“You’ll want to be married for real one day, Suzie.

You’re a woman who believes in marriage and happily-ever-afters. And children. And it will happen. When you find the right man.”

Suzie couldn’t look at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. Afraid of what her own might reveal. “Please, Mack, I don’t want—” She stopped, taking a quick sharp breath. “What are you doing?”

“Just checking if your hair’s dry.” His hands were at her nape, his fingers threading through her curls. It was the lamest excuse she’d ever heard, but she didn’t immediately jerk away, her skin tingling under his touch.

“Don’t,” she whispered huskily, but she still couldn’t seem to move.

“He wasn’t the man for you, Suzie. Trust me.”

That made her jerk back away from him. “Trust you?” she breathed. “You’d be the last man I’d ever trust!”

Dear Reader,

The year is off to a wonderful start in Silhouette Romance, and we’ve got some of our best stories yet for you right here.

Our tremendously successful ROYALLY WED series continues with The Blacksheep Prince’s Bride by Martha Shields. Our intrepid heroine—a lady-in-waiting for Princess Isabel—will do anything to help rescue the king. Even marry the single dad turned prince! And Judy Christenberry returns to Romance with Newborn Daddy. Poor Ryan didn’t know what he was missing, until he looked through the nursery window….

Also this month, Teresa Southwick concludes her much-loved series about the Marchetti family in The Last Marchetti Bachelor. And popular author Elizabeth August gives us Slade’s Secret Son. Lisa hadn’t planned to tell Slade about their child. But with her life in danger, there’s only one man to turn to….

Carla Cassidy’s tale of love and adventure is Lost in His Arms, while new-to-the-Romance-line Vivienne Wallington proves she’s anything but a beginning writer in this powerful story of a man Claiming His Bride.

Be sure to come back next month for Valerie Parv’s ROYALLY WED title as well as new stories by Sandra Steffen and Myrna Mackenzie. And Patricia Thayer will begin a brand-new series, THE TEXAS BROTHERHOOD.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Claiming His Bride
Vivienne Wallington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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VIVIENNE WALLINGTON

is an Australian living in Melbourne, Victoria, in an area with lots of trees, birds and parkland. She has been happily married to John, her real-life hero, for over forty years, and they have a married son and daughter and five grandchildren who provide inspiration for her books. Vivienne worked as a librarian for many years, but was always writing as well, eventually having a children’s book published. After two more years, she gave up writing for children to concentrate on romance. She has written nineteen Mills & Boon Romance novels under the pseudonym Elizabeth Duke, and is now writing for Silhouette under her real name. Her favorite hobbies are reading, research, family and travel.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

Sydney

“Wow, just look at all those cameras and photographers down there!” Ruth Ashton’s eyes widened as she looked down over the sweeping lawns and gardens of Bougainvillea Receptions from the bride’s dressing room. “And they’ve all come to see you, Suzie.”

Her daughter was pirouetting in front of the full-length mirror, swirling the long skirt of her embroidered ivory lace wedding gown—one of her own designs. Suzie’s sole bridesmaid, Lucy, in ice-blue silk, was fluttering around her, making sure everything was as it should be.

“They’ve come to see my wedding dress, not me—they want to see what fabulous design I’ve come up with this time.” Suzie’s voice shook a little. She’d wanted a simple, informal garden wedding, but it was fast turning into a media circus.

“Well, it’s not every day a young fashion designer without her own label wins the prestigious Australian Gown of the Year award.” Her mother’s face glowed with pride. “Today’s added publicity could really boost your career, darling. Fashion editors from all the top fashion magazines are here.”

“I’m only allowing all those cameras and fashion sharks in,” Suzie returned rather sharply, “to save Jolie Fashions, who’ve been so good to me. I don’t want to see them go under.” The Sydney-based fashion house was in severe debt and struggling for survival, thanks to a crooked accountant. “The media exposure will be great publicity for Jolie, especially with my bridesmaid and the bride’s mother and the bridegroom’s mother and a good proportion of the guests wearing Jolie designs.”

