The Bride In Blue Read online

  Her whole chest contracted, her eyes shutting mo­mentarily as she struggled to gather herself. She shouldn't have started thinking about Godfrey. Biting her bottom lip till the pain propelled her out of her reverie, Sophia still found that her fingers had begun twisting feverishly together.

  Jonathon clamped both of his large hands over hers, holding them in a rock-like grip as the celebrant started speaking.

  'We've come together on this lovely September afternoon to celebrate the marriage of Jonathon and Sophia…'

  He droned on, Sophia hating the sentimental words, hating the way Jonathon was holding her still, hating Jonathon. It should have been Godfrey standing beside her, not this cold, heartless individual. Godfrey, with his love of everything fine and gentle and ro­mantic. He'd taught her so much, about music and poetry and literature and art, shown her a world she hadn't known existed, a world he'd always loved but had been denied him most of his life.

  Not that Sophia had known about Godfrey's back­ground prior to his falling ill. She hadn't gleaned much about his past life even then, from either Godfrey or Jonathon or Mrs Parnell, who was so upset by her son's advanced cancer that she was incoherent most of the time.

  Wilma had finally filled in the missing pieces for her: how Henry Parnell's first-born son had not taken after his father at all, inheriting instead his mother's softer nature, as well as her appreciation of culture and gentility. As an adolescent, Godfrey had yearned to become first a dancer, then a painter, only to have both his ambitions scorned as effeminate by his domi­neering father.

  Godfrey, as the elder son, was supposed to follow in his father's footsteps in the family property devel­opment business, but he'd hated the ruthless cut and thrust of the real estate world from the start. Not that he hadn't tried to conform to his autocratic father's wishes. He had, even to marrying the daughter of another wealthy property tycoon, though his failure to sire an heir had only added to his general sense of inadequacy.

  When he'd deserted the family company and his unhappy marriage shortly after his father's death of a heart attack, no one had been seriously surprised. Neither had anyone been surprised when Jonathon had slipped into his father's shoes to make Parnell Property Developments more successful than ever. He was the spitting image of his father in looks, business acumen and ambition.

  While the family business had benefited by Godfrey's defection, his mother hadn't. Ivy had become ill with worry over wondering where Godfrey was and what he was doing. His only communication had been a letter with a Sydney postmark which he'd sent shortly after he left, saying he was all right but that he had to live his own life and not to worry about him.

  Jonathon had tried to trace his whereabouts but could never find him, not knowing that Godfrey had changed his surname to Jones and was living in a run­down farmhouse just outside the old mining town of Lithgow, over a hundred miles from Sydney.

  Any happiness and relief Ivy had felt when Godfrey had finally contacted his family had been superseded by her devastation at his illness and subsequent death. Sophia took some comfort from the fact that in five months' time she would be able to put Godfrey's child in Ivy's arms. Maybe then the woman would come really alive again.

  An elbow jabbing into her ribs jolted Sophia back to reality.

  'Say "I will,"' Jonathon hissed into her ear.

  'I… I w-will,' Sophia stammered, to her mortification.

  'God,' came the low mutter from beside her.

  Jonathon bit out his 'I will' as if he were giving a guilty verdict for murder. When the celebrant pro­nounced them 'as one' in a flowery way, followed by a sickening smirk and a 'you may kiss your bride', Sophia darted Jonathon an anxious look.

  She didn't want him to kiss her but she couldn't really see how they could avoid it. Everyone else knew their marriage was a sham, but the celebrant didn't. Jonathon looked just as reluctant to oblige, but, seeing perhaps that he had no alternative, he took Sophia firmly by the shoulders, turned her his way and bent his head.

  Sophia steeled herself for the cold imprint of his mouth on hers, so she was somewhat startled to find that the firm lips pressing down on hers were quite warm. Her eyelashes fluttered nervously, her mouth quivering tremulously beneath his. His mouth lifted, and for a second he stared down into her surprised face. Something glittered in that cold blue gaze.

  Then he did something that really shocked her.

  He kissed her again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sophia's first response was a bitter resentment. Who did he think he was, forcing another kiss on her when he knew she hadn't wanted him to kiss her at all?

