Chapter Five

The golden rays of sunlight streaming in the sliding glass door to the balcony awoke Kara. The warmth of the sun felt good against her bare arms, and she stretched lazily before her eyes focused on the unfamiliar bedroom surroundings. Suddenly it all came back—the forced wedding, the farce they had seen on the evening news, and the scene in the bathroom before Matt had rushed out to his late night assignation.

That must have been Vera on the phone, she thought, her blood running cold despite the warmth of the sun. Matt couldn't even stay away from her on our wedding night. But another dark thought crossed her mind. If Vera hadn't called, what would have happened? Would Matt have tried to force his way into her bedroom? she wondered.

Kara shuddered. But the shiver that went through her body reminded her of the disturbingly pleasurable sensations she had felt when Matt's eyes had traveled over her body, mirroring his desire. What would it have been like if this were a real marriage? she wondered. It would have been all right then to respond to a husband's exploring caresses. And he would have had no reason to leave his wife on their marriage night and seek out the comfort of his mistress.

But this line of reasoning was getting Kara nowhere. This isn't a real marriage, she reminded herself sternly. I don't want it to be. And I know Matt doesn't either. So there's no use considering what might have happened.

And with that thought, she swung her legs out of bed and pulled on the dressing gown she had folded over the back of the chair the night before. The thick shag carpet felt good under her bare feet as she crossed to the adjoining bathroom. Opening the door, she looked around the room. The water on the floor had dried, leaving no evidence of the previous night's battle.

This time I'm not going to let Matt Jordan surprise me in here, she muttered aloud, inspecting the mirrored panel and finding a latch at the top to hold it closed. But as her fingers reached for the fastening, she couldn't help giving way to an impulse to quietly open the door and peek into his bedroom.

The room was empty and the neatly made bed proclaimed that no one had slept there last night.

Why, he must have been out all night, she fumed. With that she quickly slid back the panel and turned purposefully toward the sink.

After making her toilet and pulling her hair back into a simple pony tail, Kara returned to her bedroom and pulled on her oldest pair of faded jeans and a frayed yellow T-shirt with the legend "Maryland is for Crabs" printed on the front over the picture of a large red crustacean. She'd picked up the shirt on a Chesapeake Bay sailing expedition several years ago. But now she rarely wore it unless she was planning to wash her car. She completed the outfit with a worn pair of jogging shoes. And then headed downstairs toward the kitchen. What she needed was a cup of coffee, she thought.

All of the draperies on the lower floor were drawn. And the house seemed unusually quiet as Kara strode across the living room. But as she opened the cafe doors into the kitchen, she was surprised by the aroma of freshly made coffee and the sight of her husband sitting at the round butcher block table reading the financial section of the Baltimore Sun. He was dressed in flannel gray slacks, a creamy beige turtleneck, and a casual tweed sportscoat with leather patches at the elbows. The sight of Matt looking so cool and unruffled after their stormy encounter of the night before enraged her.

"Well, sleeping beauty is finally awake," he observed mockingly. Then his eyes roamed over her scruffy outfit. "Or is it the scullery maid?"

Kara tried to think of a snappy comeback. But none came to mind.

"By the way," Matt added, "the message on the T-shirt is superfluous. You've already made it clear what a crab you can be. But you'd better hide your claws for today. We're going out to Windy Willow Farm to meet my mother."

Kara's mouth flew open. "We are? Why didn't you have the courtesy to tell me? But then, why should I expect courtesy from someone like you?"

"If you hadn't made it clear that you didn't want my company last night, we might have had more time to discuss our plans for today," he retorted, studying her coldly.

"You mean, if you hadn't been in such a hurry to get out of here and into bed with your mistress," she countered.

Matt Jordan threw back his head and laughed at her accusations. "And just what makes you think that?" he challenged.

"I happened to pick up the phone in my bedroom and I heard…" Kara began.

But the dangerous glint in her husband's eyes cut her off in mid-sentence.

"I will not tolerate anyone eavesdropping on my conversations," he said very calmly and deliberately. But the icy tone of his voice sent a shiver up Kara's spine. Biting her lip, she looked down at the table top.