“Darling, the fashion media will take one look at your fabulous wedding gown and fall over themselves to get pictures of you, and fashion buyers will flood Jolie Fashions with orders. Your wedding will feature in every top fashion magazine, giving Jolie all the publicity they could possibly need. And you, too, dear.” Ruth’s eyes misted. “You look divine, sweetheart. I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride. Tristan’s going to be so proud of you.”

Tristan. Suzie swallowed. Her golden prince. Gentle, steady, reliable, responsible, charming, successful—the perfect husband-to-be. He might not be a man to inspire mindless passion, but mindless passion was dangerously misleading, blinding one to reality. She would always know where she was with Tristan. He was a man a girl could rely on, depend on, unlike…

She pushed the unwanted thought away, refusing to think of Mack Chaney on her wedding day. Or any other day, ever again. He was past history. And good riddance.

“You’re going to make a perfect couple,” Lucy said with a sigh. Tristan was so handsome, and so rich and Suzie, whom she’d known from their school days, had magically transformed herself from an unruly-haired imp into a regal, sleek-haired princess. “Just perfect.”

Yes, everything was perfect…almost too perfect. Suzie felt a momentary qualm. It all seemed unreal, like a dream. A glittering Cinderella fairy tale. She’d never expected to find the perfect man. She’d never believed that a perfect man existed. The only men she’d been close to in her life had been anything but perfect.

She was anything but perfect herself.

She moved quickly across to the window, wobbling a little on her ivory satin high heels. She couldn’t look at her mother or Lucy, afraid they might see the flare of guilty panic in her eyes, the flickering fear that she was about to be exposed as a fraud.

Tristan didn’t know her at all. Not the real Suzie—the scruffy, impulsive, slapdash Suzie. He only knew the elegant, coolly composed, immaculately groomed Suzanne, as he preferred to call her—the sedate, ladylike image she’d been trying so hard to keep up for the past three months—with her mother’s encouragement.

From the moment Suzie had caught the eye of the young leather-goods tycoon at the Australian fashion awards three months ago, her mother had been determined not to let Tristan get away. Even Tristan’s mother, the snobbish Felicia Guthrie, had come to accept her future daughter-in-law, despite Suzie’s modest upbringing and unexceptional background.

It would have helped, of course, that Suzie had recently won the Gown of the Year award. She was now somebody. A talented young designer with a bright future.

Suzie’s mouth went dry as she saw the huge crowd gathered in the garden below. As well as the rows of seats for the invited guests, which were filled already, there was a milling mob behind, with a daunting sea of cameras and giant zoom lenses, all waiting to see her latest spectacular design.

She nervously fingered the long sleeves of her elegant lace gown and the tiny pearl beads scattered over the tight-fitting bodice with its dropped waistline, then let her hand flutter down over the flared skirt.

Her natural curls were nowhere in sight, skillfully straightened into gleaming sleekness, the way she’d worn it for the past three months. On her head she wore a small pearl tiara, with a gossamer-sheer veil. Nothing must hide or detract from her wedding gown.

“Where’s Tristan?” She swung around, her voice higher than usual. “It’s the bride who’s supposed to be late, not the bridegroom.” Not having a father to give her away, she’d decided to walk into the garden arm in arm with her future husband.

“He’s not late,” her mother soothed. “He’ll be here any minute.”

Lucy ran to the door and peeked out. “He’s coming up the stairs! Are you ready, Suzie?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Suzie gulped in some air. Once she saw Tristan, once he smiled at her with his golden smile, she would feel a whole lot better.

He entered the room a few seconds later, a picture of sartorial elegance in formal white, his golden hair burnished by the crystal chandelier above. Outside, in the bright afternoon sunlight, it would gleam even more.

“Suzanne…you look like a dream. A princess.”

