Interim Spouse

Isabella Rosewood sat on the floor of her apartment and cupped her chin, her pale brows

drawn together in thought. "Do you know what I really need, Sophia?"

Her friend snorted, folding clothes into a large moving box. "Sure I know. You

need to have your head examined if you still intend to go through with this ridiculous

idea."

"No...What I really need is a knight in shining armor. A protector."

Sophia shoved the box to one side and glared. "Oh, for crying out loud! Why don't

you just wish for Perfect Match, a beautiful palace and a million dollars while you're at it? It's

just as realistic." She threw up her hands in despair. "Listen to me talking about realism,

and to you of all people. A woman planning to marry a complete stranger wouldn't

recognize reality if it bit her on the-"

"Yes?" Isabella questioned, amusement clear in her voice. "Bit me where?"

"Oh, forget it," Sophia muttered. "Why do I bother?"

Isabella smiled, not in the least offended by her friend's bluntness. "Because you

care. And in case you've forgotten, I know all about reality and being realistic. It hasn't

worked for me, which is why I'm willing to give the alternative a try."

"I know," Sophia said, contritely. "But to marry a complete stranger-"

"My point exactly. Since I am going to marry a complete stranger, why not pick

one with all the qualities I need?"

"Because it's crazy. It's just asking for trouble." Sophia's gaze grew concerned.

"Please, don't do this. There has to be another solution."

"You know there isn't," Isabella said with calm finality. "I've lost my job, my

apartment and I'm out of money. This is the only option left. It'll work out, you'll see."

Sophia frowned. "What do you mean you're out of money?" she demanded. "What

happened to your savings?"

"I spent every last penny on my ticket to the gala. I had to. It was the only way to

find a husband by the end of the month."

A long silence stretched between them. Isabella Rosewood knew she'd upset her friend, but

she had no choice. From the moment she'd found out about the enchanted gala, she'd

known it was the answer to her prayers. It had been a fluke that she'd seen the

advertisement at all-a newspaper left at the restaurant where she'd worked, a gust of

wind from an open doorway, pages of newsprint blowing to the floor and...And there it

was. A small, elegant ad that had caught her eye and offered a chance of a lifetime.

The enchanted gala, it had read. Find romance. Find your Perfect Match. Find

the woman of your dreams. The enchanted gala offers the opportunity for immediate

matrimony. Come to the gala single and leave happily wed. And it had given a phone

number, a number she'd called that very night. A ticket to the gala had been exorbitant,the application form detailed and thorough. But she'd apparently passed whatever

investigative process they required and been accepted as a guest to the gala.

Unable to resist, Isabella crossed to the scarred dining table at the far end of the

room and stared down at the thick gold-embossed envelope she'd placed on her best

remaining china plate. It had arrived earlier that day, hand-delivered by a liveried

messenger along with a card that read, "The Montagues wish you joy and success as

you embark on your search for matrimonial happiness." Taking a deep breath, she

opened the envelope again, removing the white velvet pouch inside.

Reverently she ran a callused fingertip over the pouch, then slid the surprisingly

heavy gilt "ticket" from its nest. The metallic wafer caught the light from the overhead

bulb and shimmered as though alive, flooding the drab room with a brilliant, golden

promise. She'd done the right thing, she assured herself, made, the only possible

decision. Just holding the engraved ticket filled her with that certainty.

Sophia came to stand behind her. "I'm sorry, Isabella," she said. "I didn't mean to

criticize. It's just...I worry about you. You don't always see people the way they really

are, and I'm afraid one of these days someone will take advantage of you."

'I suppose that gives me even more incentive to tie the knot. With a husband by my side, he can ensure that such a situation never occurs."

"What if he manipulates you for his own gain?"

Isabella laughed. "I wouldn't settle for a man like that. That's precisely why I'm eager to attend the Enchanted Gala. The man I encounter there will be remarkable." She smiled with dreamy certainty.

"He'll be good and kind, patient and loving. Strong. Fair."

"Yeah, right. A knight in shining armor. A protector."

A small frown creased Isabella's brow. "I know women aren't supposed to need

protection. They're not even supposed to want it anymore. Do you think he'll mind? It

won't be for long. Just until Mrs. Harper is taken care of."

"You aren't going to tell him, are you?" Sophia Kensington demanded bluntly. "Not

everything?"

"It's only fair."

Sophia planted her hands on Isabella's shoulders and turned her around. "Listen, my

friend. I'll go along with this crazy scheme, I'll even help in any way I can. But there's

one condition."

