His Blackmailed Bride

This couldn’t be happening. Surely it was a dream from which she’d soon awaken? But the scratch of pen across paper was a real as the sight of her bridal gown lying in a discarded heap across the bed. She watched as Quinn finished the first page of the letter and began the next. God, there had to be a way to stop him! He couldn’t really do this to her—he wouldn’t. He…

No, of course he wouldn’t. This was a trick, that was all. Quinn wanted to be certain she’d fade from his brother’s life for ever. This was only a melodrama to ensure that she did.

Her desperate hope died as soon as Quinn finished writing. He looked up and shoved the letter towards her.

‘Sign it,’ he said.

She looked at him blankly. ‘Quinn, you… you can’t really mean…’

His eyes raked her with cold fire. ‘Have you changed your mind, Paige? Would you prefer I go downstairs and make my announcement?’

She shook her head. ‘No. But…’

‘Sign the letter, Paige.’

She took a step towards him and picked up the

letter. Her hands trembled as she read the words she and Quinn had supposedly written together.

Words seemed to leap from the page. ‘By the time you read this… can’t go through with our wedding… don’t want to hurt you… always care for you but I’ve fallen in love with Quinn…’

‘You said I could write to Alan myself.’

His smile was curt. ‘I changed my mind. Let’s go, Paige. Sign it.’

The paper trembled and fell from her hand. Quinn picked it up and thrust it at her.

‘Do it,’ he growled.

‘Quinn…’ Her voice broke. ‘Quinn, please—I beg you. Don’t force me into this. I swear I won’t marry Alan. I don’t love him—I never did. And my father… maybe he can explain. Maybe…’

His eyes were bottomless and dark. ‘Maybe he can grow old in prison. Sign the note, Paige.’

His voice was soft. She read the threat in his eyes and then she took the paper from him and scrawled her name alongside his.

‘You have two minutes to write to your parents.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Not that your old man will give a damn. As long as you marry the Fowler who can guarantee his safety.’

Paige addressed her note to both her mother and her father, but the words were directed to Janet Gardiner. She built on the advice her mother had given her earlier that morning: it made for an effective lie.

‘I’ve fallen in love with…’ Her hand paused, trembling, and Quinn laughed. ‘Write my name, Juliet. You may as well get used to it.’ Paige took a deep breath. ‘… with someone else,’ she wrote. ‘I’ve done as you said, Mother, and followed my heart.’

Quinn’s breath was warm on her cheek as he read over her shoulder. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘There won’t be a dry eye in the house after that’s made the rounds.’

That was when she’d first begun to believe that he might really take her away with him. The pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat leaped to the sudden pounding of her blood. She wiped her damp palms along the silk skirt of her going-away suit, watching as Quinn pulled off his dark grey morning jacket and tossed it aside.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

His fingers flew along the studs on his starched shirt. ‘Changing my clothes. This used to be my room—there should be something I can wear left in the wardrobe.’ His voice grew muffled. ‘Here we go,’ he said, flashing her a mirthless grin as he tossed a corduroy suit on the bed. ‘It’s probably going to be a tight fit, but it’s better than walking around New York City on a weekend morning, wearing a swallowtail coat.’

He shrugged off his shirt and tossed it after the jacket. His chest and shoulders were naked, and Paige’s glance skimmed across his torso, refusing to see, yet fascinated by, the dark, curling hair that covered his chest, and the well-defined muscles in his arms and shoulders. His eyes caught hers and she flushed and turned away.

‘New York?’

Quinn grunted and she heard the hiss of metal. ‘New York,’ he repeated. ‘And then London.’

London. Of course—that was where he lived. If he was really planning on going through with this, that was where he’d take her. She swallowed past the nervous laughter that rose in her throat. Alan had apologised a dozen times for having to rush her off to South America, but here was Quinn, about to carry her off to England without so much as a word.

‘Let’s go,’ he snapped.