His Bid For A Bride

‘The fact of the matter is…?’ Skye prompted warily, suddenly extremely suspicious of Falkner’s motive for being here.

She personally hadn’t seen this man since that day over six years ago, but she knew that her father had continued to have a working relationship with the younger man until the time of the accident three years ago, that her father’s liking and respect for Falkner had deepened as he’d first fought his way back from his horrendous injuries, to move on to make a success of himself in another field.

Her father…

Pain shot through her like a knife just at the thought of him, once again closing her eyes, although she couldn’t manage to shut out the memories that had brought her to this point in time.

When had everything begun to go wrong for them? She had lain here this last week trying to make sense of it all.

There was no denying it had been a bad year for all the O’Hara family. Uncle Seamus’s wife had walked out on him after five years of marriage. Uncle Seamus had always been a little too fond of the family product, and his drinking bouts had become more frequent, usually ending in blazing rows, if not actually fisticuffs, with his younger brother, Connor. But with Skye’s help that situation had eventually calmed down, Uncle Seamus apologetic and shame-faced, the two men, to Skye’s relief, once again friends.

Only for something even more disastrous to follow.

Six months ago O’Hara Whiskey had been in serious financial difficulty, rumours quickly following of her father’s possible misconduct.

And then had come the worst blow of all. That fatal night a week ago…

It had been late at night as Skye and her father had driven back to their London hotel after yet another unsuccessful business meeting in the south of England, the rain beating blindingly against the windscreen, visibility almost nil. So much so that her father hadn’t seen the truck coming the other way, hadn’t realized it was driving on the wrong side of the road, either. Until it had been too late…

Her face was now as white as the pillow she lay back on, her eyes still haunted by those last terrible moments as she once again looked at Falkner. ‘Would you please just go away and leave me alone?’ she pleaded brokenly.

He reached out a hand to her, that hand dropping ineffectually onto the bed as she flinched away from him. ‘Skye, I know how it feels to be in pain. Who should know better than me?’ he rasped harshly. ‘But I—hell, I wish there was an easy way to say this, but ultimately I know that there isn’t.’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘You know they held the inquest three days ago?’

Skye nodded her head without turning. She had given her statement to the police several days ago—she couldn’t remember how many days, they all seemed to have merged into one big, painful blur—knew that a verdict of ‘accidental death’ had been decided upon.

‘Skye, your father’s funeral is arranged for the end of this week,’ Falkner told her gently.

No!

All the memories, those terrible final moments, fell in on top of her, her father’s warning cry as he’d swerved to avoid the oncoming truck, the terrible sound as the two vehicles had collided, the eerie silence that had followed.

Skye had regained consciousness as someone, a stranger, had pulled her from the car, the pain in her head and side so extreme that she’d thought she might faint again. Except…

‘My father,’ she had cried as she’d sat up. ‘You have to help my father.’

But even as she’d called out she had known it was already too late for her father, his side of the car completely crushed where he had swerved to avoid the collision, making it impossible to believe that anyone could have survived in such a tangled mess.

And no one had…

At the hospital there had been even more strangers to reassure her that her father’s death would have been instantaneous. That he wouldn’t have known anything about it. Finally, when it had become apparent that Skye’s grief was inconsolable, that his injuries had been such that it was a blessing he hadn’t survived.

A blessing.

How could it possibly be ‘a blessing’ that her father, the person she loved most in the whole world, had died so suddenly, so tragically?

And now Falkner Harrington, yet another stranger, had come to tell her that her father was to be buried in four days’ time…

Skye didn’t even glance at Falkner now. ‘Go away,’ she told him.

‘I can’t do that,’ he told her regretfully. ‘And one day you’ll thank me for not doing so—’

‘I doubt that very much,’ she snapped.

‘Skye, in four days’ time, at his own request, your father is being laid to rest beside your mother, and I’m here to take you home—’

‘I’m not going to any funeral, in four days, or any other time!’ She turned on him fiercely, eyes blazing deeply blue as she attempted to sit up, the pain in her head and side instantly pulling her back down again. ‘I’m not going, Falkner,’ she repeated flatly as she turned away.