"Only one?" Isabella teased.

"Just one. You aren't to tell him the truth until after you're married."

"But-"

"Look what happened when Caleb found out. He ended your engagement."

Isabella grimaced. "He obviously wasn't the man I thought he was."

"Nor was Julian. Nor was Lucas. The minute they found out, they both dumped

you, too."

"All that means is that knights are in scarce supply these days," Isabella insisted.

"My point exactly. So if you take my advice, you'll pick out your knight, wed him,

bed him, then tell him the truth. That way he won't have any choice but to help you."

Reluctantly Isabella shook her head. "I can't lie, Sophia. You know I can't."

"Fine. Just don't give him all the details. Be vague." Sophia glared. "You can be

vague, I know you can. I've seen you do it often enough."

Isabella peeked up at her friend. "I believe that's thoughtful, not vague," she

offered.

"Trust me. I know vague when I see it and you're vague."

"Okay, but I can't lie."

"I'm not asking you to lie. Just be selective in what you tell him. I'm not joking,

Isabella. I want your promise. I know how seriously you take promises. Swear to me that

you'll keep your mouth shut until the ring's on your finger."

Isabella frowned, hesitant to commit to something so contrary to her nature. "I

promise I won't tell him until after we're married...unless he asks." She lifted an

eyebrow. "Is that good enough?"

"I guess it'll have to do." Sophia sighed. "Let's just hope he's so enthralled by big

green eyes and white-blond hair he doesn't think to ask too many questions."

"It'll work out, you'll see," Isabella consoled. "Why, with any luck at all, he'll be

vague, too."

Alexander Pierce glared at his attorney-even though said attorney was also his best friend.

Correction. His only friend. 'You assured me that you had the ability to have that condition in the will nullified,'" as he forcefully opened a majestic oak door displaying the sign, Sawyer, Sawyer and Richards, Law Firm.

Eric Jennings shrugged, practically jogging to keep up with his client. "I didn't expect your cousin to contest it. If it hadn't been for Jonathan the judge might have let the condition slide. But that's not possible now. I'm sorry, . I did my best."

"Your best, huh? Well, your best means that I have seven' days to find myself a

wife or I lose my inheritance." He thrust a hand through pitch-black hair and gritted his

teeth, struggling to control his anger. "Marriage. What a joke."

"It's not a dirty word. Marriage can be quite pleasant."

"It's a state of pleasantness I've managed to avoid for thirty-five years. Why spoil

a perfect record at this late date?"

"Come into my office where we can discuss it in private," Eric Jennings suggested,

opening a doorway leading off the plush corridor. "Can I get you something to drink?"

he asked, dropping his briefcase onto his desk.

"Only if it's a hundred proof. Dammit, Eric. What the hell am I supposed to do

now? What about a temporary deal? You know, one of those marriage of convenience

things?"

Eric poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass tumbler and handed it to Alex.

"Assuming you could find someone agreeable, there's still one other detail you should

keep in mind."

swallowed the whiskey and lifted an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"I believe your grandfather's exact wording is...'wedded and bedded,'" Eric

ventured to clarify as he crossed to sit behind the desk.

"I know his exact-" Alex ground to a halt, slamming his empty glass onto the oak

table top. "You can't be serious! Tell me you don't mean what I think you do."

"'Fraid so. I gather your grandfather must have anticipated you'd try to create a

loophole with a temporary arrangement. He hoped for a real marriage with a real wife

and real kids."

Alex waved an impatient hand. "I don't give a damn what he hoped. Just explain the specifics. How the hell are they going to prove the marriage is consummated? Don't tell me they're going to have a doctor-"

"No, no," Eric hastened to assure. "Though if your cousin had his way it might have come to that. The lady's word will be sufficient."

Alex balled his hands into fists, wishing he were still young and impetuous enough to give physical expression to his fury. "Any other details I should know about?"

"Not as far as the will is concerned, no. But I did suspect Jonathan might try something devious, underhanded and unfortunately legal. So I devised a counter measure." Eric smiled expansively as he pulled a thick, gold-embossed envelope from his desk drawer. "I believe this will help you find a temporary bride."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "What is it? A list of candidates?"

"Close." Eric patted the envelope. "I took the liberty of arranging for this the minute Jonathan fired off his first salvo."

"Get to the point, Eric."

"Sit down and I'll explain." He waited until Alex had complied before continuing.

"Have you ever heard of the Enchanted Gala?"

"No. Nor am I in the mood for fairy tales."

"This isn't a fairy tale. Not exactly." Eric grinned. "Though it is sort of sweet."