"And since you've made it clear that you don't really want to be my wife, where I go and what I do is really no concern of yours."

Kara felt her lower lip begin to quiver. And she was unable to look up and meet his eyes. But the next second he reached out and covered her long slender fingers with his strong hand.

"You don't know how I spent last night, Kara," he said more gently. "And if you did, you'd understand that I have good reason to be edgy this morning. But we have a long day ahead of us at my mother's place in the country, so let's call a truce. I'll heat up some blueberry muffins for breakfast while you go up and change into something more suitable for meeting her. And for heaven's sakes, take your hair out of that pony tail. She'll think I'm robbing the cradle."

Still unable to look up, Kara turned and fled from the kitchen. Back in her bedroom she looked through her closets and drawers trying to find something that Matt would consider suitable for a visit to Windy Willow Farms. Finally she settled on a burgundy corduroy skirt with a matching vest and striped blouse. To add a note of sophistication, she pulled on a pair of high-heeled, brown suede boots. Then she brushed out her hair, put on a dab of lip gloss and a touch of violet eye shadow.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself suddenly as she surveyed her image in the mirror. "I don't want to go meet his mother. How can I act as if things are normal when this whole affair has been so contrived? I'm going to tell him I won't go," she said decisively.

When she returned to the kitchen, Matt surveyed her assessingly. "That's a lot better," he approved, "although you're still not quite sophisticated enough to play the part of a candidate's wife. But we'll talk about that later."

"You certainly know how to give a woman compliments," Kara observed caustically, pulling out a pedestal chair and sitting down at the table. Then she reached for the butter and a hot muffin. "But I'm not going with you," she declared.

"And just why not?" he countered, his eyes narrowing.

"Because after last night, it would be hypocritical if I were to play the dutiful bride to your loving husband."

"Now get this straight, Kara. No matter what you think of me, you have an obligation to go through with our bargain; and meeting my mother in a civil fashion is part of that." The no-nonsense expression on Matt's hard features was so intimidating that Kara found herself once again avoiding his gaze.

They sat in silence for some minutes, each concentrating on the breakfast in front of them. Finally, feeling Matt's eyes on her, Kara looked up to find an unreadable expression on his face.

"Remember, we're supposed to be having a truce," he reminded her. "And here's my first peace offering," he said, with a more friendly expression. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box and put it on the table in front of Kara's plate. "Go ahead and open it," he urged.

Tentatively, Kara picked it up and slowly pulled back the lid. Inside a wedding ring set sparkled. The engagement ring was a large marquis diamond flanked by six smaller emeralds. The wedding band was a narrow circle of gold. Involuntarily, Kara drew in her breath.

"They're beautiful," she murmured.

"I hope this makes up for yesterday," her husband said softly. Reaching out he took her left hand and slipped the two rings on the proper finger. Just as before, the fit was perfect.

"This time you don't have to give them back," he chuckled.

"You mean, even when we get divorced," she blurted.

His gray eyes became hard as granite. "Just as you wish," he said coolly. "But as long as you're playing the candidate's wife, you'll wear them." Then he pushed back his chair and stood up. "Are you coming?" he asked.

Kara nodded dumbly.

"Well then, I hate to rush you through breakfast, but Mother's expecting us at eleven."

During most of the twenty-minute ride to Windy Willow Farm, Kara purposely kept her eyes averted from Matt, even though she was acutely aware of his magnetic presence, especially when his hand brushed lightly against her leg as he changed gears. She tried to concentrate on the fluffy white clouds scudding across the crystal blue of the sky and the rolling hills divided like patchwork by white rail fences and rows of blooming dogwood. But her thoughts were in turmoil. What would his mother be like? What would she think about Kara and this hasty marriage?

As they turned onto the gravel entrance road to the estate, she could remain silent no longer.

"What are we going to tell your mother?" she blurted.

"We're going to tell her the truth. I'm not going to insult her with the charade we've made up for the public."

"But what will she think of me?" Kara pressed.