As she felt the warmth of his golden smile and saw the loving pride beaming from his gentle gray eyes, her qualms slipped away. She was going to have a very safe, secure and tranquil life with Tristan. Peace, security and contentment were what she longed for after the fights and frustrations and wildly swinging emotions that she and her mother had had to endure with Suzie’s charming, talented but totally irresponsible father.

The kind of life Suzie would have had to endure with Mack Chaney if she’d been mad enough to give in to her foolish passion for him.

Getting tied up with Mack long-term would have been a disaster. The Mack Chaneys of this world weren’t cut out for a secure, settled, pipe-and-slippers kind of life—the kind of life she wanted. All Mack cared about was speeding around on his Harley-Davidson and playing with his computer, idly surfing the Internet and dreaming wildly impractical dreams—pie-in-the-sky pipe dreams. She shut her mind to his other vices.

“Are you ready to go down?” Tristan asked, and she jerked herself back to earth. This was the most important day of her entire life and she was thinking of—

No, she wasn’t.

She let Tristan steer her toward the door, but they never reached it. Someone burst through the doorway first.

Suzie’s eyes widened in disbelief when she saw Mack Chaney bearing down on her like an avenging angel—or devil—in a black leather jacket, tight-fitting black leather pants, and black boots. His dark eyes were glittering with purpose and his thick black hair was as wild and untamed as it had always been.

“You’re actually intending to marry this pampered fraud?” he barked, halting abruptly in front of her. “I never thought you’d go ahead with it, Suzie. I thought you’d see the light long before today.”

“How dare you burst in here and—” Suzie stopped. “What do you mean—fraud?” She glared at him.

“Get him out of here!” sputtered her mother. “Call security!” she commanded Lucy.

“Wait!” Mack held up a hand. “You can’t marry Tristan Guthrie, Suzie. Not if you want your marriage to be legal!”

Suzie felt Tristan’s body shudder against her and heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath. She glanced up at her shocked bridegroom, but he didn’t meet her look, or make any move to draw her into the comforting protection of his shoulder, not even offering her a reassuring hand. Shock seemed to have robbed him of movement—and of his voice. His stunned gaze was transfixed on Mack Chaney’s dark-eyed, ruggedly good-looking face.

Suzie’s mother stepped forward, her face contorted in fury. “You’d try anything, wouldn’t you, Mack Chaney! I always knew you were trouble!”

Mack’s darkly sensual mouth curved a trifle. “I think the fact that Tristan Guthrie is already married justifies my presence here.”

Suzie swayed, feeling faint. It was Mack whose hand shot out to steady her, not Tristan’s. Tristan was still frozen and speechless with shock.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” she hissed at Mack as the faintness began to recede and anger took over. It wouldn’t be the first time Mack Chaney had played a practical joke on her. But never one like this. Never one so cruel.

“Why not ask your bridegroom?” Mack suggested, his tone derisive.

“I don’t need to,” she retorted. “It’s laughable.” But Tristan wasn’t laughing. Nobody was laughing. And no wonder. This was outrageous! “You’ve obviously made a mistake. Or made it up!” Her scorn lashed Mack, hiding a growing apprehension. Why was Tristan being so quiet? Why wasn’t he denying it? Getting mad? Demanding that Mack Chaney be thrown out?

“Tristan, tell me it’s not true.” Her eyes sought her bridegroom’s face. The clean-cut, perfectly sculptured features were ashen, his long-lashed gray eyes stricken. Would he look so pale and shocked if it wasn’t true? “Tristan…” Her eyes caught his, pleading with him. “Tell me he’s wrong.”

Tristan found his voice at last, a hoarse croak. “Of course he’s wrong.” He turned accusing eyes on Mack, but there was little fire in the gray depths, and his voice shook as he demanded, “Where’s your proof? You’ve been listening to malicious idle gossip.”

“It was a piece of idle gossip that led me to check up on your past,” Mack rasped. “It didn’t take long to uncover your shabby secret. You married a woman ten years ago while you were a student at university, and you’ve never obtained a divorce!” He pulled some papers from his pocket. “Here’s a copy of your marriage certificate, and confirmation in writing that no divorce has been filed.”