"Please. Spare me."

"You're such a cynic," the attorney observed, then held up his hands as though

hoping to calm a threatening storm. "Relax. Since you're not in the mood for a lengthy

explanation, I'll give you the short version."

"Smart move."

"I heard about this gala back in my college days. It would seem a couple by the name of Helena throws one of these affairs every five years because that's how they first met-at a gala. One look and they fell madly in love. They were married by dawn the next day and have,,according to them, lived in wedded bliss ever since. By holding this Enchanted Gala, they're hoping to give other couples a similar opportunity."

"Sounds like a bunch of bull," Alex stated bluntly. "I find it hard to believe anyone

would be interested in attending something so ridiculous."

__________________

"You'd be surprised," Eric replied. "There are a lot of lonely people in the world.

They want marriage and they want a partner who shares the same mind-set. All the

'guests' who request a ticket are investigated by a security company to weed out the

psychos and weirdos. Those that pass scrutiny pay a hefty fee to attend. That alone culls

the mix even further."

"So you sent in my name?"

Eric nodded. "If we hit a snag with the will, I thought this might be a viable alternative."

"Well, you're wrong." stood and crossed to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself another drink. "There has to be some other way. Find it."

"As your lawyer, I'm telling you this is the only alternative. As your friend, I suggest you walk away. Forget the inheritance. Let Jonathan have it."

Alex's expression hardened. "Not a chance."

"Then you must marry."

The words hung between them for a long moment. With a sigh, Alex nodded and sat down again. "Give me the details."

"By attending this gala, you're able to cut through all the usual first meeting nonsense and get right to the basics. Everyone who attends wants to marry, so it's just a matter of finding a compatible spouse, one who shares your interests. In just a few minutes you can discuss and settle all sorts of issues, from finances to children. And no one is offended by such frankness."

"They don't have time to be," Alex inserted.

Eric nodded. "Exactly."

"So I wander around this place canvasing women to see who'd be willing to marry me, sleep with me and then walk away. Is that it?"

"That's it, though I think I should warn you. The odds of finding someone who's agreeable are next to nil."

Privately Alex agreed. "And if I don't find myself a wife?"

Eric shrugged. "Then I won't make you reimburse me for the ticket."

Alex actually smiled. "Fair enough. But what about a prenuptial agreement?

There's not much point in gaining my inheritance if some greedy little viper's going to

snatch it away again."

"I can draw up a document. Getting her to sign it will be your problem."

A cold light entered Alex's eyes. "She'll sign it," he assured curtly. "Or she'll look elsewhere for a husband."

"Then let me also warn you that without her having a lawyer representing her interests, the legality of the document may be at issue. She could contest it."

Alex asserted with unwavering confidence that the woman in question will not indulge in such fantasies, as doing so would only lead to more difficulties than she can manage.

I will not marry a woman who has unrealistic expectations of a fairy tale romance and happily-ever-after. The woman I choose will be straightforward, sensible, and pragmatic. Once the conditions of the will are fulfilled, she will leave without any regrets. I assure you of that.

The Moment Isabella Rosewood saw him, she knew she'd found her knight. If she hadn't already believed in love at first sight, she would have in that instant. He stood tall and broad

and indomitable against the dusk-filled November sky, everything about him suggesting Prefect Match, fairy castles and happily-ever-afters all rolled into one.

He was, as far as she could tell, perfection.

She first noticed him as she approached the "palace," a huge mansion that rose out

of the Nevada desert like a great white beacon of hope. He stood in the center of the flagstone walkway, taking in the whimsical, wedding cake design of the house with an expression of cynical disdain. Clearly he considered the overall effect pretentious.

She considered it a dream come true.

Not that she'd hold his attitude against him. Heavens, no. The man she married needed to be in touch with the real world, to have a tough, no-nonsense edge. He needed to be a match for Mrs. .

She slipped closer hoping to get a clear look at him. As though accommodating her, he turned slightly so the floodlights lining the walk stabbed across his face,

revealing in brutal detail every austere plane and angle. What she saw stopped her cold.

This was no Prince Charming boldly blocking the path, but a Prince of Darkness.

The man might have been hewn from solid rock, as starkly beautiful and as fatally dangerous as the desert surrounding them. Hair as black as coal swept back from a broad furrowed brow and framed high, arching cheekbones and a firm, squared jaw. Hisbfeatures were too bold to be called handsome, but she didn't mind. The harsh, craggy planes appealed to her.

