And the Bride Wore Prada (16 page)

Colm dragged his mouth from hers and met her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, lass, I shouldna be doing this—’

In answer, she took his face – his angular, dark-ginger-stubbled, perfect face – in her hands and pressed her lips hungrily to his. His arms tightened around her and they clung together, kissing and muttering low, incomprehensible words. She loved the feel of his stubbled jaw beneath her fingers and the firm, sure warmth of his lips against hers.

She wanted him with a desperation that shocked her.

They grappled together, clawing and yanking at one another’s clothing in their mutual impatience to remove any and all barriers between them. Colm pressed her hard against the wall, his mouth devouring her lips and neck as he pinned her wrists above her head.

They didn’t speak; there was no need. Somehow – Helen couldn’t have said
how
, exactly – they ended up in Colm’s bedroom, sprawled together atop his bed, their clothes strewn everywhere, naked and desperate to consummate their need for one another.

Everything became a blur of arms, legs, mouths, and skin as they rolled together, limbs entangled. Helen threw back her head and gasped with pleasure as Colm plunged inside her. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like coming home again, after a long absence.

All too soon it was over. Sweaty, breathless, and spent, Helen raised her head from Colm’s chest and regarded him with a quizzical expression.

‘Well, Mr MacKenzie, it seems you’ve been holding out on me. I’d no idea you had this side to you.’

‘What side is that, Miss Thomas?’ he asked, his words husky as he met her gaze.

‘This.’ She drew her finger in slow, lazy circles along his chest. ‘I never imagined you had it in you to be so...amazing. And you haven’t scowled once.’

‘I’ve had no reason to scowl.’

‘True,’ she agreed, and snuggled against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. She hadn’t been with a man, not really, since her husband died. She’d had no desire to be touched, or to touch anyone else.

Until Colm.

‘Promise me you won’t,’ she murmured, and yawned.

‘I won’t what?’

‘You won’t scowl.’

‘I can’t promise I’ll never scowl again,’ he protested. ‘We both know I will.’

‘Then at least promise me you won’t scowl again tonight.’

‘Now, that,’ he said as he stroked the hair gently from her face, ‘I can probably manage.’

‘That’s the last phone call,’ Gemma announced with satisfaction as she rang off and tossed her mobile aside on the bedside table the next morning. ‘All of the wedding details have been sorted. It’s settled ‒ we’re officially having the ceremony and reception here at Draemar.’

Dominic muttered something incomprehensible and drew the pillow more securely over his head.

‘Now, I’ll just send out a mass email to notify everyone on my list of the change of venue, and—’ She reached for her laptop with smug satisfaction, ‘I’m done.’

‘Did you happen to ask Tarquin and Wren and Mr and Mrs C about having the wedding here at the castle?’ Dom grumbled as he sat up.

‘Of course I did! They’re thrilled. Lady Campbell’s offered me full use of the staff, and Mrs Neeson’s had lots of lovely suggestions as to food. The only one who seems to have any doubts,’ Gemma added pointedly, ‘is you.’

‘I don’t have any doubts.’ Dominic flung the covers aside and got out of bed. ‘I have no doubt whatsoever.’ He turned to glare at her. ‘I absolutely, positively don’t want to get married. Not to you. Not ever.’

Gemma lifted her gaze from the laptop and fixed him with a deceptively calm expression. ‘What did you say, Dominic?’

‘I said, I don’t want to get married, Gemma! You’ve turned into a crazed, wedding-obsessed cow, and I can’t take it any more.’

‘Is that right?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Is it wrong to want my wedding day to be perfect? No, it bloody well isn’t! A girl only gets married once—’

‘Some get married a bit more often than
that
,’ Dom snapped.

‘‒ and I want every detail to be exactly right! Is it my fault this horrid Scottish weather’s conspired against me from the bloody start? Is it my fault your stupid agent didn’t book us a hire car to get us here, or a hotel room? No, it fucking well isn’t!’

‘I don’t care whose fault it is.’ Dominic found his jeans on the floor and thrust one leg in. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I don’t like what my life’s become, and I don’t like who
you’ve
become, ever since we got engaged. Why can’t you make do with a regular wedding gown? Why does it have to be
Prada
? You’re demanding and unreasonable, and I’m sick of it. You spend more time with that little blue Tweep bird than you do with me! You’re constantly posting and texting and updating your status, and all of it about the bloody fucking wedding. Well – here’s a status update for you. The wedding is off.’