Lucy gasped. Tristan’s pale face seemed to crumple. He cast an anguished look at Suzie’s mother. No sympathy there. Just fury, shock and disbelief.

Tristan turned back to his stunned bride, brushing Mack Chaney aside to seize her hand. “We can work this out,” he promised hoarsely. “I’ll fix it.”

“You mean it’s true?” Suzie recoiled. Tristan had a wife he was still married to, and he’d kept it from her? Her perfect, high-principled, reliable Tristan had lied to her? Deceived her? That realization was almost as bad as knowing that her bridegroom was married and contemplating bigamy! She’d always thought Tristan so honest…so upright…so honorable.

Still reeling, unable to believe it, she asked carefully, spelling it out to make doubly sure. “You married another woman ten years ago and you’re still married to her?”

Tristan began to bluster. “It was never a real marriage, I swear it. Love never came into it. It was purely a—” he hesitated, his handsome face contorting in guilty anguish “—a marriage of convenience,” he mumbled, so low she could barely hear. “She was a foreigner—an overseas student—who wanted my help to stay in Australia. I was doing her a favor,” he asserted lamely. “We married in secret and kept it quiet. After a few months we split up and went our separate ways.”

“And where is she now?” Suzie forced out the question, feeling sick. If today’s wedding had gone ahead, she wouldn’t have been Tristan’s legal wife. She would have been married to a bigamist! And wasn’t it an offence, she wondered dazedly, to marry under false pretences, the way Tristan had? How could he be so dishonest and unprincipled! How could he?

Tristan wrung his hands. “I don’t know where she is. I heard the year after we…married that she’d left Australia and gone to some remote part of Africa to be a missionary or something. So much for wanting to stay in Australia!” He gave a disgusted snort. “I tried to trace her to send divorce papers, but she’d vanished from the face of the earth. Nobody knew where she’d gone. I’ve never heard anything of her since. She’s probably dead,” he said with a dismissive toss of his golden head.

“You would have been notified if she was dead,” Mack interjected coldly. “As her husband, you’re her next of kin.”

Next of kin…Suzie felt dizzy. No words could have made the nightmare more real.

“I’ll find her, darling.” Tristan gripped her arm. “I’ll get a divorce. We’ve been apart for years, so even if I can’t find her, there should be no problem….”

She looked up into his pale, handsome face, at his quivering jaw, at the long-lashed gray eyes that couldn’t quite meet hers, and saw him for the first time as he really was. A shallow, spoiled, weak-willed fraud, just as Mack had said.

“How could you, Tristan?” she cried. “How could you keep a thing like that from me? From the woman you say you love and want to marry and share your life with!”

“I—I’d forgotten about it,” he said weakly, but one look at his face was enough to tell her that was patently a lie. She wondered if he’d ever made an effort to find his wife, or if that was a lie, too. “It was so long ago, darling…we were just kids. Impetuous young students. It never meant anything…I hardly knew her…and now…well, she left Australia years ago, so why drag it up again?”

Suzie gave a choked cry. “Because you’re still married to her, Tristan…. Don’t you understand?” He still didn’t accept that he’d done anything wrong. He just wanted to shut it out of his mind and blot it out of his pampered existence as if it had never happened.

Oh, Tristan, she thought with a despairing sigh. I don’t know you at all. And here I was, feeling guilty about you not knowing the real me!

“Just go, Tristan.” She couldn’t bear to see the pained, self-righteous hurt in his eyes, or to listen to any more of his blustering self-justification. “I would never marry you now, whether you had your divorce or not.”

“I suggest,” Mack drawled, “that you go down to your mother, Tristan, and quietly lead her out of the garden, along with your closest relatives, to save them the embarrassment of a public scandal.”

Tristan’s stricken eyes flared in relief. “Yes, yes…thank you, I will.” He slunk out with a hoarse apology, his eyes avoiding his bride’s, as if too ashamed—or not brave enough—to meet her withering gaze.

