Free Trouble at the Wedding by Laura Lee Guhrke Page A

sounding not the least bit perturbed by her snub. “There are many people who know me who wish they didn’t. Still, I have been on enough ocean liners to know you’re better off inside with me than you are out there.”
    â€œI doubt it,” she shot back, for she had no intention of putting herself in closer proximity to him than she already was, but when he didn’t speak again, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder, curious to see if he was still in the doorway.
    He was, of course, and she watched as he leaned forward to glance at the approaching ship. “Best move quickly, love,” he advised, straightening to look at her again. “You don’t have much time. Two minutes at most, I’d say.”
    Despite his elegant clothes and well-bred voice, Annabel just knew this man was trouble. She could feel it, and when he shot her an inquiring glance and turned sideways in the doorway, beckoning her to join him in the corridor, she didn’t move.
    He sighed. “You’re a very untrusting sort of girl, aren’t you? I can see I shall have to better elucidate my point.”
    Stepping over the steel lip that protected the interior of the ship from any incoming water, he started across the promenade deck toward her as the cabin door swung shut behind him. With a hint of alarm, she glanced around, but there wasn’t another person in sight. So as he approached, she faced him, lifting her parasol and pointing its tip at the place that would hurt him the most. “Come any closer, sugar, and you’ll have to become a Catholic priest.”
    He stopped, staring down at where the metal tip of her parasol grazed his trousers, but when he looked up at her, he was smiling a little, a faint smile of amusement that tilted the corners of his vivid, gray-blue eyes and curved the edges of his mouth. “A fate worse than death,” he murmured. “Celibacy, I fear, wouldn’t suit me.”
    He moved to stand at the rail beside her, careful to maintain the distance set by her parasol, and reached into the breast pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a silver case, and from it, he extracted a cigarette and a match. He put the cigarette to his lips, returned the case to his pocket, and struck the match on the ocean-corroded rail beside him.
    â€œWind’s coming southeast,” he said, cupping his hand around the flame to light the cigarette. Tossing the match overboard, he pulled the cigarette from between his lips, tilted his head back and exhaled, sending a cloud of smoke upward. It caught on the breeze and broke apart, wispy remnants that sailed over his head toward the door he’d just exited. “See?”
    She saw the smoke, but didn’t see the point. What did it matter which direction the wind was blowing? “Do you do this all the time?” she demanded instead, taking the offensive. “Corner women when they’re alone?”
    â€œAt every possible opportunity.” He seemed unashamed by the admission. “But at this moment, I’m actually attempting to be chivalrous.”
    She made a sound of derision. “In a pig’s eye.”
    â€œHave it your way.” He took another pull on the cigarette, then flicked it overboard and glanced again at the approaching ship before he turned away. “You now have about fifteen seconds,” he told her over his shoulder as he retraced his steps, resumed his place, and settled one shoulder against the open door to keep it propped wide. “At that point, the smashing Worth creation you’re wearing will be utterly ruined, but it’s your choice.”
    Comprehension dawned, and with an alarmed glance at the ship now directly to starboard and the black smuts pouring from its smokestacks, Annabel raced for the doorway. The man took several steps back, fingertips holding the door open for her, and she followed him inside. The door had barely closed behind them before a