Matt flashed her a narrowed look. "My mother's very open-minded. I'm sure that will depend on the way you behave yourself today."

Kara flushed. "I don't have anything against your mother," she protested indignantly.

"Other than that I'm her son," he added dryly.

Agreeing with him silently, Kara turned her attention to the scene out the window. The Jordan estate was impressive, she had to admit.

The winding driveway was flanked by a row of willow trees, feathered with the delicate greenery of their first spring growth. To the right was a large oval pond in which a flock of mallards had made themselves at home. To the left were acres of white fenced paddocks where thoroughbred mares and their new foals grazed peacefully.

At the end of the long drive was a two story fieldstone house with high white portico stretching across the front expanse. Ancient boxwood hedges lined the flagstone walk. And beds of lemon-tinted daffodils and bright red tulips provided a splash of color in front of the stately structure.

"When you said Windy Willow Farm, I had no idea it was this impressive," Kara accused. "You could have prepared me."

Next to her, Matt grinned. "I never thought of it that way. This is where I grew up," he said warmly. "It's just home to me."

Matt parked the silver Porsche at the edge of the circular drive in front of the house. Getting out, he walked around to Kara's side of the car, opened the door, and took her arm. Even after he shut the door behind her, he held onto her tightly as he led her up the walk.

When they were almost to the house, the front door flew open and a tall, slim, white-haired man dressed in a work shirt, jeans and leather riding boots emerged.

"Welcome home, Matt," he boomed. "Your mother is as excited as a high-strung filly over your marriage." Then he turned to Kara.

"So this is the lucky bride," he chuckled approvingly. "We didn't think anybody was going to lasso our Matt. But honey, I want to tell you you've got one heck of a man here."

The color in Kara's cheeks heightened. But Matt handled the situation smoothly.

"I'd like you to meet Lew McAlister," he said. "Lew's been with the family since before I was born. He runs the horse farm for my mother. He's quite a character with his Wild West ways, but you don't have to believe everything he says."

"I'm… I'm pleased to meet you," Kara stammered, holding out her hand. But McAlister swept her into a bear hug. "I expect you to take good care of this boy," he drawled in her ear. "But I'll let you in on a secret; it takes a tight rein to keep him out of trouble. I know, I had the job for twenty years."

"You don't want to frighten her off, do you Lew?" Matt asked dryly.

"You're right. I better stop flapping my mouth. And you better go in to see your mother," he said to Matt.

But before he turned toward the paddocks, he winked at Kara.

Matt opened the door and they stepped into the cool, elegant foyer. The floor was black and white marble tile, set off with oriental rugs. A curving staircase with an elaborately carved railing swept up to the second floor. And the long Chippendale hall table held a polished silver bowl brimming with an arrangement of freshly cut spring flowers. Matt steered Kara down the hall toward the back of the house. As Kara passed the living room and dining room, she had a quick impression of expensive antique furniture and plush upholstery.

"This is like the Sugar Hill mansion I toured once in Philadelphia when I was in college," she whispered.

"Well, this one's not open to the public all the time, but it is included on the Christmas candlelight tours my mother organizes each year for Maryland charities. But let's not keep her waiting; she's probably in the greenhouse."

At the back of the house they entered a large glassed-in room where the air was heady with the smell of flowers and plants. In the middle of the room Kara could see an elegant-looking silver-haired woman dressed in a pale blue shirtwaist who was busy repotting an enormous Boston fern. As they entered, the woman looked up and a warm smile spread across her aristocratic features.

"Matthew dear," she said, standing up and stripping off her gardening gloves. "And this must be Kara." She hurried forward and gave the young woman an affectionate embrace. "I can't tell you how happy I am to welcome you to the family."

Kara found herself responding to the genuine warmth of this woman who seemed so different from her overbearing son. But she didn't know what to say. Over Mrs. Jordan's shoulder, she looked at Matt helplessly, her eyes begging him to explain the situation.

"Mother, there's something I have to tell you," Matt began.

