Ryan's Bride by Maggie James Page A

Clarice—about how I met Angele. I expect you to corroborate my story that she’s an orphan but her family was well respected and prominent in France. I plan to buy her a stylish wardrobe and some nice jewelry, because I want everyone to think her family had money.”
    Corbett quirked a brow. “You’re going to that much trouble?”
    “Yes. Because I know Clarice, and I know my father. If they find out the truth, they’ll judge her before they get to know her, and that’s not fair to her, them, or me. Now, do I have your word?”
    With a curt nod, Corbett left to dress for dinner.
    Ryan hoped he could trust him. Otherwise, there might be problems he did not need.
     
     
    Just before seven o’clock, Corbett joined Ryan in the hotel’s smoking salon for a sherry. Angele was not mentioned. Instead, Ryan told about Francois DeNeux and how he had heard he was one of France’s best horse breeders. He did not confide that Angele was the one who had told him.
    “We should be able to find some good stallions, as well as a few mares. And there’s time to get them to the dock before sailing date.”
    Corbett chuckled. “Yes, it would be nice to return home with what you came to get instead of something you didn’t.”
    Ryan let the remark pass. He was used to Corbett’s bent toward sarcasm and had learned to accept it…although he didn’t like it.
    “ Monsieur Tremayne?”
    He glanced up to see the concierge. “Yes? What is it?”
    “It’s the lady. She told the desk clerk she was to meet you. He didn’t think you wanted him to send her in here.”
    “Of course not. Please tell her I’ll be right there.” Ryan was puzzled as to why he looked so shaken.
    So was Corbett, who remarked as soon as the concierge walked away, “Did you see how nervous he was? What do you suppose is wrong? Maybe the gown didn’t fit, and she’s wearing that god-awful outfit she had on this afternoon.”
    “I doubt that,” Ryan said tightly He tossed some money on the table and hurried out, annoyed that Corbett was right on his heels. He wished now he hadn’t invited him along even if it had hurt his feelings. He might make Angele more ill at ease than she probably already was.
    Rounding the corner from the smoking salon, Ryan could see a woman standing at the desk but knew it could not be her…
    But it was.
    She turned, and his heart slammed into his chest.
    She was, beyond doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Chapter Seven
    In the near two weeks since Ryan had made his offer, Angele hadn’t seen him. He had gone to Blois, leaving Corbett behind to help her get ready for the voyage. She had been trying to slip away from him and finally succeeded the day Ryan was due to return. And now she knelt by her mother’s grave in the paupers’ section in the rear of the Père Lachaise cemetery.
    In the distance, the great double towers of the Cathedral of Noire-Dame, tricolors flying in the blue sky of France, could be seen. They were a startling white, framed by green chestnuts and oaks, guarding Paris with their brotherly strength.
    Looping north and west in great bends flowed the sleepy Seine River, spanned by bridges.
    It was a portrait of serenity, and Angele thought it a peaceful place for her mother’s eternal rest. Her deepest regret, however, had been that there was no marker on the grave. She’d had no money to buy one, and the city did not provide anything. The mound of dirt would eventually level out beneath the summer rains, and grass and weeds would grow to hide any evidence of a grave. It would almost be as though her mother had never lived, and Angele felt that a real tragedy. Her mother had lived, indeed, and a wonderful life it had been. She and Angele’s father had adored each other, and…
    Angele pressed her fingertips against her eyes, holding back tears.
    She loved her parents so much. And though she would probably never again visit either of their graves, she had found a way to buy a simple