‘Oh, yes, you are,’ he told her firmly as he stood up to tower over her. ‘You know, as well as I do, that it was always your father’s wish to be buried beside your mother in Windsor. Skye,’ he groaned as she looked even more stricken as he once again mentioned the childhood loss of her mother, ‘I admit, I can’t even begin to take in the enormity of how you feel at the moment—my own parents are, thankfully, still both very much alive and living in Florida. But I have lost a very dear friend, a friend that I’m going to miss very much,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I also know that dear friend would have wanted me to look after his daughter,’ he added softly.

Skye’s expression was scathing as she turned to him. ‘If you’re such a “friend”, then where were you this last six months, when my father so obviously needed all the friends he had?’

Falkner straightened, his expression enigmatically unreadable. ‘I was there, Skye—’

‘I didn’t see you,’ she scorned.

‘But I saw you,’ he assured her quietly.

Her eyes widened incredulously. ‘When? Where?’

He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he dismissed. ‘What matters right now is that I get you out of here with the minimum amount of fuss. There are still reporters hanging around at the front of the hospital, so I suggest—’

‘Falkner, I believe I’ve made my feelings more than clear on this subject, but just in case I haven’t—’

‘You have,’ he assured her dryly. ‘But that doesn’t change the fact that you are well enough to be discharged—more than well enough, if the specialist is to be believed,’ he added derisively. ‘Skye, they need the bed—you don’t,’ he added impatiently as she would have argued with him once again. ‘So let’s get you dressed—’

‘I don’t have any clothes,’ she cut in flatly. ‘What I was wearing—’ She swallowed hard. ‘What I was wearing was in such a mess once they had cut if off me that I told them to incinerate it.’

‘It doesn’t matter; I have the things with me that you left at the hotel,’ Falkner dismissed easily, turning to pick up the suitcase Skye hadn’t noticed him place just inside the door when he’d come in, swinging it up awkwardly onto the bottom of the bed to open up the lid.

Skye gasped as she easily recognized her own clothes neatly folded inside. And just as easily guessed who must have taken them out of the drawers and wardrobe at the hotel before folding them so neatly and putting them inside the suitcase.

She shook her head dazedly. ‘Falkner, don’t you think you’ve taken rather a lot on yourself by getting involved in this way? I take it it was you who—who organized the funeral, too?’ she accused.

His head snapped up challengingly. ‘Who else was going to do it?’ he rasped. ‘You? Somehow I don’t think so. Your uncle Seamus?’

He shook his head grimly. ‘Skye, last weekend, after your uncle Seamus was informed of the accident, he went on the bender to end all benders. Your father’s housekeeper found him at the bottom of the stairs the next morning, still blind drunk. Which was perhaps as well, because it turned out he had broken his leg when he fell down the stairs!’ he concluded disgustedly.

Skye stared at him. She had been expecting her uncle Seamus to arrive all week. Although part of her was relieved when he hadn’t, knowing she would have found it hard to cope with his grief as well as her own. But listening to Falkner’s explanation of exactly why her uncle hadn’t come to England following the accident…

‘I know.’ Falkner sighed ruefully at her slightly dazed expression. ‘If it wasn’t so damned tragic, it would be laughable!’

He was right, it would. In fact, Skye was having trouble not laughing, hysterically, anyway.

Falkner shook his head before turning his attention back to the contents of her suitcase. ‘They should be letting him out of hospital too by the end of the week,’ he informed her distractedly.

But not time enough for him to attend her father’s funeral in England, Skye realized…

‘Here, let me do that.’ She dismissed Falkner’s attempts to choose something for her to wear from the contents of the suitcase; he might, through necessity, have packed these things for her at the hotel, but there was something not quite right about watching him handle her silky underwear. ‘Perhaps if you would like to wait outside…?’ she suggested huskily as she moved gingerly to sit up on the side of the bed, not quite able to look at Falkner as she was struck by a sudden—unaccustomed—shyness.

