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Chapter Three

CATHERINE wasn’t sure why she’d come. She could have called Stephen with the additional estimate she’d received on the shelter’s roof. As for his robe, which she’d worn home from their evening on La Libertad, it could have been sent by messenger. But here she stood, in front of his home in one of Chicago’s toniest suburbs, a good forty-minute commute from the city, so she couldn’t possibly claim to have been “just in the neighborhood.”

She’d been to Stephen’s Tudor-style home only a few times, for company management parties he’d hosted while she and Derek were dating. Still, it surprised her to find that he lived on a quiet elm-lined drive where the estates were huge and ivy-covered but still managed to look homey and inviting. Derek lived in the city, in a penthouse apartment high above the throbbing nightlife and bustling streets. She called the city home as well, but she’d always hoped to again live someplace with a rolling green lawn and lush flower gardens to tend.

Catherine grinned when a yellow Labrador retriever streaked down the redbrick drive to greet her as she stepped from her car. She’d always believed she was a dog person at heart, even though her only pet as a child had been a finicky Persian cat her mother had named Cashmere.

“Hey, girl,” she said, bending down to stroke the dog’s wide head. The Lab instantly dropped to the ground and rolled over, eager for a belly rub. “Ah, boy,” she amended. “Your master busy?”

Stephen’s car was in the circular drive just ahead of hers. She straightened and started for the rounded steps of the front porch, noticing for the first time that that the door was wide open.

“Stephen?”

She got no answer, so she stepped inside. His suit coat lay crumpled on an oriental rug and it appeared his briefcase had been tossed onto the long-legged table in the foyer, knocking off a vase. Shards of glass littered the marble floor, and she stepped carefully around them.

Something was wrong, seriously wrong, but almost immediately she dismissed concern over a burglary or violent struggle. Surely the dog wouldn’t have been running around outside if his master were in a fight for his life? From somewhere in the house she could hear Stephen’s raised voice. He was shouting curses, some in English, some in what sounded like Spanish—all were vicious.

Catherine called out his name a second time. She got no answer, but followed his voice down a hallway and found him in a room she assumed was his home office. He was quiet now, too quiet, as he sat in a high-backed leather chair behind an ornately carved wooden desk, elbows propped on the edge of it, face buried in his hands.

“Stephen?”

He started at the sound of her voice and straightened in his seat. The naked pain in his eyes when he glanced up so surprised her that before she could ponder if he would appreciate her interference or not she was crossing the threshold and walking to him.

“My God, Stephen, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“They did it.”

“Did what? Who?”

He looked at her, seemed to look through her.

“I don’t know how they did it, but they did it.” His words clarified nothing. Nor did it help when he motioned to the papers scattered over his desktop and added, “Even my copy of the will, the codicil’s there. They must have made the switch last month, when Derek volunteered to pick up some documents for me. I gave him the damn combination to my safe.” He swore again. “I all but handed him my birthright.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about, but that didn’t seem as important at that moment as offering comfort. She walked around the desk, laid a hand on his shoulder.

“How can I help? What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do.” He laughed harshly.

“There must be something.”

He shook his head, as if realizing for the first time who she was. “Why are you here, Catherine?”

She decided against mentioning the shelter’s roof. He obviously had more pressing concerns right now. So she pointed to the shopping bag she’d left just inside the door. “Your robe. I’m returning it.”

“Leave it, then.”

It was a dismissal, but she decided to ignore it.

“What can I do?” she asked again.

He didn’t answer. Instead he stood, and with a violent sweep of his arm cleared the desk. A lamp crashed to the ground, followed by a telephone, and papers fluttered like snowflakes before finally settling on the hardwood floor.

Catherine jumped back a step, shocked by Stephen’s uncharacteristic show of temper. In an instant he seemed to have gone from distraught to enraged. And in those dark eyes of his she saw fury, burning hot and lethal. And his gaze was now focused on her.

“It seems we have something in common, Catherine.”

He rolled the R in her name, making it sound almost exotic. She backed up another step as he advanced, not sure what he meant to do. When he stood directly in front of her he raised a hand, and she held her breath. But his touch was gentle when he pushed the hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear, his fingers sliding slowly down to the end of the strand before releasing it.

“What do we have in common?” she asked softly.

“Betrayal. Derek has betrayed us both.”

He cursed again, before turning away from her and stalking to the window.

“I don’t understand.”