Coward, Suzie thought, profoundly relieved that Mack had saved her from marrying such a lily-livered weakling—though she wished it had been anyone else but Mack Chaney who’d come to her rescue!

“Oh, darling, run after Tristan,” her mother pleaded. “Can’t you go ahead with the wedding and worry about…” Her voice trailed off as she caught the scathing contempt in her daughter’s eye. “Well, at least give Tristan a chance to—to extricate himself from this embarrassing—”

“Mum, I could never marry him now,” Suzie said flatly. “How could I ever trust him after this? After hiding a thing like an existing marriage from me? I thought he was a man of honesty and integrity. I th-thought he was perfect.”

She heard a snort from behind, and scowled. Mack was enjoying all this, no doubt…acting the big hero…sweeping to her rescue in the nick of time….

“Nobody’s perfect, darling,” her mother said pensively. “There’s good and bad in everybody. You’ll never find a perfect man. But Tristan is more perfect than any man you’re likely to meet.” She shot a virulent look at Mack. Ruth had never approved of Mack. “And he loves you.”

“Does he?” Suzie asked dully. Were a few chaste kisses a measure of a man’s love? Had she ever truly loved him? Or had she simply been dazzled by his golden looks and comforted by the thought of a calm, secure future?

“Well, what are you going to do?” her mother wailed. “Everyone is down there waiting for you, dear. All those cameras and fashion experts…all desperate to see your bridal gown and to feature your wedding day in their magazines. And Jolie Fashions are relying on you, darling, for the publicity. For their survival!”

“And what about all the food and champagne?” Lucy piped up. “You can’t waste it!”

Suzie’s head was spinning. The dream she’d thought so unreal had turned into a nightmare that was only too real. What could she do? There was no way she was going to run after Tristan and beg him to go through a sham wedding ceremony with her…no way in the world! Not even to save Jolie…

Pain pierced her at the thought. Jolie Fashions had taken her on as a struggling fashion student and given her time off to continue her course, even paying her study fees. They’d given her a job as a junior designer, and encouraged her to enter the Gown of the Year with her own design. She owed them everything!

“Suzy, remember what Jolie have done for us…for me as well,” her mother appealed to her. “You must go after Tristan.”

The sight of her mother’s distress wrenched Suzie’s heart. Jolie Fashions had been wonderful to her mother, too, taking her on as a dressmaker at a time when she’d desperately needed paid work. Ruth had supported Suzie through the long dark years, while she was still at school. How could she stand by and watch Jolie go under, taking her mother with them? Without her wealthy clients at Jolie Fashions, Ruth would have to struggle, all over again.

As she stood hesitating, Mack spoke up again.

“There is a way out.” His dark gaze pinned hers. “You could marry me, Suzie.”

Chapter Two

“We have special permission,” Mack was quick to assure her. “The celebrant already has the documents. They only need your signature, Suzie.”

She stared back at him, too stunned to think of asking how he’d wangled special permission. The black eyes piercing hers were deadly serious. If this was one of Mack’s practical jokes, there was no sign of it.

“We can go down into the garden now,” Mack continued coolly, “get married in front of all your friends and that media pack waiting for you, Suzie, soak in all the publicity you need to save your fashion house and to hold up your head as a rising star of fashion design, and we can dissolve the marriage afterward, if that’s what you want.” He glanced at Suzie’s mother.

Ruth’s eyes wavered. She knew all about holding up one’s head. She’d been keeping up appearances all her married life…making out that her marriage was a normal one, that her husband wasn’t the useless no-hoper he’d become. To have to stand by and watch her daughter marrying Mack Chaney would be intolerable, but if they planned to dissolve it afterward…

“But what would we tell everyone?”

“Just tell them your daughter realized she couldn’t go through with her wedding to Tristan Guthrie and decided to follow her true heart,” came Mack’s drawling response. “You can always tell them later it didn’t work out.” If he could win over Suzie’s mother…

Ruth looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon. “I meant what would I tell them about you? Everyone knows my daughter would never marry an aimless, unemployed biker!”