  But as those determined lips moved over hers a second time, Sophia's resentment was shattered by an astonishing discovery. Jonathon's mouth on hers was not an entirely unpleasant experience.

  Of course, I'm not really enjoying it, she kept telling herself for several totally bewildering seconds.

  When Jonathon made no move to end the kiss, the pressure of his mouth increasing, if anything, Sophia began to panic. What must the others be thinking? The grip on her shoulders increased as well, his fingers digging into her flesh. When Sophia felt his tongue demanding entry between her lips, she gasped and reefed her head backwards.

  Her eyes, which had closed at some stage, flew open, flashing outrage. But Jonathon was already turning away to shake the celebrant's hand.

  'I never tire of seeing couples genuinely in love,' the man said, pumping Jonathon's hand. 'But if you don't mind, Mr Parnell, could we sign the appropri­ate documents straight away? I really must dash.'

  Jonathon turned back to Sophia then, his eyes and demeanour as unflappable as ever, while her face was burning up, her heart still beating madly in her chest. How dared he presume to kiss her like that?

  Not that she didn't know what lay behind it. Frustration. He was frustrated with the situation his deathbed promise to Godfrey had put him in. A kiss, Sophia imagined, could be an expression of anger as well as love—both emotions capable of evoking a fiery passion.

  It just showed what kind of man Jonathon was. Nothing like Godfrey at all! Godfrey would never have kissed her out of anger or frustration. Why, Godfrey hadn't even kissed her at all till that fateful night. Even then, she'd been the one to initiate the first kiss. Not that he hadn't kissed her back quickly enough, cupping her cheeks and covering her face with beautiful, gentle kisses.

  Her eyes misted with the memory of the sweet pleasure they had evoked, of how they had fulfilled all those wonderfully romantic dreams she'd been harbouring about Godfrey for such a long time.

  'Sophia.'

  The impatient calling of her name snapped her out of her daydreaming, as did those harsh blue eyes glowering at her blurred vision.

  'W-what?'

  'Good God,' Jonathon muttered darkly.

  'You have to sign the marriage certificate, Mrs Parnell,' said a gentler male voice beside her. 'It's all set up in Jonathon's study.'

  She glanced over her shoulder up at Harvey Taylor's smoothly urbane face. In his mid-thirties, Harvey was as fair as Jonathon was dark. Apparently, he had in­herited control of Taylor and Sons—Solicitors, around the same time Jonathon took charge of Parnell Properties. He and Jonathon had gone to school together, both of them excelling in their studies. But he possessed none of Jonathon's hard-edged strength, either in his face or his nature. He was a charming man, but a little weak, Sophia suspected.

  Still, it was good to feel a kind hand on her arm for a change, and she liked the way he was looking at her. With admiration and respect. Not like her pretend husband. His eyes carried nothing but an ill-concealed exasperation.

  'Best you bring her along, Harvey,' Jonathon said with a sardonic twist to his mouth. 'You seem to have the right touch. Mother, you can help Maud with the refreshments while we get the paperwork out of the way. Wilma! You have to come with us, being one of the witnesses. This way, Mr Weston. The study is just across the hall…' And he was striding away from them without a back
wards glance.

  'Yes, commandant,' Wilma saluted to Jonathon's rapidly disappearing back, and marched off after him.

  Sophia couldn't stop a giggle from escaping her lips.

  'You should take a leaf out of Wilma's book,' Harvey whispered as he ushered Sophia in the sec­retary's wake. 'Jonathon can't hurt you if you don't let him, Sophia.'

  She lifted startled eyes. 'Why should you think he can hurt me at all? You better than anyone know this isn't a real marriage. Jonathon and I will be divorced as soon as the baby is born.'

  'That is your intention now, I'm sure, but Jonathon is a very attractive man. What if you fall in love with him? What if he decides having a wife who looks like you is just what the doctor ordered?'

  She ground to a halt in the doorway of the study and stared at Harvey, his last remark not even regis­tering after his first ridiculous suggestion. 'I will never fall in love with Jonathon. Never!'

