His Chosen Bride Read online

  But she was here tonight to entice her future husband, or at least put a couple of cracks in his iron control. She wasn’t going to do that if she stood around talking about china patterns and thinking about torture devices.

  Gillian smiled charmingly at the elders. “Would you gentlemen mind if I stole Mason away for a few moments?” She winked at Dr. Lang. “I have this incredible urge to dance.”

  Dr. Lang glanced at the shadowy far end of the room, where a small band was set up and couples were entwined with each other, and grinned. “By all means, my dear.” He nudged Dr. Lyons. “We might be old now, but we were all young at one time.” He waved his hand toward the small dance floor. “Go on now.”

  Mason nodded to the elders before clasping her hand. “Come along, Ms. Barnett.”

  Gillian felt herself being dragged away. She glanced over her shoulder at the elders and grinned. “I just love it when he gets all formal.”

  The growl that rumbled in Mason’s throat caused her grin to slip a notch. She glanced over her shoulder one more time before Mason stopped at the edge of the dance floor and hauled her into his arms. The three elders had their heads together and appeared to be chuckling over some private joke. She had a disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was the butt of the joke.

  Mason’s arms felt like a vise as he expertly stepped into a slow dance step. She concentrated on following his smooth steps and not tripping over her own two feet. The scent of his after-shave, up close and personal, flooded her senses. She had always picked up small snatches of his cologne before, but she had never been this close. It overwhelmed her reason, together with the feel of his arms. Mason Blacksword, her future husband, had finally taken her into his arms.

  The fact that she had needed to trick him into dancing wasn’t lost on her. But the old cliché about the end justifying the means mollified her guilty feelings. She snuggled a few inches closer and toyed with the collar of his suit with her fingertips. This was a nice beginning, being in Mason’s arms. The only thing better would be if he wasn’t so stiff and unyielding. She was amazed he could dance smoothly and effortlessly, but Frankenstein on speed would have been more relaxed. It was time to up the ante.

  “Relax, Mason, I’m not going to bite.” Her gaze was level with his clenched jaw. She could practically hear his teeth grind. “At least not yet.” That time she could hear the enamel grinding.

  “Gillian…” Mason growled with deadly intent.

  “Yes, darling?” She inched her fingers up higher and played with the ends of his hair against his neck. The wisps of hair felt soft and silky against the tips of her fingers.

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Why? We are about to be married. What do you want me to call you? Your Honor?” She spotted Dr. Lyons in conversation with one of the other elders, Bruce Wilson, the former gold-medal holder in three different Olympic swimming events who currently operated six recreation centers in the Philadelphia area for underprivileged children. Dr. Lyons and Bruce Wilson both looked up at her and Mason. She flashed them a grin and waved.

  “Who are you waving at?”

  “Our audience.” She gave a lock of his hair a gentle tug. “Smile once in a while and at least pretend you’re having a good time.”

  “I would be having a much better time if my future wife wasn’t dressed like a streetwalker.” He glared down at the portion of her breasts overflowing the gown. “Who in the hell picked out that outfit? You usually have better taste.”

  “How would you know what my taste is?” Mason never paid any attention to her, let alone her clothes. Maybe she should have listened to her grandmother. Virginia Kenwood might be seventy, but she claimed to know men. One afternoon a couple years ago Gillian had confessed how scared she was about marrying Mason, saying she wanted to find love in her marriage bed. Grandmom Ginny advised that the way to a man’s heart isn’t through his stomach, but a good twelve inches lower. Gillian had blushed and was extremely thankful her mother hadn’t been around to hear that lascivious piece of advice. Grandmom Ginny had howled with laughter.

  “That is not the kind of dress you usually wear to these events.”

  “Oh, hush, Mason. You never once noticed what kind of dress I wore.” Gillian came to a stop the same instant the music halted.

  “I…”

  “Don’t bother to deny it, Mason.” She stepped away from the warmth of his body. “Now behave. The person who not only picked out this dress, but paid for it, is coming this way.”

  Mason turned around and came face-to-face with Virginia Kenwood. He nodded his head in formal greeting, “Mrs. Kenwood.” He glanced over Gillian’s grandmother’s white chiffon hair as if searching for someone else.

  “When are you going to call me Ginny? We’re about to become family and I hate to stand on formalities, especially with my newest grandson.”

  “Very well—“ he seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying the name “—Virginia.” He gave her a ghost of a smile. “I must say you look stunning tonight.”

  Gillian glared at Mason. “That’s more of a compliment than I got.” Granted, her grandmother looked to be sixty instead of seventy. Her hair was neatly styled and the black dress she was wearing was made to conceal and highlight her figure. No one looking at Virginia Kenwood would have guessed she had conceived, carried and given life to nine babies. The shame of it was, only two proved to be fertile, and Gillian was her first grandchild to be betrothed by the Council. Her grandmother understood her anxiety and was trying to help her.

  Mason glared at Gillian.

  Virginia chuckled and pulled Gillian closer. “I can imagine Mason’s reaction.” She gave her granddaughter a loving smile and then turned to Mason. “I bet you nearly had heart failure when she first walked into the party.”