She stared at him. ‘Social media is very important! Don’t you want our wedding to be the talk of the Internet?’

‘No. I don’t. But you never bothered to find out what
I
wanted, did you?’ He zipped up his trousers and glared at her. ‘No, you bloody well didn’t, because you don’t care. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you, Gemma. I’m done.’

If Dominic thought she’d crumble, or collapse into a fit of tears, or plead with him to go through with the wedding, he was mistaken.

‘Fine,’ she replied, and put her laptop aside. She got up and swept past him to gather up her collection of bridal magazines. ‘Your loss. Just be advised – the £5,000 deposit on the horse-drawn sleigh is non-refundable. As is the £2,000 rental fee for the matched team of horses to pull the sleigh. Not to mention the £6,000 for my
Prada
gown.’

‘So?’ he enquired, indifferent. ‘Your dad’s paying for all that crap.’

‘No,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘
you
are. Milo couldn’t afford to help out financially; he really wanted to, but he’s still getting back on his feet. So I charged everything to your AmEx card instead. Even if we don’t get married,’ she finished, ‘you’ll still have to pay for most of the expenses, because they’re—’

‘‒ non-refundable,’ Dominic groaned. ‘Oh, fucking hell.’

Chapter 28

After lunch, Caitlin made her way upstairs to Gemma’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ Gemma called out.

‘Hello,’ Caitlin said hesitantly as she hovered in the doorway. ‘You said you wanted to see me?’

‘Yes! Your bridesmaid’s dress arrived in the post, and I want you to try it on.’

‘But the seamstress fitted me in the store,’ she pointed out. ‘There’s no need to try it on again.’

‘Of course there is,’ Gemma said, her tone brisk as she took the plaid dress from the parcel and shook it out. ‘That was nearly a month ago. You might’ve gained – or lost – a bit of weight since then.’ She held the dress up.

‘Oh,’ Caitlin admitted as she stepped forward, ‘it’s lovely.’ And it was. It was simple, with a long, bias-cut skirt and bodice fashioned out of deep-green plaid. A sash of black velvet tied at the waist, ending in a bow at the back.

‘And it’ll be even lovelier on you,’ Gemma observed. ‘Go on, take it into the dressing room and try it on. You needn’t worry – Dom’s gone.’

‘Is everything all right with you two?’ Caitlin asked as she took the dress and draped it over her arm. ‘I thought I heard shouting this morning.’

‘Oh, no, everything’s fine,’ Gemma assured her. ‘Dominic just needed a bit of...persuading.’

And a Louboutin up his arse to remind him who’s boss
, she reflected darkly.

A few minutes later, Caitlin’s muffled voice drifted out. ‘Can you come in here and help me do up the zip? I can’t seem to manage it.’

‘No problem.’ Gemma opened the door. ‘All right,’ she said as she entered the dressing room, ‘let’s just get you zipped in and then we’ll have a look at you.’

But although she tugged, and pulled, and tugged again, the zipper would go no further than it already had – midway up Caitlin’s back.

‘Oh, shit,’ Gemma said in dismay. ‘You’ve gained weight! Quite a bit, too, it seems.’

‘Could it be let out, do you think?’

‘I don’t think so.’ She leant forward and examined the seams with a frown. ‘There’s nothing much left to let out, I’m afraid. Perhaps if we drape a dark-green pashmina round your shoulders...’

‘Perhaps,’ Caitlin said, doubt plain on her face.

Gemma studied the younger girl critically. ‘Crikey! You’ve definitely gained weight. Even your boobs have got bigger.’ She raised a brow. ‘One would almost think you’re pregnant.’

Her half-joking words were met with an ominous silence. ‘Actually,’ Caitlin said after a moment, and lifted a frightened gaze to Gemma, ‘I am. Pregnant, that is. And I don’t know wh-what to do about it.’

And she burst into tears.

Gemma was at a loss as the girl stumbled, weeping, into her arms. ‘You’re...pregnant? Are you sure? Does your mum know?’

Still sobbing, Caitlin shook her head. ‘No. No one knows. Only you.’

‘What about the baby’s father? Does
he
know?’

Caitlin broke away and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘No,’ she said, and shuddered. ‘He can’t ever know.’

‘Why on earth not? He deserves to know,’ Gemma said, and added tartly, ‘not to mention, he needs to help you figure this out. He’s partly responsible for putting you in this situation, after all.’

‘He can’t know,’ Caitlin cut in, her expression teary but determined, ‘he can’t ever know, because he’s married. And because his son is staying here as a guest at Draemar.’