Suzie’s head swam. Their voices seemed to be coming from far away. Her true heart? Was she dreaming…or paddling through a nightmare?

“Just tell them I’m in computers,” Mack advised easily.

Ruth sniffed. “You can’t get married in black leather!”

“The fashion world will love a bridegroom in black leather,” Lucy interjected, excitement bubbling in her voice. “It’s so romantic!”

Ruth pressed a hand to her chest. “But why does it have to be you?” she croaked, glaring at Mack.

Mack clenched his jaw. “I guess because I was the only one who thought to check up on Tristan Guthrie. And because I care about what happens to your daughter, Mrs. Ashton.”

“And you think my daughter wants to get tied up with you?” Ruth’s eyes flashed daggers at him. “She doesn’t! She’s made that quite clear in the past.” She gulped down her anger, her gaze sliding away. “But if you’re serious about this being only a temporary arrangement…and if my daughter agrees…” To save face…to save Jolie Fashions…to save her daughter’s career…

“Well, Suzie?” Mack turned to his prospective bride, who’d remained silent until now. She’d been shocked into silence. “It’s your call.”

Suzie’s head was still spinning. It was impossible to think straight. Her mother’s bitter attack on Mack a second ago had had a curious effect on her, making her feel almost defensive of him, tempting her to point out his good points to her mother. Only with her mind in such a tumultuous state, she couldn’t think of any! She’d spent so much time over the past three years reminding herself of Mack’s many faults…his many sins…trying only to think of them…

Mack watched the conflicting emotions in her eyes and relaxed a trifle. She was coming around…it was going to be easier than he’d thought.

“Mrs. Guthrie’s leaving!” Lucy reported from the window. “So are the people she’s sitting closest to. There’s no sign of Tristan…he must have sent one of the staff to speak to his mother.”

Tristan hadn’t even had the courage to face his mother himself? How pathetic he was, Suzie thought in disgust. What a lucky escape she’d had…and such a close escape…and she could thank Mack….

Her eyes clouded. She didn’t want to be indebted to Mack Chaney.

Mack felt a tinge of anxiety. He’d seen that look before. Don’t get cold feet now, Suzie. “I promise I’ll give you your freedom afterward, Suzie, the moment you ask. I’ll sign anything you want me to.” His eyes burned into hers, challenging her—even as he held his breath.

As Suzie stared back at him dazedly, her mother spoke up again, Mack’s promise reassuring her. “Suzie dear, if you’re going to go ahead with this wedding, we’d better get moving. The celebrant will be waiting downstairs. You’ll have to brief her of any changes you want…”

“She’ll think we’ve gone mad,” Suzie said faintly.

Mack’s dark eyes glinted. She was actually going to go ahead with it! He hid his relief. “Mad about each other,” he corrected smoothly, trying to curb his impatience. He didn’t want her backing out now….

“I’ll go down to the garden and let people know that you’re coming.” Ruth was already moving toward the door. “I can just imagine their shock, Suzie, when you turn up with an unruly-haired biker in black leather instead of Tristan Guthrie!”

“They’ll only have eyes for the bride,” Mack murmured, “not for the man by her side.”

“Oh yeah?” Lucy breathed, eyeing him avidly. Mack was far more romantic, in his dangerous, brooding sort of way, than the impeccable, golden-haired Tristan, who’d turned out to be a bit of a wimp.

Mack held out his hand to Suzie. “Shall we go down?” He gave her a rallying smile.

The sight of his smile reassured Suzie as nothing else could. This was what she’d dreamed of once…walking down the aisle with Mack Chaney…before she’d realized she would never be able to rely on him…that he wasn’t the responsible, settling-down type.

But she didn’t have to worry about the future. They wouldn’t be married long enough. She could believe in the dream and just for today live the dream.

She took his hand and smiled back. A smile she knew she must keep up for the rest of the afternoon.

Somehow she managed it, but her head was still whirling and she was barely conscious of her feet touching the ground. She was barely conscious of anything, except vague impressions.

