His Blackmailed Bride

It struck Paige that her mother had asked her that same question more and more in the past few days. She’d lied again, of course, saying yes, she was fine. What else could she have said? she thought now, staring blindly at the old maple. She couldn’t have told her the truth—that, even as they spoke, Quinn was probably telling Alan that his fiancée was a… a…

Paige’s empty coffee cup clattered as she put it down. A thin beam of sunlight reflected from the diamond on her finger. Alan’s ring, she thought, and her hand went to the valley between her breasts. Quinn’s blood ruby lay warm against her skin, suspended on a thin golden chain. What perversity had made her put it on?

She glanced at the clock beside her bed. The wedding was just a few hours away. Why hadn’t Alan called? Surely Quinn had told him by now. All last night, she’d alternately dreaded and welcomed the moment when she’d have to confess her duplicity, but nothing had happened. And Quinn—Quinn had lurked in the background, his face a mask of darkness, watching her…

‘Paige.’ She looked up as the door opened. ‘It’s time to dress, dear.’

‘Has Alan phoned, Mother?’

Janet Gardiner shook her head. ‘He’s not supposed to, is he? It’s bad luck or something.’ She opened the wardrobe and carefully slipped Paige’s long-skirted bridal gown from its hanger. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she sighed.

Paige watched as her mother spread the gown on the bed. The yards of handmade French lace, so lovely and delicate, seemed a mockery.

‘Mother? I was wondering—what do you know about Quinn Fowler?’

‘Alan’s brother?’ Her mother shrugged. ‘Not much, only what Mr Fowler told your father. He lives abroad—London, I think. Apparently, he’s been a great disappointment to the Fowlers. He left here under some sort of cloud. But he and Alan are still close. Why do you ask?’

Paige swallowed. ‘No particular reason. I was just thinking…’ Her words trailed away. ‘Mother? What if—what if something happened and I didn’t marry Alan?’

Her mother smiled. ‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ she said gently.

‘But just suppose—what if I changed my mind? Would you be upset?’

‘Have you changed your mind?’ her mother asked after a moment.

Paige shook her head. ‘I… I’m just asking.’

Janet Gardiner crossed the room and put her arm around her daughter. ‘Paige, dear, every bride has last-minute doubts.’

‘I know. But…’

Her mother’s eyes searched hers. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked softly.

Paige shook her head again. ‘No,’ she whispered.

Her mother nodded. ‘Do what your heart tells you,’ she said, her eyes never leaving her daughter’s. ‘That’s all that matters.’

Tears glistened in Paige’s eyes. ‘You’re a terrific mother,’ she said, with a quick smile. ‘Have I ever told you that?’

Janet Gardiner’s eyes were damp as well. ‘Not half often enough,’ she laughed, and then she kissed Paige’s cheek. ‘Now,’ she said briskly, ‘let’s get you into this gown, shall we? Time’s running out.’

* * *

Her mother’s words rang through Paige’s mind as she stood in the centre of a small upstairs room in the Fowler house. Time was, indeed, running out. The early sounds of the wedding festivities carried clearly up the rear staircase: the hum of conversation between the caterer and his assistants, the clink of silverware, the discreet tones of Vivaldi. In less than an hour, the house would be filled with people, and she would move slowly down the flower-bedecked main staircase, across the pink and white runner laid over the Aubusson carpet, to Alan’s side.

Except that none of that would happen. Any minute now, the door would open and Alan would confront her. Alan and Quinn. And she was alone and ready. There would be no audience to her disgrace.

‘Go and see to our guests,’ she’d said to her mother. ‘You know Mrs Fowler—she’ll swallow them alive if you’re not there.’

Her father had seemed eager to leave her. ‘This is a good thing you’re doing,’ he’d said, and the remark had seemed so solemn and heavy that it had brought the only smile of the day to Paige’s face.

Paige looked at the clock and felt a moment of panic. Was it possible Quinn had changed his mind? Had he decided not to tell Alan anything? Was she less than an hour away from becoming the wife of a man she didn’t love, a man she didn’t deserve? No, that was out of the question. She’d seen the look on Quinn’s face. He hated her and he loved his brother, and…

The door opened and slammed shut. Alan… Heart pounding, Paige spun towards the door. She felt the blood drain from her face. It wasn’t Alan—it was Quinn. And he was alone.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered. ‘Where’s Alan?’

His lips drew away from his teeth. ‘What a charming way to greet your brother-in-law,’ he said pleasantly, while his eyes moved over her. ‘You look lovely, sweet Juliet. So pure and virginal.’