‘Not...Jeremy?’ Gemma asked, her eyes wide.

‘Yes – Jeremy!’ she cried. ‘He’s Niall’s son. I didn’t know he was, until it was too late...now Niall will never leave his wife, he’ll think I’m trying to trap him... Oh, it’s all such a bloody, bloody
mess
!’

‘That,’ Gemma muttered as Caitlin sobbed into her shoulder, ‘is the understatement of the year.’

It took the better part of the afternoon, but Gemma finally persuaded Caitlin to go downstairs and tell her mother the truth.

‘Well, Mum?’ Caitlin asked anxiously a short time later. She’d found her mother in the drawing room, flicking through a magazine. After closing the doors and blurting out her story, her rush of words were met with silence. ‘Haven’t you anything to say?’

Mrs Campbell stood by one of the windows, staring out, her eyes unfocused.

‘Oh, I have plenty to say.’ She turned to face her daughter. ‘First of all – what do you plan to do about this?’

Caitlin chewed on her lip. ‘I – I don’t know. I can’t go through with it, obviously... I can’t take care of a baby and go to university, after all—’

‘So you’re having an abortion?’

She flinched at her mother’s plain speaking. ‘Well, I don’t know. I suppose I might—’

‘Have you discussed the situation with the child’s father? Who
is
the child’s father?’ Penelope demanded, turning round to study her daughter.

A tear slid down Caitlin’s cheek, then another. ‘He’s – Niall is...he’s one of my professors. Or he was. He’s the reason I g-got booted out of uni.’

Her mother let out a tiny, disbelieving laugh. ‘He’s a
professor
! Well, isn’t that lovely. So he’s older than you, obviously. And well educated. But not, it seems, smart enough to stay away from
you
.’

‘Mum!’ she exclaimed, shocked.

‘Let me ask you this – is he married?’

Miserably, Caitlin nodded. ‘He says he’s leaving his wife, though.’

‘You stupid girl.’ Penelope spoke with contempt. ‘All married men say that when they take a woman to bed for the first time. They make all manner of extravagant promises, none of which they intend to keep. They turn a woman’s life completely upside-down – not to mention the poor child’s ‒ but suffer little consequence to their own. I thought you were so much smarter than this. I’m so very, very disappointed in you.’

Without further discussion, she swept out of the room, leaving her daughter trembling and weeping into her hands, and closed the door quietly but firmly behind her.

Chapter 29

As Wren made her way across the great hall to the stairs, passing Jeremy on his way up, the sound of weeping reached her ears. She paused.

Someone was in the drawing room, crying.

After a moment’s hesitation, Wren made her way across the hall and knocked on the door, then edged it open. Caitlin lay across one of the sofas, sobbing into a cushion as though her heart might break.

‘Caitlin!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you all right?’

The girl shook her head and lifted red, tear-swollen eyes to Wren’s. ‘I’m fine. Please, just g-go away.’

Quietly Wren shut the door and stood just inside the room. ‘You know I can’t do that,’ she said, her words gentle but firm. ‘You’re obviously upset. Is there anything I can do?’

‘No,’ Caitlin croaked, and dragged in a ragged breath as she sat up. ‘There’s n-nothing anyone can do. Not unless you can tell me how to fix my m-mess of a life, that is.’

‘Surely it’s not as bad as all that.’ She sat down next to the girl and touched her knee reassuringly. She hesitated. ‘I know we don’t get on very well, and I know we haven’t much use for each other, but...perhaps it would help if you talked about whatever it is that’s got you so upset.’

Caitlin lifted her head. ‘Perhaps it would,’ she said dully. ‘It couldn’t hurt.’

And as Wren listened, Caitlin spilled out the messy details of her story, from her affair with Niall, the married professor, to her friendship with his son, and now her unexpected – and unwanted ‒ pregnancy.

‘So I find myself pregnant,’ she finished, frowning down at the slight swell of her stomach, ‘with no idea what to do. I mean, I can’t go through with it – can you see
me
with a baby? – but I can’t imagine having an abortion, either.’

‘There’s always adoption.’

Caitlin nodded. ‘I’ve thought about that. I could disappear somewhere for awhile – somewhere far away and warm, like Corfu, or Tuscany. I haven’t started to show yet. I could have the baby, and put it up for adoption.’ But even as she spoke, her eyes swam with tears.

‘There’s another solution,’ Wren offered cautiously.