The One Month Marriage. Judith Stacy
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fourteen-month separation had changed her in subtle ways. He noticed each and every one of them yesterday when they’d stood across the foyer from each other and he’d been trying to put together a cohesive sentence.
Even more beautiful. The notion had hit him square in the chest yesterday. Her face a little more mature, after so short a time, her dress more sophisticated, her figure a trifle fuller. He had wanted her right there in the foyer.
He had wanted her even when she asked for a divorce.
Brandon grumbled aloud. A divorce. What nonsense. True, Jana had been young, pampered and spoiled when they married. She’d run back home to her aunt who, with the best of intentions, had taken her in and allowed Jana to accompany her on a long-planned extended trip to Europe. Brandon understood how impetuous his young wife had been, and how her aunt couldn’t say no. He’d indulged them both.
But now—
His office door burst open and Mr. Perkins rushed into the room on the heels of the woman who had, surely, been the cause of the commotion.
“Now see here, madam,” Mr. Perkins barked, his face red. “You can’t come pushing your way in here. I told you that Mr. Sayer isn’t seeing anyone today without an appointment, and you haven’t—”
“Since when do I need an appointment?”
Leona Albright directed her question at Brandon, her words a seductive whisper that brought him out of his chair.
Seeing his battle lost, Mr. Perkins turned to Brandon. “I told her, Mr. Sayer, I told her you weren’t seeing anyone today without an appointment. That those were your instructions and I couldn’t allow—”
“It’s all right,” Brandon said.
“I told that young fella from the newspaper the same thing this morning. That Mr. Fisk. I told him you weren’t seeing anyone today without an appointment.” Mr. Perkins threw Leona Albright a scathing look. “Only he had the decency to respect your wishes and go about his business.”
“Thank you, Mr. Perkins,” Brandon said. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Albright.”
Mr. Perkins shot her a final contemptuous glare, then huffed out of the office, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.
Leona, her gaze still on Brandon, gave him a slow, steady smile, one that brought lesser men to their knees.
“You’ve been keeping secrets, Brandon, dear,” she purred and walked closer.
“You like secrets,” he countered.
Leona Albright did indeed like secrets. She liked everything. Tall, ten years older than Brandon, though she’d never admit it to anyone else, Leona wore her dresses cut a fraction lower than was considered decent—especially for her ample figure—and her hair a shade more fiery red than nature alone could provide. Yet her wealth, her social position and political connections on both coasts kept anyone from commenting—in public, anyway. She’d recently lost her fourth, much-older husband and, according to the latest rumor, had already turned down two marriage proposals.
“You know me well,” Leona purred.
“Which of my secrets have you uncovered?” he asked, motioning her toward the seating group at the other end of his office.
Leona took her time settling onto the sofa, arranging her skirt, shifting her shoulders in a way that called attention to her impressive bosom. Brandon took the chair to her immediate left.
“I’m terribly hurt,” Leona declared. “This Jennings deal of yours. You never mentioned a word of it to me.”
“There’s talk?” Brandon asked, a little concerned.
“Whispers,” Leona said, and raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I learned of it from an unnamed, but very satisfied, source.”
The Jennings Building, a five-story structure in a prime location, currently housed the Los Angeles Messenger. Brandon owned both the newspaper and the building. Over the last year he’d refused to renew the leases of tenants until now only the newspaper remained. It, too, would be gone soon. Then his new project would be officially announced, though it had been quietly in the works for some time.
“And is this ‘unnamed source’ of yours interested in the project?” Brandon asked.
“Of course,” Leona said. “Everyone is interested in anything that involves you, Brandon, dear. Your name attached to any project guarantees success.”
Brandon smiled, not unhappy to hear a compliment.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll give you the details before the public announcement.”
“Of course you will,” Leona said, favoring him with another smile. “Now, on to your next secret.”
Brandon frowned, trying to imagine what she referred to this time.
“The return of your wife,” Leona said. “I admit, I’m surprised you’re even here at your office today.”
Brandon shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He was certain everyone who’d heard of Jana’s return was curious to find him at work today, rather than at home rolling around in bed with her, making up for their fourteen-month separation.
The playfulness left Leona’s face. “Not a joyful reunion?”
“Not exactly,” Brandon said. He didn’t hesitate to explain further, knowing Leona would keep his confidence, even to unnamed—but satisfied—sources.
It wasn’t the first time she’d kept silent on his behalf.
“She wants a divorce,” Brandon explained. “I told her no, of course. She agreed to work on our marriage.”
“So you have everything under control,” Leona said.
Brandon nodded. He’d thought about it all last night, all morning, all afternoon. He knew what to do.
“Jana is my wife. She must live up to her responsibilities. It’s her duty.”
“You romantic devil, you,” Leona said.
Brandon sat forward. “I have duties in our marriage. She does too. Everyone has duties. We all must live up to them.”
“Duties?”
“Of course,” Brandon said. “Jana needed a firm hand. It was my fault she left, really. I was too easy on her. I’ll be sure she understands her responsibilities this time.”
“Well, as long as you have everything under control…” Leona rose from the sofa, bringing Brandon up with her. She gave him a long, sultry look. “You should have married me.”
“All your husbands die.”
“But they go with smiles on their faces.” Leona sauntered to the office door, threw him one last knowing look, and left.
“I see you’ve made your decision,” Maureen said.
Jana glanced back at her maid closing the latches on her trunk. “It wasn’t exactly my decision,” she said. “Brandon refused to grant me a divorce unless I did as he asked.”
“He has a point,” Maureen said.
Jana didn’t respond, just moved past her aunt, down the hallway and into the parlor of the suite. Brandon did, indeed, have a point. It was all she’d been able to think about since they’d talked yesterday.
Legally and in the eyes of God they were married. Brandon had been right about that. And Jana could find no argument to refute his assertion. She’d taken vows, pledged her life to their union. None of which should be taken lightly.
It had all seemed so much easier, so much clearer in London. There, she’d known exactly what she wanted. With the distance from her husband, she’d realized exactly what sort of man he was—and what