But Mrs. Jordan, who had stepped back from Kara, shook her head. "You don't have to tell me anything," she interrupted. "Frank Adams was here yesterday afternoon and explained the whole story."

Matt's features hardened. "Then he's overstepped his responsibilities," he ground out. "His duties don't extend to my personal life."

"That may be true," his mother agreed. "But I'm grateful he did. I've already had several phone calls from the media asking for my reaction. I'm glad I had a better understanding of the situation."

Matt nodded tightly. "From that point of view, I guess it was appropriate," he relented.

His mother smiled. "Now, I'm not trying to get rid of you, Matt," she said, changing the subject. "But I do need your opinion on a horse sale Lew is taking care of for me tomorrow. Do you think you can go look at those yearlings and make sure he's set a fair asking price?"

"Mother, Lew knows a lot more about the correct price than I do," Matt protested.

But Mrs. Jordan made a swishing motion with her hands. "You run along and give me a chance to get to know Kara a little better," she laughed. Turning to the young woman, she added, "I never could put one over on him."

Matt gave them both an exaggerated shrug and headed out of the room.

"Now come into the family room and sit down," Mrs. Jordan said, turning to Kara. "I had that wing added several years ago. The original house was built before the Civil War."

Obediently, Kara followed the older woman down a short hallway.

Mrs. Jordan was still rattling on. "And my dear, you must call me Elizabeth. We don't stand on formalities around here."

The family room was comfortably furnished with a beige velvet sectional sofa making a U in front of the brick fireplace. The coffee and end tables were of chrome and glass. And one wall was lined with fruitwood cabinets topped by ceiling-high bookshelves.

Mrs. Jordan gestured for Kara to sit on the left side of the sofa, as she crossed to one of the bookshelves and took down a large oatmeal-colored volume with blue lettering.

"After Frank Adams left, your name jogged my memory," the older woman told Kara as she came to sit beside her on the couch. "So I got out my old college yearbook and had a look at it."

Kara gazed at her expectantly.

"Do you know your mother and I were classmates at Goucher College over thirty-six years ago? And you look so much like her, I feel as if I've known you a long time already."

Kara stared at her mother-in-law in surprise.

"You mean you really knew my mother, Mrs. Jordan?" she questioned.

"Yes. And I do want you to call me Elizabeth the way she did." While the elder Mrs. Jordan was talking, she flipped the pages of the yearbook. "See, here I am," she pointed to a youthful version of herself. "And here's your mother."

"Oh, you were Elizabeth Remington. Why, I've looked at my mother's yearbook dozens of times. But of course I never knew who you were," Kara exclaimed.

Elizabeth Jordan patted the young woman's hand. "I know how much your mother meant to you, Kara," she said gently. "She was a wonderful person. And I was just sick when I heard about the plane crash that took her and your father. We had lost track of each other soon after she got married, and I didn't even know that she had a daughter until yesterday."

Kara nodded numbly.

"I know she would have been so proud of you. Frank Adams tells me you're a public relations specialist. Did you know your mother had a promising career as a journalist before she got married? She made much better use of her education than I did. I got married right after graduation and had Matt ten months later."

Kara studied Mrs. Jordan. Here was a woman who seemed to know more about her mother than she herself did. Maybe this explained why she felt so comfortable and secure with Matt's mother.

"We'll have to reminisce sometime soon," Mrs. Jordan promised. "But right now I want to talk about you and Matt."

Kara felt herself growing tense. How could she talk to Matt's mother about the confusing swirl of events that had swept her up into this crazy marriage?

But Mrs. Jordan seemed unaware or unwilling to acknowledge her distress.

"My philosophy is that everything always turns out for the best, Kara. And even though this marriage had a rather unusual beginning, I'm sure that you and Matt will be able to work things out."

Kara shook her head. "I don't think Matt wants to work things out. He's difficult to understand."

"Well, I know my son," the older woman insisted. "I don't think he would have married you unless he wanted to. He's never let himself be railroaded into anything he was dead set against. And I know with my mother's instinct that you're not indifferent to him either."

