The Marriage Agreement. Renee Ryan

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      Now her heart raced so hard she worried one of her ribs would crack as a result.

      Jonathon’s eyes roamed her face, then lowered over her gown. Appreciation filled his gaze. “You’re wearing my favorite color.”

      “I...know.” She swallowed back the catch in her throat. “I chose this dress specifically with you in mind.”

      Too late, she realized how her admission sounded, as if her sole purpose was to please him. She had not meant to reveal so much of herself.

      He took a step forward. “I’m flattered.”

      He took another step.

      And then another.

      Fanny held steady, unmoving, anxious to see just how close he would come to her.

      He stopped his approach.

      For the span of three rib-cracking heartbeats they stared into each other’s eyes.

      She sighed. The sound came out far too tremulous.

      “Relax, Fanny. You’ve checked and rechecked every item on your lists at least three times, probably more. Go and spend a moment with your—”

      “How do you know I checked and rechecked my lists that often?”

      “Because...” his expression softened “...I know you.”

      She fought off another sigh. There was a look of such tenderness about him that for a moment, a mere heartbeat, she ached for what they might have accomplished, together, were they two different people. What they could have been to one another if past circumstances weren’t entered into the equation.

      “We’re ready for tonight, Fanny. You’re ready.”

      She drew in a slow, slightly uneven breath. “I suppose you’re right.”

      He took one more step. He stood so close now she could smell his scent, a pleasant mix of bergamot, masculine spice and...him.

      Something unspoken hovered in the air between them, communicated in a language she should know but couldn’t quite comprehend. If he lowered his head just a bit more...

      “Go. Spend a few moments with your mother and father before the guests begin to arrive. I’ll come get you there, once I’ve changed my clothes.”

      “I’d like that.” She’d very much enjoy the chance to show him off to her parents.

      He leaned in closer, closer. Fanny let her eyelids flutter shut. But then the sound of determined footsteps commandeering the hallway had her opening them again.

      “That will be Mrs. Singletary,” she said with a rush of air. The widow’s purposeful gait was easy enough to decipher.

      “No doubt you are correct.” His lips tilted at an ironic angle, Jonathon shifted to face the doorway.

      Mrs. Singletary materialized two seconds later, Philomena a full step behind her. Like Fanny, both women were already dressed for the ball. The widow looked quite striking in a gown made of black and glittering gold satin that spoke of her wealth and status in town.

      Philomena’s dress was slightly less elegant, but the pale green silk complemented her smooth complexion and pretty hazel eyes. She looked beautiful, excited.

      “Ah, Mr. Hawkins, Miss Mitchell. The very people I wish to see.” The widow moved to a spot directly between Jonathon and Fanny, forcing them to step back. “I have a concern about the timing of our request for donations.”

      She paused, eyed them both expectantly, as if waiting for one of them to respond.

      Jonathon took the cue. “You foresee a problem?”

      “Not a problem per se, I merely wish to switch the order of the night’s events. In the past, I have presented the goodwill baskets at the end of the party. However, this evening I would prefer to do so earlier.”

      Though Fanny didn’t think the timing truly mattered—the guests understood this was a charity event—Mrs. Singletary seemed to think this change was necessary. Important, even.

      Jonathon inclined his head. “We’d be happy to accommodate your request.”

      Taking his lead, Fanny added, “I’ll let the staff know of the change.”

      “Excellent.” The widow glanced over her shoulder, clucked her tongue in frustration. “Whatever is that man doing here, when I specifically sent him on an errand outside the hotel?”

      Curious as to the identity of that man, Fanny followed the direction of the widow’s gaze. Burke Galloway stood in the doorway, conversing quietly with Philomena. Both looked caught in the moment, as if they were the only two people in the room.

      “That girl is proving a most difficult challenge.” Mrs. Singletary shook her head. “Most difficult, indeed.”

      Fanny bit back a smile, even as a quote from her favorite poet, Emily Dickinson, came to mind. The heart wants what the heart wants—or else it does not care.

      It was clearly evident that a match between Philomena and Jonathon would not come to pass.

      Surely, Jonathon was relieved.

      Fanny cast a covert glance in his direction. His gaze was locked on her and that was not business in his eyes.

      Something far more personal stared back at her. She had but one thought in response.

      Oh, my.

      * * *

      Barely two hours after the first guests arrived, the ballroom overflowed with at least three hundred of Denver’s finest citizens. With the strains of a waltz floating on the air, and a rainbow of dancers whirling past, Jonathon stood away from the main traffic area, Fanny by his side.

      He liked having her close, liked knowing they were here, together, presenting a united front as representatives of the hotel.

      It seemed the entire female population of Denver had gone all out for tonight’s event. Dressed in formal gowns made of colorful silks or satins, the women wore long, white gloves, and jeweled adornments in their hair that matched the stones glittering around their necks.

      Fanny outshone every one of them, including the women in her own family.

      He watched her siblings laughing, joking with one another and generally having a good time. Their interaction spoke of affection and easy familiarity. There was an unmistakable connection between them, one that went beyond words.

      The Mitchells represented the very essence of family.

      An icy numbness spread through Jonathon’s chest.

      What did he know of family? Nothing. No, that wasn’t entirely true. His mother had tried to give him a sense of belonging. And, of course, Marc and Laney Dupree had created a home for СКАЧАТЬ