  “Something like that.”

  Virginia beamed. “Gillian, I told you it would knock his socks off.”

  Gillian glanced at Mason’s feet. They were both still encased in expensive black leather shoes and black socks. So much for knocking his socks off.

  Mason shifted his feet and asked curiously, “You told Gillian?”

  “Well, of course. Who do you think dragged her into the store and made her try it on?”

  Gillian grinned at Mason. The man looked as if he had swallowed a mouthful of castor oil.

  “I knew it was perfect for her the moment I spotted it in the window,” Ginny went on. “It matches her eyes perfectly, don’t you agree?”

  Mason glanced at Gillian, and she had the absurd notion he was actually comparing the light blue sequins to her pale blue eyes. In reality she knew he probably hadn’t any idea what color her eyes really were.

  “I bought it for her to take along on your honeymoon, but she tells me you aren’t going on one.” Ginny frowned up at her newest grandson. “Why?”

  Mason jerked his gaze away from Gillian’s eyes and looked at the elderly woman. “Why what?”

  “Why aren’t you taking my granddaughter on a honeymoon? Every young girl wants a honeymoon.”

  “Grandmother,” Gillian said, sighing, “I’m not a young girl.”

  Mason glanced at the length of Gillian’s legs before answering Ginny’s question. “I can’t get away from work right now. Things are really backed up and my calendar is completely jammed. Maybe after everything has calmed down at the courthouse we can take a short vacation someplace.”

  “The Council might buy that excuse. I won’t.” Ginny matched him stare for stare. “The date for this wedding was set four years ago. Surely that was plenty of time to arrange even your busy schedule.”

  Gillian groaned and was tempted to leave them both facing off. Her grandmother was trying to force a dead issue. What good would a romantic honeymoon do either one of them, if there was no romance involved? Tropical beaches, swaying palms and quiet, starry nights couldn’t ignite a fire of passion if the spark of desire wasn’t there to begin with. She could forgive her grandmother for tr
ying, but Mason was a different story.

  Not only wasn’t there going to be a honeymoon, he had made sure the Council knew the reasons behind his refusal. She had picked up through the society’s grapevine that Mason told the Council there wouldn’t be a honeymoon because he considered the marriage a nuisance and he wouldn’t miss his work for some stupid romantic notion that had nothing to do with him or his marriage. Mason’s words had cut deeper than she cared to admit.

  If she could, she would call this entire marriage off, but she couldn’t. She had sworn an oath before the Council when she was twelve to marry this man. The Council was depending upon her. The bloodline of the society was depending upon her. Generations of women had married on command, and amazingly most had found happiness and love. Her grandmother and mother before her had found both.

  The odds were in her favor that she would find love. But every time she looked at Mason’s emotionless face or into his dark eyes that revealed nothing, she felt the odds slip a little. Tonight the odds seemed overwhelmingly against her. She didn’t know if she had the strength to fight for Mason’s love and to combat her own fears.

  All she wanted now was peace. If anyone was going to argue with Mason about a honeymoon, or lack of one, it was going to be her. “Grandmom, why don’t you go find Mom. I’m sure she has a dozen details about the wedding she would love to run by you.”

  “A bride, not her mother, should be discussing the details.”

  “This bride has a full-time job and a very busy schedule. Picking out flowers for centerpieces I probably won’t even notice doesn’t excite me.” She gave her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. “I trust Mom’s and your judgment at this sort of thing.” She gave her grandmother a wink. “Besides, I heard Gladys Bomberger bragging that no one could outdo her granddaughter’s wedding last year.”

  “That old witch said that?” demanded Ginny.

  Gillian chuckled. “Grandmom, you know how the society frowns on that kind of talk.”

  “Poppycock and balderdash,” Ginny snapped. “I’ve produced more children for the society than three Gladys Bombergers combined. Her granddaughter married a mere mortal, for goodness’ sake. My granddaughter’s marriage is blessed by the Council and no one, and I mean no one, will attend a finer wedding this century.”

  Ginny turned to go, then stopped and turned back around. “Mason, 1 need to ask a favor from you. Could you drive Gillian home this evening? I promised her I would take her home, but I think my time would be better spent discussing the wedding.”

  “It’s okay, Grandmom.” Gillian quickly jumped in before Mason could answer. “I can call a cab. No sense taking Mason out of his way.”

  “Nonsense, dear,” Ginny said.

  “It’s all right, Virginia.” He gave Gillian a stern look. “I will see she gets home safely.”

  “Thank you, Mason. I worry about her constantly. As you must know, her ‘gift’ is love and compassion. I live in fear someone will try to mug her in that neighborhood she lives in and she will invite them back to her apartment, fix them dinner, then give them her television as a parting gift.”

  Mason raised one eyebrow in Gillian’s direction but didn’t comment. “You won’t have to worry tonight. I’ll see she gets into her apartment without the benefit of a mugging.”

  Ginny reached up and brushed a kiss across Mason’s cheek. “Thank you, young man. I always knew those stories about you were false.” She turned and threaded her way through the crowd.