She was twenty-four years old, had spent all of her childhood and most of her adult life, too, surrounded by men; her father, her grandfather, Uncle Seamus, the grooms at the stable, the majority of workers at O’Hara Whiskey having been men too. But because she had accompanied her father since she was a very young child, she had always been treated by them all as ‘one of the boys’; certainly none of them had ever made her completely aware of her own femininity. In the way that Falkner had six years ago. And, amazingly, still did…

Falkner gave the ghost of a smile. ‘If you think you can manage…?’

No doubt it would take her some time; she knew she must look a mess, wanted to shower and wash her hair in the adjoining bathroom before putting on clean clothes. Which wouldn’t be easy when her head still felt as if it didn’t quite belong on her shoulders, her broken ribs making any movement painful. But slow was certainly preferable to having Falkner offer to help dress her.

Besides, despite what Falkner might have implied on his arrival, she hadn’t spent all of the last week lying around in bed feeling sorry for herself, had been walking about the room, and into the adjoining bathroom, for several days now.

It was what awaited her outside this room that Skye was having trouble facing up to…

Somehow, cocooned inside the clinical atmosphere of the hospital, with no responsibilities except to take her medicine when instructed, and eat the food that was placed in front of her, she had made this her reality, what had happened the previous week becoming artificial, the previous six months before that dreamlike. But she knew only too well that once she stepped outside this room…!

‘I can manage,’ she assured Falkner abruptly. ‘Thank you,’ she added belatedly.

He nodded in brief acknowledgement of this slight softening on her part. ‘Take your time. I’ll go and get myself a coffee in the waiting-room down the hallway.’ He turned away, the permanent damage to his right leg becoming more apparent as he moved awkwardly across the room.

He had moved so gracefully six years ago, Skye recalled frowningly, each movement fluid and purposeful. She wondered if the leg still pained him. Although she knew just from their brief meeting six years ago that he wouldn’t welcome her curiosity. Or her pity.

‘Falkner,’ she called after him, her voice quivering with uncertainty now.

He glanced back at her, his hand already on the door handle. ‘Yes?’ His own tone was almost wary.

Skye moistened dry lips before answering. ‘You mentioned earlier that you were—you were taking me home,’ she reminded him frowningly.

‘I did.’ He nodded abruptly. ‘To my home, Skye. I’m taking you to my home,’ he repeated firmly, his gaze challenging, as if he were already prepared for her to argue with him.

He was taking her to that run-down house of mellow stone, set in its acres of beautiful countryside, with its stables now empty of the most beautiful horses Skye had ever seen…

‘Fine.’ Skye nodded slowly. ‘That’s absolutely fine,’ she repeated evenly.

Falkner looked at her for several long, searching seconds, before giving an abrupt nod of his head. ‘I’ll be waiting down the corridor when you’re ready to leave,’ he repeated softly. ‘And don’t worry about the reporters outside; I’ve already arranged for us to leave by a staff entrance.’

‘Thank you.’ Her smile was tremulous, although she already accepted that Falkner seemed able to ‘arrange’ most things he set his mind to.

She could imagine nothing worse than a repeat of the incident when, by subterfuge, a reporter had managed to gain entrance to her room earlier in the week, the man’s camera clicking in her face even as he fired questions at her. Questions that Skye still remembered with horror.

‘You’re more than welcome,’ Falkner assured her quietly before closing the door softly behind him as he left the room.

Skye didn’t move for several seconds, couldn’t move, totally overwhelmed at this kindness from a man she hadn’t believed, six years ago, was capable of the emotion.

A man she had been totally in love with for those six years.

CHAPTER TWO

‘FALKNER, exactly why are you doing this?’ Skye asked wearily.

She had taken one look in the mirror when she’d entered the bathroom earlier, and groaned with dismay at her appearance; it was worse than she had thought.

Her hair stuck up in greasy spikes, there was a huge bruise down the left side of her face where she had been thrown against the car door—also the reason for her concussion—her black eye had turned to all the colours of the rainbow but predominantly a sickly yellow, her face otherwise deathly pale. She had also lost weight, she discovered when she pulled on denims and a black tee shirt, the clothes much looser on her than they had been a week ago.