The official wedding photographer waiting at the foot of the stairs, the marriage celebrant coming forward to discuss the service and deal with the necessary paperwork, the barrage of cameras as she and Mack stepped out into the sun-drenched garden, the sighs of admiration as her bridal gown was duly inspected and approved and finally the stunned faces of the guests as she walked between them with Mack by her side, Lucy following close behind.

They exchanged vows in front of a shady gazebo, with Mack producing a wedding ring which, he confided, had belonged to his mother. Mack had been close to his mother, so the ring would mean a lot to him. Suzie was touched by the gesture.

“I do,” she heard herself answering when the time came, and suddenly she was married, and everyone was waiting for Mack to kiss her. He did….

The cameras went mad. As a newlywed couple, they had to sign more documents at a table in the gazebo, before enduring another barrage of photographs, not only from their own official wedding photographer, but from the clamoring fashion media. The guests, many resplendent in Jolie fashions, were also photographed. Suzie’s bosses were ecstatic.

It was a relief to finally escape the media circus, the bridal couple retreating with their guests to the reception house, where the media weren’t permitted. But they had their pictures and went away happy, dispersing quickly, keen to be the first with their fashion scoop.

As the guests spilled into the various rooms of the brightly lit, flower-bedecked reception house, champagne and appetizers were served, and the noise level rose. Everyone was having fun, the mood heightened by the astonishing turn of events.

Tristan and his mother had wanted a formal reception, but Suzie had insisted on a party instead, with a smorgasbord-style buffet set up in one of the rooms and a towering profiterole dessert instead of a formal wedding cake. A jazz band was playing in the conservatory, and some of the guests were dancing already.

“Can’t we get out of here?” Suzie begged Mack as they moved from room to room, neatly avoiding probing questions. A good few of the guests were Tristan’s friends, who’d stayed on out of curiosity. “I want to go home. You must want to escape, too. Nobody will notice we’ve gone. With all these rooms, we could be anywhere.”

“Fine with me.” Mack’s dark eyes were unreadable. “We’ll slip out the back way. But you’d better let your mother know.”

“I guess so. You wait here.” Suzie dashed off, weaving through the crush until she found her mother, flopped in an armchair. “Mum, I need to get away from everyone. I’m exhausted. I’m going to slip away.”

Her mother nodded in sympathy. “I’ll come home with you,” she offered. “You must need a comforting shoulder to cry on after all that’s happened.”

Suzie hid her alarm. The last thing she wanted was her mother’s sympathy—especially if she started commiserating about Tristan! She immediately changed tack. “Mum, Mack and I are going to have a quiet drink somewhere away from all the fuss. I’ll be home later tonight,” she promised. “I’ve no intention of spending the night with Mack,” she assured her mother, who nodded in relief.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she added, and fled.

Moments later she was out in the floodlit courtyard with Mack. The cool air hit them in the face. The afternoon had been sunny and mild—a perfect autumn day—but now it had clouded over, with one ominously dark cloud directly overhead, and there were already a few spots of rain.

She looked round. “The wedding car’s not here,” she groaned. “It must be round the front.”

“You won’t need the wedding car.” Mack was ushering her toward a big gleaming black motorcycle.

She balked. “I’m not riding on that thing. I hate motorbikes.”

“You loved riding with me once.”

“That was before—” She stopped, a deep shudder quivering through her. Before her father had crashed his high-powered Harley into a power pole.

“I know, Suzie, and I’m sorry about your father, but you’ll be safe with me, I promise.”

Safe with Mack Chaney? When had she ever been safe with Sydney’s wild-boy bachelor?

Only he wasn’t a bachelor now. He was her husband. She began to tremble. Reaction was setting in.

As she stood hesitating, Mack’s fingers closed over her shoulders—warm, strong fingers that sent a tingling heat through the delicate lace. “You know what they say when someone falls off a horse.” His voice held a seductively persuasive note—a familiar note that brought back disturbing memories. “Get right back on and get rid of the demons.”