  When Harvey suddenly frowned, his eyes darting to a spot behind her left shoulder, she spun round to find a stony-faced Jonathon standing there. 'Do you think we might get on with signing these papers?' he rapped out.

  'Sure thing,' Harvey agreed smoothly, and waved Sophia into the room.

  She hesitated, her emotions seesawing between em­barrassment and guilt. Yet why should she feel guilty at Jonathon's overhearing her assertion? He already knew her feelings about falling in love again, and while she could concede she might love another man at some point in the far distant future, that man would never be someone like him. She could only love a man who made her feel good about herself, who made her feel special, not gauche and stupid.

  'Sophia,' Harvey murmured, and urged her into the room.

  But as she made her way across the polished parquet flooring on to the richly patterned rug that lay in front of the huge oak desk, flashes of the first time she'd stood in front of this desk jumped into her mind.

  It had been the day after Godfrey's funeral, a cold, wet, windy August morning on which she hadn't been able to drag herself out of bed. She'd been lying there, watching the rain slap against the window, when Maud had come in with the message that Jonathon wanted to see her in his study when she finally did get up.

  A guilty embarrassment had propelled her out of bed immediately, hating for Godfrey's brother to think she was going to be a lazy house guest. Showering hurriedly, she'd thrown on a pair of jeans and a pale peach sweater, put a few vigorous brushstrokes through her long dark hair, subdued its thick waves into a single plait then practically run downstairs, only ten minutes having passed since Maud had come into her room.

  Her knock on Jonathon's study door had been timid. Not so the barked, 'Come,' from within. Taking several hopefully steadying breaths, she'd gone inside, shutting the door carefully behind her. Her sidewards glances had been nervous, however, as she'd hesitantly approached the desk, the room being as in­timidating as its owner. Wood-panelled walls, masses of bookshelves filled with heavy-looking tomes, dark curtains at the windows blocking most of the natural light from entering. Not a welcoming room at all.

  'You… you wanted to see me?' she asked, feeling like a recalcitrant student who'd been hauled in front of the headmaster for misconduct.

  When Jonathon looked up from his paperwork, he leant back in his chair, removing himself from the circle of light from his desk lamp. His face fell into shadow, making him appear more menacing than usual.

  'Pull up a chair, Sophia,' he ordered. 'We have things to discuss.'

  'D-d-discuss?'

  He sighed. 'Perhaps it would be better if you just sat down and listened.'

  Sophia agreed wholeheartedly, despising herself for stammering all the time. She couldn't understand why he had such an effect on her. She'd never stammered before in her life. There again, she'd never had anything to do with anyone quite like Jonathon Parnell before.

  She settled into a large brown leather chair, happy to fall silent.

  'I'm sorry to intrude on your grief,' he started, without much apology in his brusque voice. He wasn't even looking at her, some papers on his desk holding his attention. 'But there are legal matters I must make you aware of. Godfrey's will—made a few years back unfortunately—leaves everything to his wife. The one who didn't even bother to come to his funeral yester­day,' he muttered before glancing up and giving Sophia a long, hard look. 'Though perhaps it was as well she chose not to show up…'

  He sighed a weary sounding sigh. 'Whatever, Godfrey left her his entire estate, which includes the home at Roseville he once lived in with Alicia, and which she has been occupying since he disappeared, plus its contents, as well as a third share in Parnell Properties, all up valued at approximately fifteen million dollars.'

  Sophia simply gaped. Godfrey had been a millionaire? And yet he'd lived so poorly during the years she'd known him, never buying any new clothes, growing his own vegetables, cutting firewood from dead trees. It had been a hand-to-mouth existence, his only extravagance being his art supplies. She'd often teased him about what he could do with the money when he became a famous painter. Now she understood why he'd brushed aside her fantasies, telling her instead that money didn't bring happiness and never to believe it could.

  'My solicitor informs me, Sophia,' Jonathon went on, 'that you could contest the will on the grounds that you lived with Godfrey as his common-law wife for at least six months preceding his death, and are expecting his child.'

