Free A Matter of Marriage by Ann Collins Page A

launched into a
description of the chef’s special offerings.
    Julia
removed her gloves and set them aside, then ordered the prime rib dinner and
its accompanying side dishes.
    “I’ll
have the same,” he said, slathering fresh butter on another slice of bread. He
considered ordering a good bottle of wine, a label and vintage he had enjoyed
in his former life, but he was afraid he’d enjoy it too much. He needed to keep
his wits about him, not only to control his desire for Julia, but to watch over
her in case someone took aim again.
    “Very
good, sir.” The waiter left, and they were finally alone.
    Alex
set down his butter knife. “My compliments to your baker. I haven’t tasted
bread this good in ages.”
    “You
don’t appear to have eaten in ages either.”
    “Breakfast
was quite a while ago.” He took another bite.
    “I’m
sorry.” She looked abashed and needlessly moved one of her forks an eighth of
an inch to the left. “I should have offered you something from the kitchen this
afternoon.”
    “This
was worth the wait. Have some.” He pushed the basket closer to her.
    “No,
thank you. I’ll … wait for dinner.” She lifted her water goblet, but when she
put it to her lips for a sip, her hand shook, and she quickly returned the
glass to the table.
    Alex
kept chewing, watching her look everywhere but at him. She clasped her hands
like a schoolgirl sitting at her desk, then unclasped them.
    “Miss
Fairbanks,” he said, brushing the crumbs from his hands and sitting back,
trying not to lose himself in the deepening blue of her eyes as they reflected
the candlelight, “we might as well get down to business. You need me, and I’m
available.”
    *   *   *
    She
certainly did need him. And it was, indeed, business, though not the business
proposition he would be expecting to hear.
    As
the string quartet finished one melody and started another, Julia hauled in a
deep breath. “Mr. MacLean, I am prepared to offer you a generous sum for your
assistance.”
    “Oh?”
He picked up his water goblet.
    “I
am able to pay you three thousand dollars.”
    His
hand stalled halfway to his mouth. “That’s a lot of money for a bodyguard.”
    She
leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m not proposing that you be my
bodyguard,” she said as he began to drink. “I’m … proposing marriage.”
    He
choked on the water, coughing so hard he nearly knocked the goblet over when he
plunked it back down.
    She
winced at the pain his coughing would cause his ribs. “I’m sorry. I should have
waited for you to finish drinking.” She ignored the inquiring looks from guests
at nearby tables. “Are your ribs all right?”
    Grimacing
between coughs, he pressed a hand to his back. “Forget my ribs. Did I hear you right?
You want me to be your husband?”
    “Yes,
I do.” She silently groaned at her inadvertent choice of words.
    He
coughed one last time and cleared his throat. “Miss Fairbanks, you already have
a fiancé.”
    “Call
me Julia, please.” Under the circumstances, it seemed only right that she let
him use her given name.
    “Talk
to me, … Julia.”
    “I
had a fiancé. The telegram I received was from Phillip. He broke his leg and
can’t travel.” Before dressing for dinner, she’d sent him a telegram in care of
the hospital in Denver, inquiring after him and offering to pay his medical
costs and travel expenses. It was the least she could do.
    Alex
shook his head. “So instead of waiting until he can travel, you’re throwing him
over for me, a man you met only a few hours ago?” He sat back and folded his
arms across his chest. “What’s going on, Julia?”
    “It’s
not something I like to talk about.”
    “You
can’t propose marriage to a man without explaining the circumstances.”
    “You’re
right, of course.” She looked toward the lanterns of the boats bobbing gently
at anchor in the bay. They calmed her, and she chose her words carefully. “I am
trying to save my