The Silver Bride

'Yes...but could you be happy?' Stella pressed, her whole being centered on the awful wounding necessity of asking that question when all she wanted to do was drag him off to the nearest church. Dior g.r.o.a.n.e.d in frustration. 'I should have proposed over a romantic dinner, with flowers and a ring—' Stella winced.

'No, that sort of stuff isn't important.' "Then my proposal must've been excessively clumsy.' Gleaming hazel green eyes rested on her taut, anxious face. 'I want to marry you, Stella. The only word I need to hear now is yes.' 'Yes...' Agreement escaped from Stella before she could bite it back.

'Now that wasn't difficult, was it?' His shadowy smile rocked her heart on its axis, and then he turned away and glanced at his watch. 'Now I'm afraid I have to head straight for the airport. I'll be in touch tomorrow.' 'What's wrong with tonight?' Stella heard herself ask as she climbed out of the car.

'I'll be tied up all evening.' Hot-cheeked, Stella nodded, closed her hands together to stop them reaching out to him and forced a smile. 'OK...I understand,' she said when she didn't really. His departure seemed so incredibly low-key that she could not quite believe that he had asked her to marry him and that she had agreed. Concentrating with a mind in a giddy whirl was far too much of a challenge that afternoon.

In the space of an hour, she had learned that she was expecting a baby and she had gained a bridegroom. It was too much to take in all at once... Dior wanted to marry her. Did fairy tales come true? All right, so her father had been a creep, and on that basis, she had judged the whole male s.e.x. Only not Dior. Dior had taken her by storm. He didn't love her.

But love could grow, she told herself urgently, determined not to pick holes in her happiness. Happiness was a fragile thing, and Stella hadn't known much of it. Dior liked, respected and d.e.s.i.r.ed her, she reminded herself. All that plus their baby would be enough to build on. She would make him happy.

Whatever it took, she would make him the very best wife he could imagine... At one the following afternoon, a limousine with tinted windows pulled up outside the shop. Stella grinned, assuming that Dior had got back from Paris sooner than he had thought. She immediately asked Ashton Watson if it would be all right for her to take her lunch break.

But a split second later she stiffened in confusion when a female figure emerged from the limousine. A tall svelte brunette sheathed in a pillbox-red suit. Aria Bailey, she registered in bemused recognition, just as the other woman entered the bookshop. The Greek woman focused on Stella with cool dark eyes, her beautiful face expressionless.

'Is there somewhere we can talk in private?' she enquired. Disconcerted by that disdainful demand, Stella flushed. 'Sorry, what is—?' 'We can talk in my car.' Spinning around, Aria Bailey walked back out of the shop, evidently expecting Stella to follow her. Stella hesitated. She didn't like being taken by surprise.

Even less did she like being addressed as if she was a medieval serf. But Aria Bailey was related to Dior, wasn't she? Certainly, she had been swarming about that palatial villa on Chandos like a family member of no small importance. There had been that family photograph in Dior's apartment as well.

And if Aria had suddenly taken the trouble to seek her out, it could only be because she knew that Dior had proposed and she had something to say on the subject. Stella lifted her jacket, slid into it and went outside. The chauffeur ushered her into the rear of the opulent vehicle. Stella was very tense. Aria Bailey studied her with narrowed eyes and slowly shook her beautiful head in apparent wonderment.

'A shop assistant and a cleaner! Dior really must have been distraught that night on Chandos! I confess that I wasn't pleased when he showed up with you at his father's funeral, but in the circ.u.mstances, I was prepared to overlook that small social indiscretion—'

'Social indiscretion...?' Stella queried flatly, her skin reddening beneath that derisive attack. She lifted her chin. 'Why should you have to overlook anything Dior does?' The Greek woman elevated a brow.

'Men will be men. I'm fond of Dior, of course, but I don't have a jealous temperament. I'm not a s.e.x.u.a.lly possessive woman either. I have always expected Dior to have a mistress after our marriage—' 'Your marriage?' Stella interrupted incredulously.

Aria Bailey appraised her bewildered face and shaken eyes and laughed with sudden amus.e.m.e.nt. 'You didn't know, did you? Dior and I were practically betrothed in our cradles. We have known all our lives that we would eventually marry—' 'No...' Stella broke in shakily.