  Sophia opened her mouth to protest that first as­sumption, then closed it again. She had lived with Godfrey, she supposed. What difference did it make that they hadn't consummated their relationship till that last night? Still…contesting Godfrey's will didn't feel right. He'd had enough time and opportunity to change his will, if that was what he'd wanted to do.

  Godfrey's words came back to her about money not bringing happiness and she knew then that she didn't want any of the money he'd left behind, the money that had obviously made him miserable. But before she could open her mouth again, Jonathon pre­empted her.

  'Knowing you,' he drawled, 'I'm sure you don't want to do that any more than I want you to. Besides, Alicia is not the sort of woman to go quietly in matters of money. Any contesting of Godfrey's will could get very nasty and very expensive. There's no guarantee of your winning, either. So I would not advise that course of action. Godfrey entrusted you to me, knowing I would never see you destitute, so I have set up a trust fund for yourself and the child, in ex­change for which you will sign a legal waiving of your rights to Godfrey's estate and any more Parnell money. How does that sound to you?'

  She hesitated. How could she refuse financial se­curity for her child and herself? That would be crazy. And it wasn't the same as fighting for that obscene amount of money. Jonathon obviously wasn't talking about millions, just enough for her to live on.

  The only problem was that it was Jonathon's money. Sophia hated feeling obliged to him for more than he'd already given her. Dear heavens, he'd spent a fortune on her already, having Wilma select her a new wardrobe and a host of other things. Still, she supposed he must be very rich too and wouldn't really miss it, so she swallowed and nodded her assent.

  'Good,' he muttered. 'For a second there, I thought you were going to be stubborn and foolish. Again.'

  Sophia blushed, knowing he was referring to her distress over the price-tags on some of the clothes Wilma insisted she buy. Sophia had telephoned Jonathon at his office in a panic, only to have her protest swept aside with total exasperation. Instead of his admiring her for not wanting to spend his money, he'd seemed angry at her worrying.

  She'd since learnt not to complain when he ordered her to buy something he thought she needed. Her dressing-table was covered in jars of cosmetics and bottles of perfume she'd never opened, her drawers full of expensive and very delicate lingerie she felt it a sin to wear on an everyday basis. As if she'd been interested in material things, anyway, when her Godfrey was dying.

  Jonathon came forward on his chair and cleared his throat. '
Now along to the matter of our getting married…'

  Sophia sat up straight. She'd been wondering when he'd get round to that. Of course, he wouldn't want to go through with it. No one could condemn him for that. People said anything to make a person's last days happy.

  'If you'll just sign where indicated,' he said, picking up a sheet of paper, turning it round and facing it towards her, 'we should be able to get married next month.'

  'You mean you… you still want to m-marry me?'

  His coming forward in the chair to pass over the document had brought him into full light, so that she saw the hard glitter in his blue eyes. 'The word "want" does not come into it, Sophia. I have no other option. I could not live with myself if I did not fulfil my promise to my brother, for it was the first and only thing he has ever asked me to do for him. I realise I am not the sort of man you would choose for a husband, but we only have to go through the mo­tions. It will not be a real marriage. Later on, we can secure a discreet divorce.'

  Sophia gulped when he directed a pen her way.

  Her hand had trembled as she took it, her signature wobbly. Now, five weeks later, she was signing her marriage certificate on the same desk, and her hand was shaking just as much.

  When she'd signed for the last wobbly time, Sophia heaved a sigh of relief and gave the pen to Wilma who stepped forward with her usual brisk confidence. Dressed in a severely tailored brown woollen suit with black patent accessories, her straight brown hair cropped mannishly short, she still exuded a strength of personality that was oddly attractive. In seconds, she'd whisked her distinctive signature in the allotted spaces, followed by an equally dashing Harvey.

  Sophia watched them both with a degree of envy. One day, she would be like that, she vowed. Undaunted by any situation, and totally in command of herself.

  Her sigh carried a certain amount of disappoint­ment in herself that all Godfrey had achieved with her had turned out to be an illusion. She'd mistakenly believed he'd turned her from a shy, ignorant girl into a culturally informed young woman who would not have been at a loss in any company.