Kara opened her mouth to deny this, but she couldn't find the words. She knew she was physically attracted to Matt—more attracted than she had been to any man before—but could it be more than that? And what about Matt? What did he really feel for her? She knew he wanted to take her to bed. But did he feel anything besides lust for her? she wondered.

"I know this is a difficult way for you to start married life, Kara," Mrs. Jordan told her. "It's going to be hard for you and hard for Matt too, because he's always been so independent. But if he had to get into this kind of situation, I'm glad it's with a girl like you. And I want you to know that I'm your friend, and I'll be here if you need me."

The women had become so absorbed in their conversation that they were not aware that Matt was standing in the doorway.

"Defecting to the enemy camp already, Mother?" he asked wryly.

At the sound of his voice Kara jumped. But Mrs. Jordan dismissed his remark with a smile.

"Nonsense, Matthew, there are no enemies here. Now why don't you show Kara around the farm for a little while and I'll see how brunch is coming. Maybe half an hour's walk around the estate in this gorgeous spring weather will perk up your appetites."

Mrs. Jordan got up and strode from the room, leaving Matt and Kara staring at each other warily.

It was he who finally broke the silence. "As you may have noticed," he said lightly, "Mother's word here at Windy Willow Farm is law. So let me show you around the place. We can start with the paddocks."

Matt led Kara through the sliding glass doors in the family room onto a huge patio covered with a yellow canvas awning. From there they took a winding flagstone path toward the paddocks.

"How many horses does your mother have?" Kara inquired.

"About thirty now, but we'll be selling half a dozen yearlings over the next few months. Quite a few of mother's horses have racing potential, you know. In fact, Maryland Dancer, who's running in the Preakness next month, was one of our foals."

"Does your mother train racing horses?" Kara asked with interest.

"No, she just raises them."

They stopped by a white fence to admire several young colts and fillies grazing inside.

"Too bad I didn't bring some sugar," Matt observed. "I guess I just don't come back here often enough anymore."

Kara glanced at her husband. He seemed so much more relaxed and approachable in this setting. Looking over at her he grinned and grabbed her hand.

"Let's go down to the barn. I used to work there every day after school helping Lew and his men."

He started off at a brisk walk. And Kara had to run to keep up with his long strides. As Matt pulled the heavy barn door open, the hinges squeaked protestingly.

"Can't understand why one of the hands hasn't fixed that," he observed, looking around the barn.

But there was no one inside and no horses in the spacious stalls. Matt led Kara to a ladder near one wall.

"Come on up to the hayloft," he invited playfully. "I used to fool around up here all the time when I didn't want to do my homework. But Lew always knew where to find me."

Kara looked doubtfully at the ladder. But Matt had already started to climb. If she stayed down on the ground he would probably think her a bad sport. So she grasped the wooden bars and began to climb.

When she got to the top of the ladder, Matt was waiting. He took her hand and helped her up through the opening in the ceiling.

"Let me show you the view," he urged. Releasing a latch on a trapdoor in the wall, he pulled it open to reveal a panoramic scene of the pastures below.

In her high-heeled boots, Kara found it hard to walk in the deep straw. As she moved toward the opening, the heel of her left foot caught in one of the rafters and she pitched forward.

Mart's arm shot out to catch her, but her weight sent him off balance and the two of them fell over into the soft, dry hay.

Kara sat up and started to brush herself off. "Your mother will think we've been tumbling up here," she giggled.

"That's not a bad idea," Matt drawled, pulling her back down against him in the soft bed of loose straw. No longer laughing, Kara tried to push him away. But the strong band of his arms only pulled her into a more intimate position.

"As long as we're going to be found guilty any-way, we might as well commit the crime," he murmured, his lips feathering light kisses on her face.

"No. What if somebody finds us here?" Kara argued. But Matt silenced her protest with a hard, demanding kiss. She felt her lips part as his tongue made daring exploration of her mouth.