He looked down then, as though surprised to find her at his side, and lifted a dark eyebrow. She caught her breath, captured within the austere glare of his bright golden eyes. "Getting a jump on the competition?" he asked, his voice reminding her of the rumble of distant thunder.

She tilted her head to one side. "Excuse me?"

"You're looking for a husband aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Then run along inside, elf. I'm no one you'd want to marry."

He was accustomed to instant obedience, she realized. But he'd soon discover she

didn't skitter away at the first flash of lightning or crack of thunder-for that's what his

expression reminded her of, the threat of a fastapproaching storm. "I need a strong man.

You look strong," she said instead.

"I need a wife to share my bed. And then, after a brief-as-possible marriage, we go

our separate ways." He folded his arms across his chest and lifted an eyebrow. "Is that

what you want, too?"

"I want a man who likes to win," she said, evading the question. "Someone who's

a fighter."

"You waging war?"

She frowned, considering. "I guess you could call it war. All right, yes. I'm waging

war. But, I also need someone fair and reasonable and patient. A...a gentle warrior."

He laughed at that, amusement lightening his eyes, but doing nothing to ease the

hardness of his features. "You have the wrong man," he stated and walked away.

She watched him go, taking in his easy, long-legged gait, not in the least surprised

when people quickly made room for him, giving way to the stronger force. That was

how he'd be with Mrs. Harper, she didn't doubt for a minute. And though he claimed he

wasn't fair or reasonable or patient, she suspected he lied. Oh, not deliberately. He

wasn't the type. He just didn't see his own goodness. But she did.

"You'll do," she whispered with a wide grin. "In fact, you'll more than do."

Alex wended his way through the crowd streaming toward the mansion. One down, he

thought grimly, and only a few hundred more to go. With nine or ten hours available to him, that meant he had to interview about a dozen or two women an hour. That gave him three and a half minutes per candidate. He shook his head in exasperation. This was crazy. Three and a half minutes to choose a wife. Great. Just great. What the hell could Eric have been thinking? Better yet, What was he possibly thinking to have agreed to such a ridiculous plan?

He climbed the sweeping steps leading toward the entrance hall and glanced back.

His elf still stood where he'd left her, her dress a pale splash of green in the gathering dusk. Too bad she hadn't worked out. She'd been a tempting little morsel.

Unfortunately the instant he'd spotted her hovering at his elbow, he'd known she was all wrong. For one thing, she looked the type who expected a Perfect Match and fairy castles and happily-ever-afters. And for another, he found her too damned attractive. One look at all that white-blond hair tumbling into eyes the color of new spring leaves and he'd known he'd have to put a whole lot of space between them.

Otherwise he'd end up slinging her over his shoulder and heading for the nearest exit.

And that would never do.

He frowned, turning from the sight of her, shaking off the memory of her wide, pixielike smile. She had too open a face-mischievous, intelligent...and vulnerable.

The sort of face that threatened to creep into a man's heart and soul and poison him with impossible fantasies. Fantasies he'd given up on eons ago. Fantasies that would never come true.

Besides, she was a complication he couldn't afford-not if he wanted to gain his inheritance.

A nudge from behind woke Isabella to her surroundings and she started, realizing she

stood in the middle of the walkway lost in thought. She'd been picturing the sweetest of

fantasies-one that involved a dark, handsome prince and a real house and children. It was a fantasy that could be hers, once she got past a certain masculine stumbling block.

She eyed the retreating back of the stumbling block in question, pleased beyond all measure when he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder in her direction. He needed her. The instinctive knowledge grew stronger with each passing moment. She'd senseda gaping emptiness in him and knew that she could fill it, a raw hurt that she had the power to heal. He needed someone who could see the inherent goodness in his character, who wouldn't be fooled by his stormy expression and searing gold eyes and tough, independent attitude. He was a man plagued by demons, demons she could destroy.

He needed her.

Gathering up the long sweep of her skirt, she started toward the mansion. She didn't want to get too far behind her future husband. Heaven only knew what trouble he'd get into if she did. He might even pick the wrong woman through sheer ignorance.

She grinned. Or sheer bullheadedness.

Stepping through the double doors leading inside, she stopped dead, staring around in amazement. The marble entrance hall seemed to stretch endlessly, the huge support

pillars decorated for Thanksgiving with pine garland, fairy lights and white satin bows.

A massive chandelier, glittering with thousands of tiny prisms, caught the setting-sun and scattering a dancing circle of rainbows in joyous welcome. Twin, curving staircases

on either side of the hallway led to the upstairs ballroom, joining at the top to form a perfect heart.