The Bride's Secret

'Yes, I suppose I am.' It was the only way out, and as long as she left Hudson before her real identity became known it wouldn't harm him. It must not. But how would she be able to do that?

'And that means?' He was speaking quietly, steadily, but the little tremor in his voice that he couldn't quite hide caught at her heartstrings. He didn't know if she was going to walk away and leave him to explain away this whole fiasco. As if she could. As if she could. He had gambled everything on believing in her—she had to go through with it. That was her answer.

'I'll marry you, Hudson.' She spoke woodenly and he knew better than to push her any further, merely nodding soberly and getting to his feet as he gave her his hand and helped her rise.

She was a beautiful bride. Everyone said so. Before they had joined the others Hudson had taken the pins out of her hair, his touch tender and gentle, arranging the glowing golden mass across her shoulders before fixing a delicate band of tiny fresh white and pink rosebuds across the silky curls, the colours reflected in the lavish bouquet he placed into her numb fingers.

It wasn't just her fingers that were numb—she felt frozen all over, stupefied, her mouth repeating the necessary phrases during the service, and afterwards too when receiving the congratulations from the forty or so guests who had been gathered in the huge, beautifully decorated room beyond the one where she had met Hudson.

She said all the right things, smiled, nodded graciously, but inside she was dead, paralysed with shock and an overwhelming fear that she had just let Hudson make the worst mistake of his life.

'There's a wedding luncheon to get through and then we can slip away to the hotel,' Hudson whispered in her ear as he took her arm to leave. 'I've booked the bridal suite in the hotel in which you are staying—your things will have already been moved there.'

'You were very sure of me.' She wasn't angry; the ice round her emotions wouldn't let her be.

'No, no, I wasn't.' An inflexion in his voice, a rawness, made her glance up at him sharply, and she caught agony in his eyes before a veil blanketed his expression. 'I was sure you loved me, but beyond that… ' His mouth twisted in the semblance of a smile. 'Beyond that I was sure of nothing.'

'And you still went through with it,' she whispered shakily.

'I had no other option.' He shook his head slowly. 'I'd tried everything else. But if later you want a ceremony in church with all the trimmings—white dress, bridesmaids and so on—'

'I had the white dress—suit,' she corrected numbly. 'And the clothes don't mean anything, do they?'

'No, Annie, the clothes mean nothing at all,' he agreed evenly.

The marriage luncheon stretched on into late afternoon, the beautiful June weather New York was enjoying meaning the guests spilled out into a pretty little courtyard attached to the excellent restaurant where Hudson had arranged the wedding meal.

Champagne flowed like water and Marianne had several glassfuls but very little food, the effervescent liquid providing the shot in the arm she needed to get through the day without breaking down, or allowing herself to surface from the dull stupor her senses had taken refuge in. It was as though it were happening to someone else.

There was the odd moment—for instance when she caught herself glancing at the wide gold wedding band on the third finger of her left hand, its presence alien and strange, or when someone jokingly addressed her as Mrs de Sance—when her poise faltered and a dart of feeling burnt its way through the ice, but on the whole the numbness prevailed, and Marianne welcomed it. The luxury of feeling would come later—for now she was on view and had to act the part allotted to her. She couldn't—wouldn't—let Hudson down in front of everyone.

It was as they prepared to leave the luncheon that the ice began to melt, when she discovered Hudson had arranged for a party of professional bell-ringers to come and play one of her favourite pieces by Handel. 'I couldn't have the church bells ringing,' he whispered in her ear as they listened to the music, 'so these wedding bells are the next best thing.'

'They're beautiful,' Marianne said quietly, the burden on her increasing a hundred-fold. If only he had been rough or cruel or thoughtless this would have been so much easier. But then she wouldn't have loved him, she reminded herself bleakly, and none of it would have happened anyway. He was everything she could ever have wanted in a husband. Husband. The word hit her like a ten-ton truck. He was her husband… they had got married. What had she done? What had she done? What would happen when the wedding bells stopped and they were alone, as man and wife?

Once the thaw started Marianne found it impossible to stop the melting effect on her emotions. They left the restaurant amid a deluge of confetti and good wishes, Hudson enigmatic and cool in his dark morning suit and snowy-white shirt, and once inside the wedding car—a huge, great sedan covered in white ribbons—she found she was shaking uncontrollably.

'It's all right, darling, it's all right' Hudson drew her close as the car purred through the crowded busy streets and she didn't try to fight him; it felt so good to rest her head on his shoulder and let the rest of the world go by outside. 'You're exhausted, and you hardly ate a thing back there; we'll get something later at the hotel. Perhaps a meal in our suite—what do you think?' he asked tenderly. 'We needn't go down to dinner.'

She couldn't think about anything but how good it felt to be in the curve of his arm, pressed close to the big male body that had haunted her dreams for weeks. He was wearing a clean, sharp aftershave that smelt of lemon and musk

and something else she couldn't quite place, and in spite of her panic and fear at what she had done there was a fresh riot in her stomach that had nothing to do with her damning secret and everything to do with Hudson.

'I don't mind,' she said unsteadily, keeping her face hidden against his shoulder. 'Whatever you want.'

'A beautiful and submissive wife,' he drawled mockingly above her head. 'My cup runneth over.'

Oh, Hudson, Hudson… Her conscience smote her again at the vibrant note in his voice he couldn't quite hide in spite of the light, teasing approach. However this worked out, he was going to be hurt, and badly. Suddenly the future wasn't so clear-cut, the web of half-truths and things left unsaid becoming even more tangled in her tired mind. She didn't know what to do any more and she was frightened, and so very, very weary of it all.

'Bill is sending a telegram to Keith to let him know how things are.' Hudson was attempting to defuse the electric tension inside the car. 'I've said you'll contact him yourself at some point to let him know if you're taking the job for Major Promotions or if you want him to cover it, okay? We can always have a delayed honeymoon if necessary; I don't want to interfere with your career in any way,' he added levelly. 'I want you to understand that.'

Honeymoon? Honeymoon… Deep waters washed over her head. 'Did you put my name forward?' she asked tremulously, moving out of the warmth and security of his embrace and immediately feeling bereft as the physical contact ceased. To Major Promotions?'

'Bill's family owns the company,' Hudson admitted, before adding quickly, 'But Bill did some investigation of his own before he went along with the idea. He's a businessman first and foremost, believe me. He thought you were a first-rate photographer, Keith too, so he knew he wouldn't lose out. The job begins this time next week so nothing's lost, Annie.'

She couldn't care less about the wonderful job, or her career, and even less about Bill Truscott losing out, she thought guiltily. The only thing she cared about was sitting right by the side of her, and she still found it hard to believe they were together.

Once they arrived at the hotel the VIP treatment was out in full force, right down to roses and champagne in their suite. Marianne had never seen anything quite like the wedding suite, the bed easily eclipsing the one in Hassan's home in both size and splendour. It was sunk into the floor, the thick ivory-coloured carpet reaching down into its massive circle, and the huge, billowy duvet and scattered pillows and cushions reflecting the same varying shades of gold as the full-length curtains.