“Derek and his mother managed to either doctor our grandfather’s will or conceal a key provision of it from me until today.” He turned and pointed to the papers scattered over the floor. “There’s a codicil that essentially gives them the controlling interest in Danbury’s if certain conditions aren’t met by my thirty-fifth birthday, which is Sunday.”

“Any chance you can meet the conditions?”

He expelled a breath, ran one hand through his hair. Fury ebbed. He seemed resigned when he replied. “It’s not likely.”

“Okay, but surely you could go to court and challenge the will?”

“Perhaps. I’d need a new lawyer, since they seem to have bought off the one who’s been doing our family’s business for decades. It would get ugly,” he said, as if thinking aloud. “And there’s no guarantee I’d win, since I have no proof that they concealed the codicil. It’s their word against mine. In the months or even years before the matter is finally settled the press would have a field day with the story, as would our competitors. I wonder what such a bitter battle would do to Danbury’s already battered bottom line in the end?”

“I’d say your best option, then, is to try to meet the will’s conditions.”

He snorted. “Easier said than done.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are the conditions?”

“I have to be married,” he announced. Glancing at his watch, he added, “And I have less than twenty-eight hours to do so.”

“That’s archaic—barbaric.”

“That’s my grandfather. Which is why I tend to think the codicil is authentic. Derek must have discovered it before Grandfather died and decided to make sure I didn’t know about it until it was too late. I still can’t figure out how he and his mother bought off Lyle. He’s always seemed so by the book.”

Something occurred to her then, a thought too hideous to even consider, and yet she had to know. “This condition, did it apply to Derek?”

He seemed to understand what she was asking. “I’m sorry, Catherine.”

She acknowledged his apology with a brisk nod, as hurt and fury battled for dominance. Derek’s words at the church came back to her. I don’t really need her anyway. Had everything been a lie?

She recalled her first encounter with Derek, nearly two years earlier—just a month after his grandfather’s death, she now realized. He’d bid an outrageous sum for a mediocre painting at a silent auction she’d organized to raise money for the shelter. She’d thanked him personally afterward, accepting his invitation to dinner the next day. She’d thought at last she’d found someone who shared her interests, respected her intellect and understood the importance of her work at the shelter and with other local charities that helped serve the city’s neediest residents. Had his romantic pursuit really just been a means to an end?

“What would have happened if Derek had married me?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“That’s not important.”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings, Stephen. I think I have a right to know. What would have happened?”

“He would have had it all.”

“All of Danbury’s?”

“Everything.” His gaze skimmed her features in a way that made her breath catch. “And then some.”

She thought about the prenuptial agreement she’d signed, ensuring a reasonable cash settlement but stipulating she would have no part of the family business. He would have had everything, all right.

“But without a wife he still wins, since you are unmarried as well?”

“Not as neatly. We’ll technically have an equal interest in Danbury’s. His mother’s five percent, however, will mean they get to call the shots. And they intend to sell.”

“So he would have married me just to get his hands on Danbury’s.” She shifted her gaze to Stephen. “Would you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Would you marry someone to keep the company?”

He snorted out a laugh. “I’m not even seeing anyone.”

“That didn’t stop Derek.”

“No, but he had time on his side. I’ve got just over a day. I’m not a believer in love at first sight.”

“You don’t have to love her,” she said, the cold truth settling in once and for all. “Derek didn’t love me.”

“He should have.”

His tone was so matter-of-fact that she didn’t doubt he believed it.

An idea began to take form, too outrageous to entertain, let alone voice, and yet she heard herself ask, “What kind of wife does the codicil state you need to have?”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, before shrugging. “The usual kind: female.”

“Are there any restrictions? Do you have to…stay married?”

“No, I guess not.” His brows pulled together. “But marriage should be permanent.”

His tone sounded almost wistful, and the words surprised her. Stephen Danbury seemed too much of a realist to be a romantic. But then her judgment of men was hardly reliable. After all, she’d believed the lies Derek had packaged up and delivered. But he’d never loved her. He’d never intended to honor or cherish her. He hadn’t even been capable of fidelity on their wedding day. And for his deceit he would have reaped huge rewards. Even having been caught he was still about to come out on top.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

“You could marry me.” Catherine laid a hand over her jack-hammering heart after she said it.

Stephen gaped at her, clearly as surprised as she by the suggestion. “Marry you?”

Self-conscious laughter bubbled to the surface. “You needn’t look so horrified. It’s just an idea.”

Stephen came forward until he stood just in front of her. “I’m not horrified, just surprised. I know what I’d get out of a marriage between us,” he said carefully, “but what about you? What would you get out of it?”

