Chapter 4 Meeting Ella Montague

Wynne climbed the steps, feeling more like Cinderella by the minute. Reaching the

upper landing, she joined others in a short receiving line, holding her invitation in a

white-knuckle grip. All her hopes and dreams lay in this thin, gold metallic wafer. She

closed her eyes for an instant and made a wish, a wish that all who came that night

would find their heart's desire.

"Welcome to the Cinderella Ball."

With a start, Wynne opened her eyes, realizing she'd reached the front of the line.

And standing before her was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen.

The woman's hair was richly black, pulled away from her face and fashioned into

an intricate knot. Her eyes were huge and a clear, rich amber, thick lashes shading the

innate reserve that lurked in their depths. She held out her hand and offered a warm

smile. "I'm Ella Montague."

"Wynne Sommers. It's a pleasure to meet you." She shook hands, gazing in open

admiration. It might be interesting to look like this for a day instead of like the

"pocketful of nothingness" Mrs. Marsh had once called her. Somehow she couldn't see

Ella Montague allowing anyone to intimidate her, certainly not the beastly Mrs. Marsh.

But then, everything had a price. Even beauty, judging by Ella's wary expression.

"I hope you enjoy yourself this evening," she murmured, taking Wynne's gold

ticket and dropping it into the velvet-lined basket she held. "You're free to explore any

of the rooms on the first two floors. Buffet-style dinners are laid out downstairs and the

gardens are available for your enjoyment. Once you find a partner, marriage ceremonies

are conducted in the salons off the main ballroom. If you have any questions or

problems, there are footmen who can assist you. They all wear white-and-gold

uniforms, so you can't miss them."

"Thank you," Wynne murmured and moved further down the line. An older couple

stood together, their expressions as guileless as newborn infants.

"Welcome, my dear," the woman said in greeting, taking Wynne's hand in hers.

"I'm Henrietta Montague. And this is my husband, Donald."

Wynne glanced back over her shoulder at Ella, a mesmerizing flame of gold in her

Grecian-style gown, and then back at the Montagues. "Ella is your daughter?" she

asked tentatively.

"Our one and only," Henrietta confirmed cheerfully. "A bird of paradise raised by

wrens."

Wynne smiled. "I quite like wrens. They're quick, cheerful and always have

something to say for themselves."

Henrietta beamed. "What a lovely description. Did you hear, Donald?"

"I heard, my sweet." He took hold of Wynne's hand and squeezed it. "Now you

look around carefully tonight. Only the best for you."

"Oh, I've already found him," Wynne hastened to say. "And he is the best. The

very best."

Tears glittered in Henrietta's eyes. "I'm so pleased. Much happiness, my dear. And

with luck we'll see you again next year."

"Next year?" Wynne asked in confusion.

"That's when we hold our Anniversary Ball. All those who meet and wed at the

Cinderella Ball are invited to celebrate their first anniversary with us."

Wynne gave a definite nod. "Then I'll see you again next year." With that, she

moved into the ballroom and scanned the crowd for coal-black hair and a distinctive set

of broad shoulders.

Time to find her husband-to-be.

Jake lounged against a wall and watched the crowd with weary impatience. Dammit all!

Four miserable hours had passed since he'd arrived-four hours spent stampeding from

woman to woman like some sort of lust-crazed bull in a field full of bashful cows. And

he didn't have a single prospect to show for it. Oh, there were plenty of women,

available in every shape and size. But they'd all come with a list of wants he couldn't

care less about, let alone had a hope in hell of fulfilling.

And not one of them was interested in a temporary relationship.

A hard-eyed brunette approached just then. It didn't take long to discover she was

more interested in the size of his bank account than in marital bliss. After two minutes

of conversation he knew she'd never sign his prenuptial agreement. And after another

two he managed to convince her he wasn't interested in purchasing the goods she had

for sale. The instant she left, a redhead replaced her. She practically shook in her ivory

heels and he suspected it took every ounce of gumption for her to even approach.

"Nikki Ashton," she introduced herself and offered her hand.

"Jake Hondo."

An awkward silence descended as she scrambled for something to say. "I-I'm

looking for a husband," she finally announced.

"Really?" he murmured dryly. "What a coincidence. I'm looking for a wife."She stared at him in dismay, bright color sweeping into her face. "Oh, I knew this

would never work. Coming here was a mistake." A hint of violet glinted within the

pansy-blue of her eyes. "I'm sorry to waste your time. It's just that I've never done this

before. And I thought...I'd hoped-"

He released his breath in a gusty sigh, afraid that if he didn't say something nice-

and quick-she might burst into tears. "You want to start over?"

She gave a forlorn little shrug. "Is there any point?"

"Could be. I'm looking for a temporary wife. You interested?"

That caught her attention. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I am." A small smile crept

across her full mouth and she relaxed minutely. "I wouldn't mind a temporary

arrangement in the least."

He lifted a sooty eyebrow. "You serious?"

"Very. I just need a husband long enough to convince my sister I'm happily

married."

"Happy, huh?"

"Ecstatically happy." Her eyes narrowed. "You can fake ecstatic, can't you?"

