Page 5 of Fairy Tale Husband

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 Peter have been thinking? Better yet, what the hell was he thinking to have gone along with such an asinineplan?

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 bridal white 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 Prince Charming 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. That would neverdo.

A damn shame, but still the God’s honest truth.

He frowned, turning from the sight of her, shaking off the memory of her wide, pixie-like 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 eons ago. Fantasies that would never cometrue.

Besides, she was a complication he couldn’t afford. Not if he wanted to gain his inheritance.

A nudge from behind woke Wynne 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 sensed a gaping emptiness in him and knew she could fill it, araw hurt 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 neededher.

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 both Thanksgiving and Christmas with pine garland, fairy lights, and white satin bows. Amassive 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.

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, awish 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. Standing before her was the most beautiful woman she’d everseen.

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 available downstairs, and the gardens are open 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, amesmerizing 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.

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