“I’m not expecting anything financially. I do earn a salary at the shelter, and I have some money from a small inheritance my grandmother left me.”

“I didn’t think you were after money, otherwise you would have married Derek even after finding him with the wedding planner. But why would you want to marry me?”

Helping people. That was what she did. She often put herself on the line for the underdog, albeit never quite so personally. And then there was the way her pulse hitched whenever he looked at her in that intense way of his. But attraction alone was no reason to marry. Why was she willing to do this? She had no answer for herself, certainly none for him. So she settled on, “It’s for a good cause.”

“The shelter?” he asked. “Is this your way to ensure you get that new roof?”

“Will it?”

Something flickered in his gaze, an emotion she couldn’t quite read. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you. But this isn’t just about the shelter.” She fussed with the mother-of-pearl buttons on her sweater set and admitted, “I’m afraid I’m not as altruistic as that.”

His lips thinned into a smile. “Let me guess: this would be your way of paying Derek back? A little bit of revenge from the woman scorned?.”

She nodded. “I suppose that’s true. As much as I want the good guy in all of this to win, I’d also like to see the bad guy lose.”

“Are you sure I’m the good guy, Catherine?”

His gaze locked with hers in seeming challenge.

“I want you to be,” she whispered.

“Why?”

She gave a nervous laugh. “Yin and Yang, I suppose. One to balance out the other.”

“So you’d marry me to keep the cosmic forces in order?”

She didn’t reply. In a way it had to do with cosmic forces, all right, but not necessarily the ones he assumed. For the first time in her life Catherine was handing herself over to fate. This was the right thing to do. She could feel it, even if she couldn’t articulate why.

“If we do this, we’ll need to do it quickly and quietly,” Stephen said.

“You’ll marry me, then?”

Stephen studied Catherine’s face. There was no denying her beauty. It had long beguiled him, even when he hadn’t thought there was much else to her than physical perfection. Under other circumstances he might have been flattered by the proposal. Under other circumstances, however, he knew it would not have come. Women from Catherine’s elite social sphere might condescend to take a dip in Stephen’s gene pool, but they didn’t want to swim there forever. Years of dating had told him so, despite his fortune.

“I’m desperate, Catherine,” he said flatly.

He watched her wince and wondered was he so desperate he would take a wife, even if only on paper? He didn’t have the luxury of time to clearly think things out. The one thing he knew without hesitation or question was that he did not want to see Danbury’s sold. Marrying Catherine might be his only way to stop that from happening.

“Is that a yes?”

He nodded. “We’ll need to move fast. Danbury’s no longer has a company jet. The bottom line has been too thin in recent years to justify it. We’ll have to catch a flight out of O’Hare.”

“A flight?”

“Vegas.” He shrugged. “It’s quick and legal.”

“Vegas,” she repeated, looking as if she were sucking on a sour ball.

“You don’t have to do this.”

She moved forward, offering her hand as she came. “I do.”

And it was with just those two words that she sealed the bargain.

It was nearly midnight when they arrived in Las Vegas. The city, however, seemed to have an abundance of energy and enthusiasm despite the late hour. Catherine had neither, especially since she was still working on Illinois time. She had never been to Vegas. She wasn’t one for games of chance, which of course seemed ironic given the risk she would be taking with Stephen. For a woman who didn’t believe in gambling, she’d certainly found herself in a high-stakes game.

What did she know about this man who would soon become her husband? Not much. Not nearly enough for the commitment she had agreed to make. He was private, but it was more than that. He hid something—not something evil, like Derek, of that she was sure. But those eyes that watched everything and rarely reflected anything told her that he found it easier—safer?—to tuck his feelings deep inside. She could appreciate that, she thought. She’d done it most of her life when it came to her parents.

“Tired?”

The softly spoken question startled her. She turned from the cab’s window to find him staring at her. “No. Not really. I’ve never been to Las Vegas.”

He studied her for a moment longer before replying, “It’s not really your style.”

“How can you be so sure?” She found herself a little bothered that, while he seemed such an enigma to her, he should consider her such an open book.

“It’s gaudy, flashy, at times crass and always greedy. You are conservative, traditional, sedate…generous.”

“That’s just how every woman wants to be described by her prospective groom. You might as well be talking about a station wagon,” she said on a nervous laugh, but she wasn’t really insulted.

He only raised one ebony eyebrow, and she found herself lost in those dark eyes. How does he see me?

