His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell: His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell

“Colin isn’t giving you a hard time about the annulment, is he?” Tamara asked.

“Of course not!” Belinda replied. “Why would he? After all, it’s not as if we had a real marriage. We dashed into a Las Vegas wedding chapel. The next morning we regretted our mistake. Colin said he’d take care of the annulment!”

“Let’s back up to the part where you went into the chapel,” Tamara said drily. “How did it happen? You dash to the airport to avoid missing a flight. You dash into a supermarket for some milk.”

“You might even dash into Louis Vuitton to grab their latest it bag,” Pia suggested.

“Exactly,” Tamara went on. “But you do not dash into a wedding chapel to get hitched on the fly.”

Belinda sighed. “You do if it’s Vegas, and you’ve just run into someone … unexpected. And you’ve had a drink or two that have gone straight to your head.”

Pia’s groan of commiseration sounded over the phone.

Tamara wondered how much blame to place on a couple of drinks, and how much on Colin himself. Her meticulous friend wasn’t the type to get tipsy, at least not without a reason.

“You didn’t change your name to Granville, did you?” Tamara asked. “Because if you did—”

Pia gasped. “Oh, Belinda, tell me you didn’t! Tell me you didn’t legally become one of the enemy!”

“Not to mention you would have been misrepresenting yourself as Belinda Wentworth for the past two years,” Tamara commented.

She cringed for her friend. It looked as if Belinda, who was always so self-possessed, had dug herself a hole.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t change my last name,” Belinda responded drily.

“So it was okay to marry a Granville, but not to become one?” Tamara quipped. “I love the way the tipsy you thinks.”

“Thanks,” Belinda retorted. “And don’t worry—the tipsy me is not getting out of her locked and padded cell again.”

Tamara laughed, but then quickly sobered. What was it about a man with a title that made a woman lose her head? Her thoughts drifted to Sawyer, and then, annoyed with herself, she focused on the topic at hand again.

Among their trio of friends, Belinda had always been the levelheaded, responsible one. After getting her degree in the history of art from Oxford, she’d begun a respectable career working at a series of auction houses. Tamara just couldn’t picture Belinda eloping in Vegas with her family’s nemesis. Pia, maybe, Belinda, no.

“There wasn’t an Elvis impersonator involved, by chance, was there?” she heard herself ask.

Pia stifled a giggle.

“No!” Belinda said. “And I just want this headache to disappear!”

“Not likely,” Tamara remarked. “I don’t see Colin going away quietly.”

“He will,” Belinda replied adamantly. “What would make him want to stay in this ridiculous marriage?”

Now there was the million-dollar question, Tamara thought. Belinda sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.

Tamara decided to turn the conversation in a different direction, to take the pressure off Belinda.

“Pia, I saw you stalking off to the kitchen at one point,” she said. “You looked upset.”

“I wasn’t upset about Colin crashing the wedding,” Pia responded. “Well, I was upset for Belinda. But I had s-someone—ah, other things on my mind.”

Pia’s slight stutter was in evidence, and Tamara knew it only came out these days when her friend was agitated about something.

Tamara decided to probe delicately. “Ah, Pia … these other things wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain very toff British duke-turned-financier, would it?”

Pia gasped. “That didn’t make Mrs. Hollings’s column, too, did it?”

“I’m afraid so, sweetie.”

Pia moaned. “I’m doomed.”

According to the Jane Hollings column that had appeared in Sawyer’s newspaper that morning, there had been an argument at Belinda’s wedding reception between Pia and the Duke of Hawkshire. Reportedly, Pia had discovered at the reception that the duke was none other than the man she’d known only as Mr. James Fielding when she’d been involved with him a few years before. Upon the discovery of how she’d been mislead, Pia had apparently smashed some hors d’oeuvres into the duke’s face.

“Pia, please,” Belinda said, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “Doomed is committing bigamy.”

“Which you didn’t!”

“Almost.”

“N-no one will want to hire a wedding planner who’s a security risk to wealthy and titled guests!” Pia wailed.

“Did you really sleep with Hawkshire?” Belinda asked.

“He was Mr. Fielding at the time!”

“Oh, Pia.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Tamara said at the same time.