  Gillian watched and grinned as her grandmother made a beeline for Gladys Bomberger. The tournament of the weddings was about to begin. She should never have told her grandmother about Gladys’s comment, but she had spoken before thinking. All she wanted to do was hurry her grandmother on her way, not create a society rivalry, a challenge that involved her own wedding.

  She turned to Mason and stifled a laugh. The look on his face was priceless. She didn’t know what flustered him more, the kiss her grandmother had given him or the comment about what people said about him.

  She had heard the stories concerning Mason, but had paid little attention to them. The society was riddled with gossip and petty jealousies. Someone was always envious of someone else’s gift. A gift was bestowed on every member of the society at birth by the creator of life. Every witch and warlock had a special talent. These gifts were all human qualities, only intensified. Gillian had been blessed with the gift of love and compassion. Her grandmother was partly right in her assessment of Gillian’s response to a mugging.

  Three months ago a kid, high on drugs, tried to steal her purse. Between her witch powers and her gift, she had talked the kid into seeking help. Last week she had spotted the boy working with a bunch of other teenagers and adults fixing up one of the local playgrounds for the kids. Gillian cherished her gift.

  Mason’s gift, as far as she could tell, was his control, his inner strength. He had done amazingly well for himself in such a short period of time. He graduated from law school with honors and he was one of the most respected, and youngest, judges in the county. Many members were jealous of his achievements, especially since Mason made sure everyone knew he never relied on his powers to achieve his goals.

  Mason was a loner and the gossips of the society hated loners. How were they ever going to get more fuel for their tongue-lashing fires if Mason never confided in anyone? The fact that he ignored his chosen bride only fed the gossip fires. Speculation was rampant throughout the society. Was he in love with someone else? Could it be he didn’t like women at all? Maybe he wasn’t fertile and was afraid to admit it. Everyone knew he had his eye on a seat on the Council, but only warlocks who proved their worth by producing children could be elders. The stories were endless, and as far as Gillian was concerned, nothing but sour grapes and speculation.

  The problem was that their gifts clashed. Mason demanded control, and he had none where his choice of a bride was concerned. She demanded love.

  Chapter 2

  Mason shifted the car into third as soon as he had turned off the country club’s driveway and shot off into the night. He glanced at the woman silently sitting beside him in the dark. He thanked whatever lucky star was shining down on him that she had finally quieted down. Gillian Barnett had tempted, teased and almost singlehandedly broken down his iron control. Damned if his future bride didn’t have a mouth made for sin.

  All evening long she had latched on to him and refused to be shaken. Tenacious didn’t even begin to describe Gillian tonight. What had gotten into her? And that dress! Lord help him, but he had spent half the night trying to figure out what was holding it up, and the other half praying that it would slip.

  He expertly exited the highway leading to his home in one of the better neighborhoods, then headed east toward the river and the seedier side of town, where Gillian lived. Why would she rent an apartment in the section of town known as “The Blades”?

  The newspaper’s headlines almost always took place in The Blades, and none of it was good news. The gang that had taken over the once-prestigious neighborhood known as Garden Heights had destroyed it beyond recognition. The massive parks overflowing with gardens that had dotted the neighborhood had been bulldozed under to make way for housing projects. Luxury brownstone town houses had been converted into apartments, many of which were now burnt out, unlived-in or were headquarters for the drug dealers and gangs.

  The brownstone where Gillian lived had been turned into six apartments. She rented a one-bedroom apartment on the ground floor. Her neighbor across the hall was an elderly gentlemen who at one time owned the old house and lived in splendor. Now he was the landlord, the maintenance department and in charge of security. The four apartments above her were rented by senior citizens—three lone widows and an elderly couple. Mason had quietly checked up on the residents and the neighborhood when he found his future wife had moved there after graduating from college. He was not pleased with her choice, but he kept his opinion to himself, knowing full well Gillian could t
ake care of herself. Gillian’s powers were undeniably strong.

  “When you get to Washington Boulevard, take a right,” Gillian said.

  “I know where you live.” He didn’t want to admit he had known from the beginning, but it was beyond him to play stupid. Three months ago he had been working late in his den when an urgent feeling of danger had overcome him concerning Gillian. He had rushed to her apartment, only to spend half the night sitting in his car outside her building watching her windows. A soft, welcoming glow shone from the two massive windows that overlooked the street, and occasionally he had spotted her silhouette as she walked around the room. Bemused by the intensity of the fear he had felt for Gillian, he had watched as light after light was extinguished as she headed for bed. Whatever the danger had been, it passed. Gillian had handled the problem.

  Gillian turned her head and looked at him. “You do?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be surprised? You’ve never been there before.”

  He wasn’t about to enlighten her regarding his actions. Hell, even he didn’t understand them where she was involved. He wanted nothing to do with her. He didn’t want to get married, and the last thing he would ever want was a child. Yet, after all his proclamations of not wanting Gillian Barnett, he felt, in some ways, responsible for her.

  “The Council notified me when you moved there.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t like the way her fingers clutched the silver beaded purse sitting in her lap. She looked ready to chuck it, and it would undoubtedly be headed in his direction. “They felt I should know the current address of my future bride.”