"I'm through saying things I dinna mean. And I'm sorry for acting like a daft auld fool." He brushed a kiss across her lips. "I'll keep you happy, I swear it. We'll travel to England if you like, or anywhere in the world if it pleases you."
His willingness to change for her sake touched her heart. "Oh, Alex. I'd sooner stay right here." She moved sinuously against him. "With you, my love, forever."
Would you like to read the exciting story of Lady Helen's past? Helen was once engaged to wed Justin Culver, heir to the Duke of Lynwood, until a mysterious beauty entered their lives, the half-sister Helen had never known she had.
You can find their fascinating tale of intrigue and love in HER SECRET AFFAIR by Barbara Dawson Smith, published by St, Martin's Paperbacks in May 1998.
IN THE LIGHT OF DAY by Brenda Joyce
Chapter One
"A lovely day fer a weddin'."
The gleaming brand-new Packard purred as it idled in the circular, cobblestoned drive. Pierce St. Clare did not reply immediately, his gaze not on the small man beside him, who was driving the motorcar, but on the mansion facing them. Vast lawns and elm trees surrounded the four-story limestone house on this particularly glorious Sunday afternoon, and high wrought-iron gates barred the public from any access to it or the Fifth Avenue property it was on. Those iron gates were now wide open, as a few of the very last wedding guests continued to arrive in their handsome coaches and carriages, and were no cause for concern. But the trees disturbed him. They were very tall and level with the second story- they might interfere with his signal. "Keep your eyes open," he finally said.
He stepped from the motorcar, a tall, lean, inherently elegant man, clad now like the two hundred other gentlemen present, in a black dinner jacket and matching trousers, a dress shirt and white bow tie, a white carnation pinned to one lapel. Dark hair swept across his brow, carelessly combed into place. His eyes were a brilliant blue. "I should be no more than twenty minutes. Look for my signal, Louie." There was a warning in his tone.
The thin, middle-aged Louie, clad in tweeds, smiled at him from beneath his felt hat, revealing a silver front tooth. "Guvnor, a true piece o' cake," he said with a cocky wink.
Pierce eyed him then turned his attention upon the Boothe mansion. He strode briskly across the drive as Louie drove the Packard out of the way of the last few oncoming carriages. The invitation had suggested that one be prompt; the ceremony would start at precisely four p.m. Several couples were just entering the house as he fell into step behind them. The women were walking behind their escorts and had their heads together as they spoke in hushed tones, but he overheard their conversation anyway.
There was a queue, and it had stalled. Pierce stood very still, in spite of the fact that he was filled with restlessness and impatience.
"So fortunate," the lady in low-cut pale blue silk was saying. "I cannot believe that poor, poor Annabel's good fortune. I do mean, what an amazing turn of events! Who would have ever thought!"
The blond lady in silver chiffon agreed. "One would have never thought she'd land a husband. Good Lord, I mean, after all, she is twenty-three, is she not? Twenty-three with her two younger sisters already married for several years now-with little Elizabeth expecting! This is so fortunate for the so very unfortunate Annabel Boothe. I mean, Jane, I must admit, I truly thought she would remain a spinster for the rest of her days in spite of the Boothe fortune."
"I thought so, too," the brunette said. "After all, when one's father cannot buy one a husband, why, there is truly no hope."
"He must be smitten. Can you imagine? Why else would Harold Talbot marry her? He has his own fortune, you know."
Pierce sighed, his gaze straying past the two women, hardly interested in the bride and her good-or bad- fortune. However, the Boothe fortune did interest him. George Boothe owned one of the most popular dry-goods emporiums in the northeast-if not in the entire country. G. T. Boothe's was the most fashionable destination for those women venturing out upon the Ladies' Mile. Recently, his net worth had surpassed that of John Wanamaker, his closest rival.
Pierce had already been a guest at the Boothes' Thirty-thud Street mansion, but he scanned the interior yet again. The foyer was huge and circular, the floor and pillars marble. Directly ahead, he could see most of the (our hundred wedding guests finding their seats in the vast, domed ballroom where the ceremony was to take place. Overhead, a dozen huge crystal chandeliers hung. An altar had been set up at the very opposite end of the ballroom, framed with arches of pink and white roses and brilliantly lit up with hundreds of high, wide ivory tapers. Rows and rows of benches had been assembled to accommodate the guests, on either side of the long aisle upon which the bride would walk down. Perhaps fifty tall, wide ivory tapers on high pedestals graced either side of the aisle, interspersed with more floral arrangements. It was visually breathtaking, but Pierce remained oblivious. The ballroom interested him as much as the bride. But just outside of the ballroom, to his right, were the stairs.
It was a sweeping staircase of brass and cast iron.
The brunette, who was very attractive, was looking at him over her shoulder with a smile. Pierce realized she had caught him studying the house and he smiled back at her. She demurely lowered her eyes, but now the other woman turned to stare. Her cheeks became pink and she instantly faced forward, ducking her head toward her friend.
"Who is that?" she whispered, but he heard her anyway.
"Ssh. Not now. I do not know." The brunette glanced quickly at him again. This time, he bowed.
She flushed. Her wedding ring, the diamond at least eight full carats, glinted on her left hand. Purchased at Tiffany's, it had cost an astonishing seventy-five thousand dollars.
And then the line moved forward, and George Boothe was greeting the two couples. Pierce remained relaxed.
Boothe saw him and smiled widely. "My dear Braxton," he said, clasping his hand. "I am so pleased you could attend my daughter's wedding after all." He was in his late fifties, heavyset and jovial, with huge mutton-chop whiskers.
Pierce smiled, a flash of dazzling white teeth, by now quite accustomed to the name that was not his. "George, how could I miss the happy event?" His British accent was pronounced and unmistakable.
Boothe stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I am extremely excited about the merger we discussed. I have scheduled a trip to Philly to look at your emporium next week and my bank has assured me, pending my inspection of the premises and your books, that there will be no problems at all. It looks as if we shall be moving forward far sooner than anticipated, my boy." He beamed.
"I am very pleased, also," Pierce said emphatically, the irony of the situation not lost upon him-poor Boothe expected to make another million or two when all was said and done, and he, Pierce St. Clare, knew not a whit about retail merchandising and hardly owned the emporium Boothe would soon be visiting. However, Pierce had no intention of being anywhere in the north-east by the time Boothe put two and two together and realized he had been taken, and royally. Pierce did smile at the irony of that.
He moved on, handing his hat and gloves to a waiting servant and pausing just inside the ballroom without taking a seat-so he could slip out as soon as possible.