One thing she was sure of: Falkner wasn’t being kind to her because he was overwhelmed by her beauty.

He glanced at her only briefly as she sat beside him in the green Range Rover, Skye having tactfully turned away minutes ago as he’d levered himself awkwardly behind the wheel. ‘Would you have preferred it if I had left you to face those reporters on your own?’ he rasped grimly.

Despite his precaution of taking her out of the hospital through a staff entrance, a couple of enterprising reporters had pre-empted them, Falkner’s hand tightly gripping Skye’s arm as he’d pushed his way forcefully by them to see her safely seated in his car before, his mouth a grimly set line, he’d moved round the vehicle to get in beside her, answering none of the questions fired at them.

‘No,’ she sighed, exhausted by the events of the morning, her ribs aching painfully from this unaccustomed activity. ‘But—’

‘I told you, Connor was my friend,’ Falkner bit out abruptly. ‘He would want me to take care of you.’

Before the suspicion and gossip of the last six months, her father had appeared to have many friends, but most of them had quietly faded away the last few months, almost as if they believed the rumour and speculation that now surrounded Connor’s professional reputation might be catching.

Although Falkner didn’t seem to be bothered by the same possibility.

Of course she had known of her father’s continuing friendship with the younger man; he occasionally talked of having seen or spoken to Falkner. Conversations that Skye had listened to avidly while at the same time maintaining an outward indifference, desperate that no one, least of all her father, should realize how deeply and irrevocably she had fallen in love with Falkner six years ago.

But even so, she wouldn’t have thought, based on the things her father had said about the other man, that their friendship had been such that Falkner would now feel a responsibility to come to the aid of Connor’s daughter.

But what other reason could he possibly have for being here…?

‘Skye, Connor was there for me after the accident three years ago,’ Falkner rasped. ‘And again two years ago,’ he added reluctantly.

Two years ago? What had happened two years…Ah.

She had read in the newspapers of Falkner’s marriage five years ago, followed by his even more publicized separation after the accident, and the messy divorce that had followed a year later.

‘Connor spent a lot of his valuable time two years ago talking to me, helping me come to terms with—things,’ Falkner continued harshly.

And this was obviously Falkner’s way of returning the older man’s generosity.

Well, at least he was honest, Skye accepted ruefully. Even if it might have been more comforting, if unlikely, if his concern had been a little more personally directed.

She sighed, turning to look uninterestedly out at the passing countryside, recognizing some of it, aware that they would shortly be arriving at Falkner’s home.

There was one positive thing to look forward to, at least: his wife wouldn’t be there waiting to welcome her—or otherwise.

She had wondered, five years ago, what the woman was like when Falkner had married, the photograph of the two of them that had appeared in the newspapers at the time of their marriage not only grainy, making their features indistinct, but also in black and white.

Whatever Selina Harrington’s personality and looks, the marriage had only lasted a rocky two years, Selina leaving Falkner shortly after his accident, divorcing him a year later amid claims of his involvement with another woman.

There was a thought. Maybe the ‘other woman’ would be at the Falkner home waiting to welcome her, instead.

Skye shifted uncomfortably in the cream leather seat. ‘Er—I really don’t want to put you or—or anyone else—’ she chewed worriedly on her bottom lip ‘—to any inconvenience, by turning up at your house in this way.’

‘You won’t be,’ Falkner told her with assured dismissal.

Not exactly a helpful reply; she already knew Falkner well enough to realize he was arrogant enough to expect that other people’s reactions to his unexpected guest would be reflective of his own.

Whereas Skye had learnt only too well the last few months just how hurtful a cold rebuff could be. Goodness knew, there had been enough of them recently.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘Falkner, what—?’

‘Let’s just get through the rest of this week, hmm?’ he prompted abruptly. ‘There will be plenty of time to—talk, later, okay?’

The rest of this week…

Her father’s funeral.

Incredible.

Unbelievable.

When she still had the feeling he was going to walk through the door demanding a mug of the strong coffee that had kept him going through their long working day, or that she was going to turn a corner and he would be there waiting for her, as big and protective as he had always been, giving that big booming laugh that told her everything was right with the world.