“Try again,” she said, turning in her seat so that she fully faced him.

“You have style,” he said slowly.

“Hmm. Now I’m a Mercedes.”

But she didn’t laugh this time. She could scarcely breathe when he looked at her like that, his gaze so thorough, as if no detail could escape his notice.

“You’re beautiful, but you know that.”

“It’s often an empty compliment,” she replied.

“Which brings me to smart, but I suspect you know that, too.”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s not something I hear often from men.”

Despite her outward nonchalance, genuine pleasure had her pulse spiking. Men so rarely complimented her on her intelligence. Oh, she was no genius, but neither was she a vapid member of the social elite. She had graduated cum laude from Stanford University, with a dual degree in business and social work. She put both disciplines to work in her job at the shelter. She enjoyed the work immensely, which was why she also volunteered her services at half a dozen other charities. She was a natural at fund-raising and organizing, and it made her feel useful rather than like some pretty ornament.

It also helped ease her guilt. Once upon a time she had been useless. Her best friend had paid the price. She pushed back that painful memory as the driver pulled the car to a stop in front of their hotel.

They had each only brought one small case to spare them from checking luggage, but Stephen insisted on carrying hers. Inside, it seemed ridiculous to request separate rooms when they were in town to be married, but Catherine wondered how she could sleep in the same proximity as Stephen, share a bathroom, when they had never so much as gone on a date. The dilemma was solved to a certain extent when he requested a suite. Their quarters were opulently decorated in navy and gold, and spacious enough with two bedrooms, each with its own bath.

“Which room do you want?” he asked politely as they stood in the living area and eyed one another with growing discomfort.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m so tired I could sleep standing up.” She laughed, hoping to lighten the mood. He didn’t so much as blink.

“You can take that one.” He pointed to the doorway nearest her. He hesitated at the threshold of the other bedroom, carry-on bag in hand. “Thank you, Catherine.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Try to get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.”

As Catherine settled between the cool sheets of the king-sized bed, she knew “big” was an understatement.

Early the next morning they picked a chapel within walking distance from their hotel, opting for what passed for understated in Las Vegas. Plastic blood-red roses dripped from a white trellis just outside the door, and inside the lobby guests could put a buck in a vending machine to buy a packet of birdseed to toss at the bride and groom.

Of course there were no guests: only Catherine, wearing a simple white A-line dress that flowed nearly to her ankles, and Stephen, dressed in a charcoal suit. She supposed it was silly to wear white for this farce of a wedding, but she believed in tradition.

A Vegas wedding, she soon realized, had traditions of its own, quirkiness being at the top of the list. They managed to bypass the Elvis impersonator, but to Catherine’s horrified amusement, the I Do Chapel’s minister bore a striking resemblance to Liberace.

“The standard wedding package includes your choice of song, a bouquet of white carnations for the bride and a snapshot to remember the happy occasion,” Liberace droned. “For just a little more you can upgrade to the deluxe package and get the pretty little lady a bouquet of roses, three snapshots and these matching T-shirts.”

He pointed to the wall where the shirts were displayed. Emblazoned on the front of each were the words “We did it in Vegas at the I Do Chapel.”

“Oh, my God,” Catherine gasped, swallowing a bubble of hysterical laughter.

To her surprise, Stephen said dryly, “The deluxe package, by all means. We wouldn’t want to miss out on those shirts.”

The entire affair seemed so out of character for both of them, she supposed they would need the T-shirts to convince themselves they’d actually gone through with it. Of course, the marriage certificate would be real enough. That thought was sobering.

After filling out the necessary paperwork, they followed Liberace into the main room of the chapel.

“Are you expecting any guests?”

“No,” Stephen said.

“Then I guess we’ll get down to it.”

Before Catherine could catch a breath, a woman shoved a bouquet of plastic white roses into her hands and snapped a hasty shot of her and Stephen as they stood before a makeshift altar. Liberace nodded to another woman, who cued up the music. “Green-sleeves” filled the room.

“Dearly beloved,” Liberace began, speaking to a room occupied by only five people, including the bride and groom. “We are gathered here today to unite this woman and this man in matrimony. Do you…?” He glanced at the paper before him and then back at Stephen. “I’m sorry. Could you pronounce your name for me, please?”

Stephen nodded, but his gaze never left Catherine’s face as he replied, “Stefano Anastasio Danbury.”

The name rolled from his tongue, a perfect complement to the dark hair and eyes—eyes that now stared in challenge, as if daring her to comment, and so she did.