Naturally, Tamara thought darkly, Sawyer was friends with the duke as well as with Belinda’s yet-to-be-annulled husband. Of course both of Sawyer’s good friends would be disreputable.

“Well, it seems like we all had a great wedding,” Tamara said. “Sorry, Belinda.”

A sigh sounded over the phone. “No apologies necessary,” Belinda said. “Not even the best spin doctor could put a good face on Saturday’s disaster. It’s not every day a bride almost acquires two husbands.”

They all shared in some self-conscious laughter.

“Well, what made Saturday so bad for you, Tamara?” Belinda asked.

“In short?”

“Yes.”

“Sawyer Langsford. Lord Odious himself.”

Pia giggled.

“Oh, I don’t think Sawyer is so terrible,” Belinda remarked.

“Putting aside his friendship with Colin, you mean?” Tamara asked.

“Okay, I see your point,” Belinda conceded.

“Sawyer is good-looking,” Pia said. “Those topaz eyes, and all that rich, burnished hair—”

Tamara made a face. “Whose side are you on?”

“Well, yours.”

“Good.”

“What about Sawyer’s presence put you out?” Belinda asked. “You’ve socialized before without any problem, as far as I could tell.”

“Because we’ve always ignored each other,” Tamara replied. “But my father seeing the both of us in the wedding procession reminded him of the cherished idea that he and the previous earl had of having their children marry each other.”

Pia spluttered. “You and Sawyer?”

“Hilarious, I know,” Tamara responded.

“Oh, rats,” Belinda said. “If I’d known, I’d have suggested to Tod that he pick another groomsman.”

Tamara grimaced. “It’s not something I like to talk about. In fact, it’s an idea I’ve been hoping was dead and buried. But then Sawyer made it clear on Saturday that he’s willing to entertain the idea.”

Pia and Belinda gasped.

Exactly, Tamara thought.

When she’d heard Sawyer was to be in the wedding party, she’d figured she was a big enough girl to handle it. But she hadn’t foreseen Sawyer’s proposal.

“You and Sawyer are so different!” Pia said. “You’re the Bridget Jones to his Mr. Darcy.”

Tamara closed her eyes in existential pain. “Please. Bridget and Darcy ended up together.”

“Oops, sorry!”

Tamara knew Pia was a romantic. Being a wedding planner suited her friend’s personality. The only surprising thing was that Pia herself wasn’t married. But then, Pia had had her own experience with an odious man.

“So what’s next for you two?” Tamara asked, wanting to change the subject.

“I’m flying to England for a few days on business.”

“And I’ll be in Atlanta to consult with a client on a wedding.”

“Abandoning the field of battle?” Tamara couldn’t resist joking.

“Never!” Belinda declared.

“In a sense,” Pia said at the same time.

“I’m regrouping and marshalling my forces,” Belinda went on, “including getting a lawyer.”

“In meantime,” Pia said, “I’ll be coming up with some spectacular ideas for Belinda’s second act as a bride.” She added uncertainly, “Or should I say, third act …?”

There was a pause as everyone seemed to wince.

Then Tamara noticed a light flashing on her phone. “On that note, I think I have a call coming in.”

As Tamara ended the call with Belinda and Pia, she wondered for which of the three of them Saturday would prove to be most portentous.

Her parting exchange with Sawyer came back to her.

She’d told him they were done, and he, damn him, had just replied insouciantly, “Not nearly, but it’s been a pleasure so far.”

One week later, Tamara wondered at her rotten luck.

Sawyer, again.

Usually she ran into him only once every few months. Maybe a couple of times a year.

But here he was—at a big fashion party taking place in a large TriBeCa loft. Minor celebrities, socialites and journalists were here to appreciate an up-and-coming designer.

But what was Sawyer doing here?

Tamara had seen a reporter for Sawyer’s newspaper, The New York Intelligencer, at the party. Sawyer’s own presence certainly was not necessary.

She knew he attended his share of parties, but this one was not the type he usually attended. Last time she checked, he didn’t have a particular interest in fashion. In fact, she was sure his suits came from an old and stuffy Savile Row tailor with a warrant from the queen.

Sawyer’s presence was a reason to keep up her guard, but at least she had body armor tonight in the form of a date.

