The Hired Husband. Kate Walker

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Sienna.’

      Hearing his voice, Sienna blinked in disbelief. Suddenly that blazing sensuality was gone, wiped from his face as if it had never been. His tone was emotionless, totally controlled, as blank and indifferent as his eyes, which could have been carved from dark marble they were so cold and lifeless.

      ‘Yes, I’m agreeing to your proposal. Under those conditions, then, yes, I will marry you.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘WELL, we did it!’

      Sienna’s voice was breathless with a mixture of triumph, relief and something coming very close to panic that she prayed the man beside her wouldn’t be able to detect. The same emotions were mirrored in the sea-coloured brilliance of her eyes as she turned on him a smile edged with a tension that, try as she might, she was unable to erase completely.

      ‘We did it,’ Keir echoed gravely, no answering smile lighting the darkness of his own gaze as it locked with hers. ‘But did we get away with it? That’s the real question.’

      ‘Oh, don’t be silly!’

      Sienna made the reproof as careless as was possible when her heartbeat and breathing refused to settle down into anything like their normal rhythm.

      ‘Of course we got away with it! Why wouldn’t we? And don’t say that—you make it sound as if we’ve done something wrong.’

      ‘And we haven’t?’

      At his tone, the precarious euphoria that had buoyed her up evaporated in a rush, leaving her feeling disturbingly limp and deflated, like a pricked balloon.

      ‘No, we haven’t!’ Infuriatingly, she couldn’t give the words the conviction she wanted; a quaver she couldn’t suppress took all the certainty from her declaration.

      ‘Are you so sure of that? There are those who might label what we’ve done as fraud, or at the very least an attempt to swindle money from the Nash estate.’

      ‘I’m not swindling anyone! I am a Nash, remember? By blood, at least, if not by name. And the only person who might feel defrauded of anything is my father, or rather he might if he was still alive. But, seeing as he never took any interest in my existence from the day I was born, I very much doubt that anything I do now is going to trouble him in the least.’

      Moving impulsively, she laid a hand on Keir’s arm, her fingers white against the deep colour of his superbly tailored suit as she looked up into the hard-boned strength of his face.

      ‘Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts at this late stage?’

      ‘Not second thoughts, no.’ Keir pushed one strong hand through his hair, ruffling its gleaming darkness. ‘But if we’re strictly honest we are pulling a fast one on all those people in there.’

      A slight inclination of his head indicated the door at the far side of the room through which the buzz of a hundred conversations could easily be heard.

      ‘Especially your mother.’

      ‘It’s because of my mother that I’m doing this,’ Sienna reminded him in a vehement undertone made necessary by the need to avoid being heard as the door swung open, revealing the crowded room beyond. ‘And you—’

      But there was no chance to finish the sentence, because at that moment a loud, stentorian voice broke through the noise, silencing it immediately.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen—pray silence for the bride and groom!’

      ‘Oh, Lord!’

      Taken by surprise, Sienna lurched into a nervous flurry of activity. A hasty glance in the huge, ornately framed mirror over the fireplace reassured her that her veil was still securely anchored, the delicate silver headdress holding it firmly in place in the brown curls of her hair, a couple of shades darker than Keir’s.

      Her make-up, carefully applied some four hours before, was still almost perfect: a soft wash of beige shadow emphasising the almond shape of her eyes, the long, thick lashes enhanced by a single coat of black mascara. Perhaps the warm pink on the full softness of her mouth had faded just a little, and there seemed to be a surprising lack of colour across the high, slanting cheekbones, but there was nothing she could do about that now. She could only hope that their guests would put her pallor down to excitement or belated wedding nerves.

      Patting her cheeks lightly, in an attempt to bring some blood to the surface of her skin in order to make its ivory tones look a little healthier, she turned back to Keir. Meeting his darkly watchful gaze, she switched on what she hoped was a convincing smile, supremely conscious of the fact that it was distinctly ragged round the edges.

      ‘Ready?’ he asked, and held out his hand to her.

      Sienna could only manage an inarticulate murmur that might have been agreement as she smoothed down her long skirt with uncertain fingers. Made of the finest lace over a delicate silk lining, the dress had originally been her grandmother’s, worn on her wedding day almost fifty-five years before. Carefully preserved, wrapped in tissue paper to protect it from the yellowing effects of the light, it had been handed down from mother to daughter in the hope that wearing it as a bride would pass on something of the love that had made the older woman’s marriage such a happy one.

      But for Sienna’s mother, Caroline, there had been no such happy ending. There hadn’t even been a wedding ceremony, her daughter reflected bitterly. Her father had already been married. He had had no intention of leaving his wife for the naïve twenty-two-year-old who had been foolish enough to let herself get pregnant as the result of what had, to him at least, been just a pleasant holiday dalliance, with no commitment whatsoever.

      ‘Sienna…’ A note of reproof sharpened the edge of Keir’s voice, dragging her from her reverie. ‘Our guests are waiting.’

      The hand he held out moved imperiously, the gesture demanding her instant obedience. For a brief moment the idea of rebellion flared in her mind, but almost immediately she dismissed it.

      For now she had to observe all the conventions, play up to everyone’s belief that this was the love match of the century. Keir and Sienna, second only to Antony and Cleopatra, or Cathy and Heathcliff in the lists of the all-time great love stories.

      Out there, in the elegant dining room beyond the great double doors, was Francis Nash, her late father’s brother and only surviving relative. If he was not convinced by their marriage and the whirlwind romance that had apparently preceded it, then the game was well and truly up. One false move and her chance of making sure that her mother spent the rest of her days in the comfort and security she so needed would be ruined.

      And so she forced herself to smile again, with rather more success this time, drawing herself up to her full five foot nine as she placed her hand in Keir’s.

      ‘I’m ready,’ she declared. ‘Let’s go.’

      Hard fingers closed tightly over hers, though whether in encouragement or warning not to take any more risks she couldn’t be sure.

      ‘Come on, then,’ Keir said, his voice unexpectedly roughened and tight. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

      Not giving her time to think, he swung her round and, with her

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