She looked up into his compelling black eyes and shivered, her mouth twisting. The only demon she had to fight was Mack himself. She’d been fighting that particular demon for the past three years, and for another year before that, when they’d been together—on and off. When Tristan Guthrie swept into her life three months ago, she thought that she’d finally succeeded in ridding herself of the demon that was Mack Chaney.

Tristan. Her golden prince. Her charming, sensible, honorable, dependable, perfect…Pah! She should have known he was too good to be true. Hot tears pricked her eyes.

“You want to get away from here or not?” Mack was already mounting his shiny black Harley and waiting for her to make up her mind.

“Yes, get me away! But I—I’ve decided not to go home yet. Mum will be home shortly, and I just can’t face her again tonight. Let’s have a quiet drink somewhere.”

“We’ll go to my place. Hop on!”

His place? But she hardly cared where. She just wanted to get away from here, before someone saw them and tried to drag them back inside.

She looped the long skirt of her wedding gown over her arm—she’d discarded her veil and headpiece earlier—and jumped up behind Mack. He’d pulled his helmet on and had unhooked the spare one for her.

“Here, put this on,” he ordered, thrusting it at her, but she gave a reckless shake of her head.

“I want to feel the wind in my hair. I’ve a lot of cobwebs to blow away.”

“It’s illegal not to wear a helmet,” Mack reminded her with rare deference to the law. She laughed—a brittle, almost hysterical laugh. Illegal? Bigamy was illegal! Not wearing a helmet was hardly the crime of the century. But she took it and rammed it on her head. “Come on, are we going or not?”

“We’re going.” Mack revved the engine. “Hang on!”

She did, clinging to him for dear life as his high-powered machine sprang forward and roared off down the sweeping driveway to the street. The spatters of rain were increasing, great splashing drops now, gathering momentum by the second.

She shut her eyes, relishing the wind and rain in her face because it gave her something else to think about other than the shocking events that had taken place at Bouganvillea Receptions.

She could feel her carefully straightened hair sprouting curls as the rain seeped under the helmet. Well, it hardly mattered now. Tristan wasn’t going to see it. Mack, on the other hand, was bound to make some cutting remark about her new look—her artificial new look—when they finally reached the sanctuary of his home.

Sanctuary? A shiver feathered down her spine. By running off with Mack Chaney, wasn’t she jumping out of the frying pan into the fire?

As they careered round the first corner, Mack suddenly nosed his bike into the kerb and brought it to a halt.

“What are you doing?” she cried as he eased himself out of her grasp and leapt off.

What he was doing, she realized, was peeling off his leather jacket. He had a plain black T-shirt underneath which emphasized the breadth of his muscled chest and exposed the impressive muscles of his tanned arms. She pursed her lips, wondering if he’d added workouts in the gym to his other leisure activities.

“Here. Slip your arms into this.” He helped her into his jacket, which was several sizes too large for her, but felt beautifully snug and warm. “It might protect you a bit.”

Surprised at his unexpected gallantry—but then, Mac had always been a man of surprises, good and bad—she showed her gratitude with a light, “Thanks, Mack. Now you’ll get wet through.”

“Never mind about me,” Mack muttered as he threw a sturdy thigh over his bike and settled back into his seat. There was an edge of mockery in his voice, as if to say, When have you ever minded about me? “Ready to go? Hold on, Suzie!” The big machine shot forward.

The rain was tumbling down. She could feel her wet curls clinging to her cheeks, her neck. She thought of Tristan and her mouth dipped. What would it matter now if she reverted to her natural curls and dropped her sophisticated, ladylike facade? Who was going to care now that her golden prince had turned into a tarnished frog?

Just as her dark prince had, three years ago.

She wondered bleakly if an honest, dependable man existed anymore.

She turned her face into the driving rain, as if that might wash them both out of her mind and out of her life. But it was pretty futile when she had her arms around the dark prince, his ring on her finger and would shortly be arriving at his home.

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