She looked around. Tom hadn’t yet returned with their drinks.

As she scanned the room, however, she noticed Sawyer walking toward her.

Rats.

She turned, but just as she ducked behind the heavy velvet curtain that encircled the perimeter of the room—obviously in place to hide blank walls and elevator doors from the view of the assembled guests—a familiar voice reached her.

“Leaving the field of battle?”

She halted, irritated that his words echoed her own to Belinda, but unwilling to show him any reaction.

Squaring her shoulders, she swung back toward him. “Never.”

He gave a predatory smile. “Good.”

She waved her hand toward the curtain to indicate the crowd on the other side. “I was simply trying to avoid getting blood on the designer labels in our latest skirmish.”

“Thoughtful of you.”

She tilted her lips in the semblance of a smile. “You might try it sometime.”

After a moment, he had the indecency to chuckle.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted.

“I received an invitation, I accepted.”

She frowned. “I’ve never seen you at a fashion event before.”

“There’s always a first time. Otherwise life would be boring.”

She felt heat stain her cheeks, and shook off the feeling he was making a sexual suggestion about her … them.

“I suppose,” she responded coolly, “though I also know there are certain things I don’t care to try.”

She tried to ignore the fact that her pulse had begun to skitter and skip the minute she’d heard his deep voice resonating behind her.

Her reaction both puzzled and annoyed her. Was it because he’d admitted to entertaining the idea of wedding her? It was only that she felt pursued, she insisted to herself. Surely she hadn’t sunk so low as to feel flattered by his attention.

This was Sawyer, the man she’d spent a lifetime avoiding and disdaining. She wasn’t like some medieval bride, content to be betrothed from birth.

Still, she couldn’t help noticing he made his own fashion statement of sorts tonight. He looked model-perfect in a tieless tan suit and open-collar green shirt. It was about as fashion-forward as she could ever remember him looking. Had it been a long while since her recent encounters with Sawyer, or had he begun relaxing his sartorial standards and she simply hadn’t noticed?

As if conducting his own wardrobe assessment, Sawyer gave her a sweeping look that ran up from her peep-toe slingbacks to her knee-length sheath dress, held up by spaghetti straps.

His eyes paused for a moment at her chest, before he raised them to her annoyed expression. “A redhead who isn’t afraid to wear red. You never disappoint.”

“I’m so glad you approve!” She couldn’t help feeling there was an element of disapproval in his words. He was of her father’s world, after all. Bohemian jewelry designers didn’t fit.

In the next instant, however, he surprised her by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

She stilled as he paused to finger a teardrop peridot earring. The contact was intimate—erotic, even—though he wasn’t touching her directly.

“I’m interested in having some jewelry pieces designed,” he said, his deep voice sending an involuntary thrill through her.

Pushing aside how very aware of him she was, she asked, making her voice sugary, “For your current love interest?”

He took his time answering. “You could say that.”

She looked at him with exaggerated disbelief. “Am I to assume that’s why you arranged to intercept me at a fashion event? Because you’re looking for a jewelry designer?”

“Among other things.”

She held on to her irritation because it was easier to deal with than how disturbing his nearness was. “Let’s get back to what you’re doing here. Or should I say, how you knew I’d be here?”

He gave her a level look. “One guess.”

“My father,” she said flatly.

“Correct.”

Her lips tightened. “When I see him again …”

She castigated herself now for revealing to her father some of the details of her social and business schedule in response to his seemingly casual questions a couple of weeks ago when they’d met for lunch.

No question she and her father needed to have a serious conversation. One that included the reasons why he shouldn’t interfere in her life. It apparently wasn’t enough she was based in New York and he was often in London, putting the breadth of the Atlantic Ocean between them.

Sawyer regarded her with an unreadable expression. “Marriage is not such a crazy idea.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still considering this!”

“The idea has its merits.”

“And here I was thinking you sought me out to have a trinket designed for your current flame! Instead, you hauled yourself here in order to make a marriage proposal. Now there’s a good, solid reason to attend a froufrou fashion event, when everyone knows you have zero interest in fashion!”

Thank goodness they were in a semiprivate area of the room, Tamara thought. The last thing she needed was for their argument to be witnessed by avid onlookers.