"I suppose." He waited a beat before adding, "If you're willing to sleep with me."

Her mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

"I have to be legally wedded and bedded to inherit my grandfather's property. And

my wife will need to stand up in court and admit as much to the judge." He rocked back

on his heels. "Can you handle that?"

He watched as she mulled it over. If she hadn't claimed she'd be interested in a

temporary marriage, he'd have brushed her off. One glance had told him she'd never

do. For one thing, she was too beautiful-as lovely as his little elf, though perhaps more

colorful and vibrant. If he'd learned nothing else in his thirty-five years of existence,

he'd learned to give beautiful women a wide berth. For another, Nikki's soft, white

hands hadn't seen a lick of work since the day she'd tumbled into this world. She'd be

about as useful on a ranch as a silk-covered saddle.

Still, he was fast running out of options. He could tolerate the woman, if push

came to shove. Let her sit in the parlor and look as gorgeous and helpless as she wanted,

so long as she warmed his bed. Check that. So long as she warmed his bed and

confirmed she'd done her wifely duty before the judge and various and sundry

witnesses.

"Well?" he prodded.

"There's no other option?"

"No other option and no other conditions. How about you?"

"Just one other detail...In addition to my sister, I have a boss to convince. You'd

have to act the part of the loving-husband whenever we attend business functions

together or whenever my family's around."

Damn. "Whoa. Time out. Where were you planning on conducting this ecstatically

happy marriage of ours?"

"New York," she answered. "Why?"

"Because I have a ranch to run. I need my wife living with me in Texas."

She shook her head. "I need my husband living with me in New York." Her mouth

tilted into a rueful smile. "This isn't going to work, is it?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"Thanks anyway." She offered her hand again. "And thanks for helping me

through this. It should be easier from here on out." With that cryptic remark, she

disappeared into the crowd.

"Wasn't she right for you?" a friendly voice questioned from behind.

He turned and glanced down, both intrigued and irritated to discover that his elf

had reappeared. "I thought I got rid of you earlier."

She shrugged, the graceful movement drawing his attention to the fine, sculpted

lines of her neck and shoulders, her short, layered hairstyle further emphasizing the

most exquisite bone structure he'd seen in a long time. She reminded him of a

thoroughbred, lean and delicate and fluid.

"I'm hard to get rid of," she replied, not in the least offended by his gruff

comment. "I'm persistent."

A small smile eased the corners of his mouth. "Annoying."

"Tenacious."

"Pesky."

"Determined."

"Clingy."

She laughed up at him. "In that case, I'll grow on you."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered wryly.

Tilting her head to one side, she gave him a sympathetic look. "Not having any

luck?"

"Not much. How about you?"

"Oh, I haven't given up yet. These things take time."

He grimaced. "Something we're fast running out of."

"Unfortunately."

She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and peeked up at him. To his amusement,

the look held a contradictory element of both caution and daring, and he folded his arms

across his chest. "Spit it out, munchkin. What do you want?"

She took a deep breath and offered an engaging smile. "I don't believe we've

introduced ourselves. I'm Wynne Sommers."

The name suited its owner-they each had a fey, almost arcane feel about them.

"Jake Hondo," he replied with notable reluctance.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I'm starved. Why don't we visit the buffet table

and you can tell me what it is you expect in a wife."

"We've already covered that ground," he said, a bard edge invading his tone. "I

want a temporary arrangement. You want permanent."

"I prefer permanent," she said, correcting him. "But I'm willing to compromise."

His eyes narrowed. "I want someone who's not afraid of hard work. You'd blow

away in the first gust of wind."

"Oh, I'm not that easy to blow away. And as for hard work..." She held out her

hands, palms up. They were marred by calluses, the skin red and chapped. "I know my

way around a bucket of soapy water."

He gritted his teeth to prevent an exclamation of fury. She shouldn't have hands

like that. They should be like the redhead's hands, silky and white and pampered. He

eyed her thoughtfully. His elf worked hard for a living. Is that why she'd come? To

escape a life of drudgery? "You want a gentle warrior," he reminded. "And I'm not even

close to gentle."

She gave a gaminelike grin. "Aren't you?"

"No," he said with pointed finality and turned away.

She didn't leave. Instead she stood quietly at his side and waited. Reluctantly he

glanced down at her. Her dress was made of some sort of shimmery fabric, the light

green an almost perfect match for her eyes. The V-neck bodice hugged her slender

curves and he suppressed the savage urge to steal her away to a dark, private corner and

become intimately familiar with those curves-curves, he suspected, that would prove

to be a hell of a lot softer than her hands.

"You don't want me," he told her in a harsh undertone. "I'm not the right sort of

husband for you."

He might as well have saved his breath. "If you won't eat with me, will you dance

with me?" she asked.

Take her into his arms? Feel that pale, velvety skin beneath his hands, breathe in

her scent and mold her body to his? He gritted his teeth. What the hell did she think he

was made of? Stone?

"Not a chance." He bit out the words and grabbed hold of her work-roughened

hand. "It's the buffet or nothing."