Against her will a wild excitement was growing within her and she slid her arms around his waist, pulling her pliant body against his taut muscles. His lips were on her hair, her face, her neck, sending shivers up her spine. Then his hands tugged free her blouse from the waist band of her skirt. She felt strong fingers caressing the sensitive skin of her back, trailing little darts of pleasure across her flesh. Then, in one fluid motion, he had unhooked her bra. His hands slid around to the front to cup her breasts and her nipples hardened at his exploration.

"Oh, Matt," she moaned, lost in the swirl of overpowering sensations he was creating. His insistent hands and mouth were shaping her body to his will. She was under his control. He could do with her what he wished. All thoughts of the real reason for this marriage had been banished by his drugging caresses. The only thing that existed was this moment and a deep aching need within her.

From somewhere far away she heard the squeaking of hinges. At the sound Matt pulled away from her and sat up alertly. Below them, the voice of Lew McAlister drifted up toward the hayloft.

"I know you're up there Matt. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the first place you'd take Kara was where you used to initiate all your old girlfriends to farm life."

"Get lost, Lew," Matt rasped. "We'll be down in a minute."

Kara could hear Lew chuckling as he sauntered out. She sat up. The situation held no humor for her. Outrage flashed in her violet eyes.

"So, I'm just another one of your rolls in the hay," she accused vehemently, as she tried to pull her clothing back in order.

Matt didn't answer.

"Lew has a really poor sense of timing," he observed, brushing hay from his own clothes. "Maybe he's forgotten we're on our honeymoon," he added.

"But I haven't forgotten why we got married," Kara shot back.

"Oh yes you did," her husband corrected. "Don't deny it. Your body told me you wanted me just as much as I wanted you."

Brusquely Kara turned away from him and started down the ladder. It was a somber pair of newlyweds who made their way back to the main house. But when they reached the side door, Matt put his hand on Kara's arm.

"There's a powder room right inside here," he gestured. "You can repair the damage to your appearance there."

Kara nodded, knowing full well she could never repair the damage her self-esteem had just suffered.

A few minutes later she joined Matt and Mrs. Jordan in the dining room. A sumptuous buffet of country ham, scrambled eggs, apple fritters, cinnamon buns and fresh strawberries was spread out on the sideboard along with silver pots of tea and coffee.

"I thought we could serve ourselves," Mrs. Jordan told Kara, "since I like to give the servants an early day on Sunday."

Kara watched Matt fill his plate and pour a cup of coffee. But she had lost her appetite and only took enough to be polite.

However, Mrs. Jordan seemed not to notice the strained atmosphere.

"I've been thinking," she said, when she had brought her own plate and cup to the table. "We should have a wedding reception for the two of you very soon."

"A wedding reception?" Kara was stunned.

"Why yes, my dear, there will be enough speculation about your marriage as it is. We must do things properly and introduce you to all our friends at a formal reception."

"Is that necessary, Mother?" Matt asked.

"Politically, I think it is," Mrs. Jordan assured him. "And besides, all our friends would feel very hurt if we don't have them over to meet Kara."

Matt nodded. "I suppose you're right," he agreed. "But we will have to find something suitable for Kara to wear."

Kara's violet eyes flashed. She was about to make a scathing retort to Matt, but he shot her a warning glance.

Mrs. Jordan leaped into the conversational breach.

"Now Matt, I'm sure there's nothing wrong with Kara's taste in clothing," she soothed. "Her wardrobe just doesn't reflect her new position." She turned to Kara and continued. "If you'd permit me, I'm sure it would be loads of fun for the two of us to go on a shopping trip to Bethesda together. I'd love to help you spend some of Matt's money at I. Magnin's and Bloomingdales."

Mrs. Jordan's smile was so warm that Kara found herself smiling in return.

"When do you want to go?" Kara asked.

"The sooner the better, my dear. How about tomorrow? I'll want to get the invitations printed for the reception, too. We can have it in, let's see, a week."

"A week? But that's so soon," Kara gasped.

"The sooner we introduce you as Matt's wife, the better it will be for his candidacy," Mrs. Jordan said reassuringly. Then she pushed back her chair and went to the sideboard for another cup of coffee. The subject was apparently closed.