“Are you done?” he asked, his topaz eyes glittering.

Not by a mile. “How efficient of you. Well, you can erase the marriage proposal from your BlackBerry calendar! Good luck with the rest of your day.”

She turned away, but she’d taken only two steps when he grasped her arm and swung her back toward him.

“You have to be the most prickly woman I know,” Sawyer muttered.

“Yet another reason I wouldn’t make a suitable wife,” she flung back. “I can bring home the sarcasm, serve up your ego in a pan and never let you forget you’re a—”

“Damn.”

In the next moment, Sawyer’s lips came down on hers.

Tamara stilled.

Sawyer’s lips were soft but firm, and in the next instant, Tamara became aware that he tasted sweet but heady and carried the warm scent of man.

Sensation coursed through her, and her body hummed to life. She’d been kissed before, of course, but kissing Sawyer, she was discovering, was like doing vodka shots when she was used to beer.

Time slowed. She felt the heavy thump of her heart, and became aware of his lean, muscular strength pressed against her.

She reached up to clutch Sawyer’s shoulders, and in response, he made a low, growling sound and deepened the kiss.

Her brain radioed the message that she’d been right to steer clear of him in the past. The man was pure testosterone poured into a suit—and he was sending her pheromones into chaos.

Help.

And then the sound of laughter came through the heavy, thick curtains. And just like that, she felt jolted from his sexual spell.

Tearing her lips from Sawyer’s, she opened her eyes and shoved him away.

Her heart hammered as he rocked back a half step. But after a moment, his face went smooth and cool.

It was as if the hot lover of a moment ago who had caused her senses to riot had morphed back into the tycoon with an implacable facade.

“Well,” Sawyer said slowly, “I guess we answered one question.”

A question? She was thinking more in terms of exclamation points. Lots of them.

“Which is?” she huffed.

“We have no problem with sexual chemistry.”

Her eyes widened. “Get over yourself.”

He gave her a sweeping look, and muttered, “It’s you I think I need to get over.”

A wave of heat washed over her. An image of Sawyer, naked and looming over her in bed, flashed through her mind.

“You need to come with a warning label!” she shot back.

His smile was rather wolfish. “Isn’t that what I’m proposing?” he asked. “Make the world safe for other women. Take me off the market.”

“I’m a jewelry designer, not a lion tamer.”

“You could be both,” he said, his voice smooth as honey.

She cursed herself for finding his sexual banter seductive. Wasn’t she an educated, independent woman of the twenty-first century?

Sawyer, on the other hand, was a throwback to feudal lords—and thanks to his ancestors, he had a real, present-day title to match.

Well, he’d have to look for his countess elsewhere. She didn’t know where—though she supposed a fashion event with plenty of beautiful, pedigreed women tottering around in four-inch heels wasn’t a half-bad bet—but she knew she wasn’t in the running.

“In any case,” Sawyer said, breaking into her thoughts, “I’m not proposing what your father has in mind.”

“Oh?” she asked with false smoothness. “Then what are you proposing?”

“Your father wants a dynastic marriage. Real but—”

“Loveless,” she finished for him before he could spell it out for her.

He nodded. “It’s been done for generations.”

“This is the twenty-first century.”

Of course, it was centuries of ruthless breeding that had produced Sawyer Langsford—a man’s man, a captain of industry, a guy who seemed capable of impregnating a woman just by looking at her.

“I’m suggesting a short-term arrangement for our mutual benefit,” Sawyer stated.

“A short-term marriage of convenience?” she asked incredulously.

“Right.”

“Well, I know what you would get out of the arrangement,” she shot back.

“Do you?” he said smoothly.

She ignored the subtext of sexual suggestion. “You’d get control of Kincaid News. But what in the world would be the incentive for me?”

“You’d be doing the right thing for your family,” he said, unperturbed. “The majority of your father’s media business is in the United Kingdom, while most of my company is in the United States. With corporate synergies, both our companies can continue to prosper. Your father needs a successor for the family firm, and I know the media business.”

He added with a quirk of the lips, “Your father would stop trying to interfere in your life. He’d be forever in your debt.”

She frowned. “Only because I’d be married to you!”

The price was too high.

