which sort of brings us back to where we started.”

It was none of his business, of course. “Why aren’t you with him?” The question wasn’t entirely a delaying tactic; Kathryn was honestly curious.

“I wasn’t invited. I’m only here to visit him for the day.” He tossed the rag aside. “So tell me, Miss Kathryn—what gives?”

“I’m not getting married.”

“I gathered that much,” he said dryly. “So what are you going to do instead?”

“I’m…leaving.”

“I see. Well, if you’re looking for your Porsche, I think the garage is still on the other side of the property.”

She bit her lip and looked at him, debating. She was down to minutes, if even that long, before the alarm went up, and standing here talking was getting her nowhere at all.

“Jonah,” she began. “You know perfectly well that I—”

“Mr. Clarke will do.” He mimicked her tone. “Or, if you insist, you can call me…well, let’s stick to Mr. Clarke. It’s much tidier.”

“Mr. Clarke,” she said firmly. “You grew up here on the estate, am I right?”

He nodded. He looked wary, she thought.

“Then you must know if there’s any way out of this place other than through the front gates.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know me, but you’re assuming that I was the sort who would go sneaking out over the walls at night.”

“Well, didn’t you?”

He grinned. “Of course I did.”

“How?”

“Oh, no. I’m not telling you.”

She caught at his sleeve. “Please,” she said. “I’m desperate, here. I have to get outside these walls, right now. Will you help me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell me exactly what’s in it for me—besides a whole lot of grief when your dad catches up with me—and I’ll consider it.”

She looked up at him and let her voice go sultry. “What do you want?”

“What are you offer—” He broke off and shrugged. “Oh, forget it. Katie Mae, you are too dangerous to be let loose on the world.”

“I told you not to call me—” She paused. “Come to think of it, you can call me anything you want to if you’ll just help me get over the wall.”

“Will going through it be good enough?” He pushed open the side door of the garage and leaned into the dark interior. Then he dangled a large, old-fashioned key in front of her.

In a rush of gratitude, Kathryn said, “I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’ll think it over and let you know. Come on.”

His loose-limbed stride ate up the ground; Kathryn had trouble keeping up with him as he plunged deeper into the woods which filled a good part of the Campbell estate.

“So where are you headed?” he asked over his shoulder.

“You don’t think I’d tell you, surely.”

“That probably means you don’t know.”

“No, it means I expect you’d turn around and sell the information to my father.”

“Sure I will. I’ll march right up to him and say, ‘Jock, old buddy, I can tell you where your daughter went, and I know because she confided in me while I was hoisting her over the wall.’ I’m sure he’d reward me, probably right after he slugged me in the face.”

“What about the key? I thought that meant there was a door or something.”

“You don’t think I’d tell him all my secrets, do you? He’d have it sealed up in a minute, and who knows—I might want it again someday.”

“Thinking of moving back in with your father, are you?” she asked sweetly.

“It wouldn’t be my first choice, but you never know what might come up.” He stopped abruptly. “Here.”

Kathryn could see the vine-shrouded wall beyond the last row of trees, but she couldn’t see anything that resembled a gate or a door. “Where?”

“Good disguise, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully. “The vines were here when I found this place, but it took me a couple of years to train them just right so they’d hide the door without breaking when it was opened. Let’s see if they still do.” He pulled back a curtaining vine to reveal an arch-topped door built of heavy planks.

The key slid silently into place and the lock opened with a discreet click. On the other side of the thick wall hung another curtain of vines. Kathryn ducked underneath it and looked out across an expanse of pine woods that spread downhill as far as she could see, full of undergrowth and brambles. She looked uncertainly out across the dappled hillside. “Um…where am I?”

“Some Boy Scout you’d make. About five hundred yards through there is the state highway.”

She bit her lip. “I suppose once I get there I could hitchhike.”

“I’d suggest you hurry, or you’ll probably be trying to thumb a ride with some of your own wedding guests.”

She looked up at him through her lashes. “Maybe you should come with me.”