A Proper Wife

CHAPTER FIVE

DEVON tried to speak but at first she couldn’t manage anything more than a strangled croak.

Finally she licked her lips, swallowed hard, and choked out a sentence.

“Wha—what did you say?”

The terrible smile vanished from Ryan’s face. He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, walked to the window, and stared out into the street.

“I said, there’s no way out of it. The marriage is on.”

The marriage is on? His marriage, to her? Her marriage, to him? Was he crazy?

“The ceremony’s Friday at four o’clock.”

Ryan’s voice was hard and clipped, his tone almost matter-of-fact. There was no longer any question about it. He was crazy!

Devon marched to where Ryan stood and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, she jammed her hands onto her hips and glared at him.

“I don’t want to ruin this for you,” she snapped, “but you’ve left out one minor detail.” Her chin lifted and she pounded her fist into her chest. “Me! Me, dammit! Marriage takes two, or had you forgotten? I am one of the principal parties in this lunatic scheme, or had you overlooked that?”

“How could I possibly overlook it? It’s not every day a man has his bride handpicked for him.”

“Stop calling me that,” Devon said fiercely. “I am not your bride!”

“Not yet, you aren’t. But you will be, come Friday afternoon.”

She watched him, waited for him to laugh in derision or explode in fury. She waited for him to curse, march to the phone, call his fruitcake of a grandfather and tell him what he could do with his off-the-wall matchmaking.

But Ryan didn’t do anything. He just stood there, his face looking as if it were made of granite, and it was that stony acceptance that finally made her start to tremble.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” she said unsteadily, “but if you think I’d ever really go along with this...”

“The idea of marrying you thrills me as much as it thrills you.”

“Then call your grandfather! Ryan, the longer you let this go on—”

“It’s too late.”

“What do you mean, it’s too late! Get on that phone, dammit! Tell that insane old man that there can’t be a wedding without a bride.”

“There’s a bride,” Ryan said grimly. “A sweet, apple-cheeked, demure, old-fashioned slip of a girl with a hard right, a tough mouth, and a disposition that would make a rhino blush.”

“Get this into your head, Ryan Kincaid. I will not marry you.”

“You have no choice.”

“What do you mean, I have no choice?” Devon stamped her foot. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is not the Middle Ages! Kings don’t tell their subjects who to marry, and when.”

“Devon, calm down and listen.”

“No. No, you listen! Maybe you’re in the habit of letting Grandpa tell you not just when to jump but how high, but—”

“I’ve never let him tell me anything,” Ryan said wearily.

“But you’re going to let him tell you when—and whom—to marry?”

Ryan took a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand.”