“We’d seem to be married for a short while,” Sawyer allowed. “But we’d both know the truth.”

She felt an unexpected twinge, and then despite herself, she asked, “What about divorce? What happens to the companies then?”

“Once the companies have merged, I’m betting there’ll be no turning back. Your father will have his money, and he’ll be forced to concede the efficacy of the deal.”

“How convenient for you,” she responded. “You get your hands on Kincaid holdings without the long-term baggage of a Kincaid bride.”

Sawyer’s lips quirked again, and this time, she itched to wipe the smile off his face.

“I wouldn’t call you a piece of baggage,” he said.

“I’m not marrying you.”

“There’d be additional benefits for you.”

“Those being what?” she retorted.

“I’m in a position to help you move your jewelry business to the next level,” he said. “In a way your father hasn’t been.”

Her spine stiffened. “There are too many strings attached,” she said warily. “Anyway, what do you know about my design business?”

“I know Kincaid has refused to become an investor.”

Tamara relaxed. It was apparent Sawyer’s only clue about her business had come through her father.

She conceded that Sawyer’s persistence was a valuable business trait. But she wasn’t going to base her married life on a business deal—especially one where she had little to gain and all of her hard-won independence to lose.

“No thanks,” she retorted. “I’ve got the situation well in hand.”

“There you are!”

At the sound of a familiar voice, Tamara turned around and discovered Tom making his way toward them along the line of draped curtains, one champagne flute in each hand.

How had Tom thought to look for her here? Still, she was grateful for the rescue.

“Sorry, babe,” Tom said. “I was intercepted by someone I knew. He was a guy who used to play some of the same gigs as Zero Sum.”

Tom was the quintessential yet-to-make-it-big rocker. He was slightly unkempt, his brown hair curling at the neck of a black T-shirt and matching jacket. He and his band, Zero Sum, hadn’t given up on looking for their big break.

Tom had been her occasional date for the past year, whenever he was in town. But right now, Tamara couldn’t help contrasting him to Sawyer, who stood about half a head taller, and a world of difference away in smoothness.

Tamara considered herself tall—or at least, not short—at five-seven, but Sawyer had a considerable height advantage on her.

“Tom, you know his lordship, the Earl of Melton, don’t you?” she asked, using Sawyer’s title in order to strive for some emotional distance between them.

Sawyer’s look said he saw right through her ploy.

She ignored him. “My lord, may I present Tom Vance?”

She watched as Sawyer and Tom shook hands and took each other’s measure.

“Melton as in Melton Media?” Tom asked.

“One and the same,” Sawyer replied.

Tom’s face brightened. “Pleasure to meet you, ah—”

“My lord,” Tamara supplied, trying not to roll her eyes.

“My lord,” Tom repeated, and then shot a grateful look at her. “Thanks, Tam.”

“Tam?” Sawyer queried sardonically. “Like Tom and Tam?”

“You’ve got it.” Tom grinned, happy as a puppy.

Tamara could see the wheels turning in Tom’s head. To Tom, meeting Sawyer was like hitting the networking jackpot. Sawyer’s media outlets presented limitless opportunities. Free publicity! Advertising! Name recognition! In short, the kind of opportunity that Tamara’s father refused to provide to Zero Sum.

Sawyer glanced at her. “Tam—Ms. Kincaid, excuse me, won’t you? There’s someone who’s expecting me.”

Tamara had no doubt Sawyer had switched from Tam to her surname in order to mock her. Still, she was grateful their encounter was at an end.

Unfortunately, she didn’t think they’d also put an end to the subject of a dynastic merger—marital, corporate or otherwise.

Three

The bar of the Carlyle Hotel was as good a place as any for three notorious bachelors to lie low.

Or rather, two notorious bachelors and one notorious groom, Sawyer amended.

It was ironic for him to lie low, since he was the press. But these were his friends.

Like his two fellow aristocrats, he’d grown up here, there and everywhere. Still, despite their peripatetic existence, he and his bar companions had managed to become friends.

And now they had another thing in common. Ever since the wedding fiasco at St. Bart’s nearly two weeks ago, they were imbrued by the scandal of the moment.

The bar, with its dark woods and mellow lighting, was masculine and clubby and the perfect atmosphere to come together and commiserate.