What was she going to do without him?

The two of them had always been so close, more so since there had really only ever been the two of them. Skye couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. Didn’t want to imagine a life without him!

She was suddenly overwhelmed by such a feeling of despair that she wasn’t even aware of Falkner’s sharp glance in her direction, or the fact that he pulled the car over into a lay-by, turning off the engine before releasing his seat belt and turning to take her into his arms.

It was the warmth of those arms, being cradled against the solid hardness of a human chest, that was Skye’s complete undoing. The sob caught at the back of her throat, choking her, her body racked by those sobs as she gave into her feelings of complete desolation.

‘It’s all right, Skye,’ Falkner murmured, his hands moving comfortingly up and down her spine as he held her close against him. ‘I’m here. I’ll be here for as long as you need me. Skye, don’t…’he groaned with aching concern as his words only made her cry all the harder.

Seconds ago she had been overwhelmed by feelings of loneliness, emptiness, but as Falkner’s words penetrated the pain that consumed her, the warmth of his arms protecting her, she knew she wasn’t completely alone, that he meant what he said: he would be there for her for as long as she needed him.

But with that realization came the knowledge of the danger that awaited her there, a danger she had no idea, at this moment when she needed him so much, how to cope with; it would be all too easy to just let Falkner take over, to stay with him and never leave. And, loving him as she did, she knew she couldn’t do that.

She pulled back slightly, brushing the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘I’m all right now,’ she dismissed, not quite able to meet the penetration of his searching blue gaze. ‘It was just—for a moment—I’m all right now,’ she repeated determinedly, pulling fully out of his arms to sit back against the door. As far away from Falkner as was possible in the close confines of the car.

‘Sure?’ he prompted gently.

She swallowed hard. If he was going to carry on being kind to her like this she knew she wouldn’t be able to cope. ‘Of course I’m sure,’ she told him tartly. ‘Let’s go, Falkner,’ she snapped as she sensed his continued gaze on her, her jaw clenched determinedly as she refused to return that gaze.

‘Okay,’ he finally accepted tersely, turning on the ignition to manoeuvre the car back into the flow of traffic. ‘Skye, we’re going to arrive in a few minutes, and—’

So there would be someone else there.

‘Don’t worry, Falkner,’ she cut in coldly. ‘I’ll promise I’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible for the next couple of days. In fact, if you just show me to a bedroom, I can stay there until—until after Friday,’ she continued determinedly. ‘No one need even know I’m staying with you. You—’

‘Skye—shut up,’ he cut in harshly, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. ‘I don’t care who knows you’re there. I don’t care if you choose to walk around the house stark naked!’ he added grimly. ‘Am I making myself clear?’

‘Very.’ Her mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile at his obvious anger at her suggestion it might be better for him if he just hid her away somewhere. ‘But I think I’ll forgo the “walking around the house stark naked” bit, if you don’t mind!’

‘Pity.’ He shrugged. ‘It might have been—diverting,’ he drawled. ‘Although perhaps impractical with my housekeeper living in the house,’ he dismissed briskly, turning the car down the long gravel driveway that led to his house.

His housekeeper…

Skye gave him a searching glance, her confusion such that she didn’t know how to reply to his first statement. No doubt Falkner was just trying to divert her attention onto something less traumatic than the next couple of days—and no doubt he had succeeded.

The thought of her ever feeling confident enough around Falkner to stroll around his home naked was enough to confuse anyone!

‘You were saying something about when we arrive?’ she reminded him stiltedly.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he dismissed tersely as he parked the car outside the house. ‘We can talk about that later too.’

There seemed to be an awful lot of things they were going to talk about later…?

But Skye put all that from her mind as Falkner got out of the car to come round and open her door for her, supporting her arm as she stepped down, nevertheless the movement causing pain to her ribs.

Falkner looked at her ruefully as she finally stood on the gravel driveway beside him. ‘You look as if you’ve gone ten rounds with Lennox Lewis,’ he drawled in answer to her questioning look.