“I wondered what the A stood for.”

Something like surprise flickered briefly in his expression. Clearly this was not the comment he was expecting.

“My grandparents—paternal grandparents—preferred it that way.”

Catherine had never met the elder Danburys, but she thought she understood what he was saying. Stefano would have been easy enough to Anglicize, but a name like Anastasio would have no English equivalent. She wasn’t one to pay attention to the gossip, but she now recalled that she’d heard her mother talking to a friend once about a scandal of some sort, involving Stephen’s father and the woman he’d married.

“Your mother was from Puerto Rico,” she said, pleased with herself for finally remembering. It made sense to her now that he would have learned her native tongue.

“My mother was a maid,” he said flatly. “No other comment?”

“Your initials spell SAD.”

His brows tugged together.

“May I continue?” the minister asked.

“That’s up to the lady,” Stephen replied.

Did he expect her to call it off just because his name confirmed the heritage his looks hinted at?

“Is there suddenly a reason I shouldn’t want to?” She lobbed the ball neatly back into his court. If he thought her a bigot, let him spell it out.

“You have every reason in the world not to want to.”

“Those reasons were the same back in Chicago. Exactly the same,” she enunciated. “I haven’t changed my mind. Have you?”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve lost my mind, but, no, I haven’t changed it.” He nodded to Liberace. “Proceed.”

The ceremony was over in short order. A couple of “I dos,” the exchange of two hastily purchased gold bands from chapel’s display case—guaranteed not to tarnish for at least five years—and they were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Stefano Danbury.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Catherine hadn’t allowed herself to think ahead to this part of the ceremony, or, for that matter, to the physical side of marriage. Of course their marriage would be in name only, a marriage of convenience. Wasn’t that, to all intents and purposes, what her parents had? A useful and mutually beneficial union. They seemed content enough after twenty-nine years. Yoked together. Like a pair of oxen.

Of course she and Stephen were hardly in this for the long haul. They’d settled on a year, which seemed a reasonable enough length of time to silence the gossips and satisfy any lawyers Derek hired to fight the codicil or question their nuptials. Something told Catherine that her marriage to Derek would have ended much sooner and far less amicably than she predicted this one would.

Her gaze connected with Stephen’s. For better or worse, literally, he was her husband now. She offered a smile, leaned forward for the kiss, expecting something brief and perfunctory. Then she caught the clean scent of aftershave on his warm skin, noted the sexy line of his mouth. Reaching up, she laid a palm against the hard plain of one of his cheeks, and, for no reason she could fathom, she sighed.

Stephen saw her eyelids flutter shut as his mouth touched hers, but he kept his own eyes open, watching this woman he barely knew, watching his wife. He deepened the kiss out of curiosity, sliding his tongue inside the pliant seam of her lips. She’d always seemed so cool, so in control. Once, a few months back, he’d walked into Derek’s office and caught the pair of them kissing. Even with his cousin’s hand on her nicely curved bottom and her arms twined around his neck she’d managed to look untouched. She didn’t look untouched this time, though he’d so far managed to keep his hands to himself. And neither, he admitted, was he. Kissing Catherine was like sailing La Libertad in rough waters. He needed to hold on. He brought his hands up to frame her face, his fingers stretching into the soft gold of her hair.

“That’s more like it,” Liberace cracked. “Now, if you kids could just take this back to your hotel room, I’ve got another wedding to perform. Don’t forget to pick up your T-shirts on the way out.”

They sprung apart as if they had just been doused with a bucketful of freezing water. Her eyes, as big and blue as the deepest waters of Lake Michigan, reflected his own surprise and confusion. An electrical current of need had coursed through that kiss. It had carried with it a blast of heat that he hadn’t felt in…ever. And it had come from the Ice Princess, Catherine Canton. The discovery, however, was not welcome. Business. That was what this was, Stephen reminded himself. Hormones didn’t, couldn’t factor into it. Even as he told himself this was so, he couldn’t quite squelch the male satisfaction he felt when he noted the way her hand shook when she ran it through her hair. She’d worn her hair loose and long this day, a cascade of sunshine that haloed her face and flowed over her shoulders. He liked it this way the best, especially since the slightly mussed tendrils around her temples had been his doing.

The photographer handed Stephen the three Polaroids, which he stuffed into his pocket without bothering to look at them. They were nearly to the door, his equilibrium almost restored, when Liberace ruined it all by calling out, “Enjoy your wedding night.”