Eternally Yours

Craylen Wayne Rollins is a self-made man, though heir to one of New Jersey's wealthiest men. What he wanted was a night of pleasure; what he hadn't bargained for was a women of virtue in his bed, thus earning him a bride he did not want. Cray wants revenge.

Ariel Marie Montgomery is a helpless victim of her mother's deceptions, wanting nothing more than to forget the mishap and to marry the fiancé she left behind. What she hadn't counted on was the attraction she felt for her to-be-husband who hates her and believes her to be a conniver. Life couldn't possibly be worse...that is until they find her mother murdered on the night of her wedding.

Check out cover models, Eddie Foltz and Teresa Lyons, as they make their debut on Lawfully Yours!

The Cover Models: Eddie Foltz and Teresa Lyons.

Awards: RIO Award of Excellence 2003 1st place (Short Historical), AQP Best Seller

Atlantic City, New Jersey
October 1870

Agitation fairly radiated through his taut body. He paced the study of his mansion feeling like a lion caged. He had to do something. He couldn't allow the little witch and her mother to get away with their grand scheme. And grand it was. Had he planned the whole ordeal himself, he doubted it would have gone off as smoothly.

Craylen Wayne Rollins III stopped pacing long enough to glare at his longtime friend, Matt Gilson, who did little to ease the gnawing apprehension building in him like a lit fuse slowly itching its way toward the dynamite. Matt sat in one of his leather, high-back chairs with his feet kicked out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His fingers laced together atop his lap. But his face, the smug smile resting there, was what bothered Cray the most. He wanted nothing more than to walk over to his friend and wipe the silly smirk from his features.

Raking both his hands through his unkempt hair, he glowered at Matt. Most men cowered from a less look. But not Matt, he sat unflinching, raising one thick eyebrow.

“Tell me, good man, what's so terrible about your situation? Is she that uncomely?” Matt snickered.

“Quite the opposite if you must know,” Cray growled before resuming his pacing.

“Then I fail to see where your foul mood comes in.”

“She trapped me, for God's sake! This whole situation is intolerable.” Cray didn't bother to stop and supply Matt with a look. One glance at the pompous ass, proving the smile on his face still remained, he'd be guilty of cold-cocking a much trusted friend.

“When does she arrive?” he asked innocently, not moving an inch.

“A month from today.” Cray stopped at the lace-draped window and looked over his well-manicured lawns, where a servant went about trimming the bushes for the onset of winter.

“You make it sound as though it's a death wish, Cray. My God, man, you're only getting married.”

He whirled around. “Precisely.” He said the word with such venom, he swore Matt recoiled. “And marriage isn't something I want—ever!”

“I really don't see how you're going to side-step this one.” Matt righted himself in the chair, uncrossing his legs before continuing. “But tell me, how does one mistake a lady for a whore?”

Cray's face heated in anger. By God, he'd cold-cock him yet. One word, one more word, and he'd no longer hold himself accountable for his actions.

“I told you, she was in my bed when I got back to the hotel room.”

Still smirking, Matt narrowed his eyes at him. “Refresh my memory here. What happened when you arrived in Bridgeport?”

“C.W. had a convention on the fabric industry. Instead of meeting here in Atlantic City like usual, they planned it in Pennsylvania.”

Matt placed a long tapered finger against his thin lips and narrowed an eye at Cray. “So you accompanied your father and mother to Bridgeport on a business trip in which you had no interest. Forgive me for saying so, but I thought you and your father were at odds.”

“C.W. and I only speak when necessary. You know that.” Cray paused. “It's difficult not to take an interest in C.W.'s activities when he has his fingers in everything.”

Matt scratched the top of his short cut, black hair. His bangs lay to the side, partly covering one of his vivid-blue eyes. “Far as I knew, your only interest was gambling.”

“It is,” Cray snapped, running his fingers through his hair again. “Anyway, I went for Mother's benefit.”

“Do go on. You went to Bridgeport.”

Cray let out a slow, even breath as he began his pacing once more. “Before meeting Mother and C.W. for dinner in the dining room, I stopped by the office to see the hotel's owner. You remember Ryan?”

“Of course, he served under Sherman.”

“I asked him to see to it a whore was in my bed by the time I returned to my room following the evening meal. I quickly excused myself after the meal and about five bourbons later, no longer able to take C.W.'s scorn about the way I lead my life. Upon entering my room, I found exactly what I expected to see, but yet somehow more.”

“How so?”

“Not that I didn't expect beauty, but damn—this woman went beyond. Her hair was pale blonde, so much so it was damn near void of color. Her eyes were the color of summer skies. Hell, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.”

Matt chuckled, being awarded with a scathing look from Cray. He wisely rid his face of the smile. “Well, I just fail to see where the problem lies then if you find her so damn beautiful.”

“The problem is I was duped! She was no whore but a lady. Here I was, had her prim little nightgown off—”

“Wait a minute,” Matt interrupted. “She wore a nightgown? Since when do whores wear prim little nightgowns?”

“Christ, I was so blinded by lust I wouldn't have cared if she wore armor. I wasn't thinking. All I wanted was to be wrapped within her.”

“Well, did you then?”

Cray let out the breath he was unaware he held. “Hell, no. Her mother came storming into the room dragging a hotel maid with C.W. and Mother hot on her tail. There I was, poised over the woman's daughter, ready to breach the virginity I was unaware she had.”

Cray stopped pacing and ran both hands over his taut face. One month, one more lousy month of freedom. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at Matt, who finally had the dignity to look concerned.

“And you think this was all set up? That she and her mother trapped you into marriage?”

“I don't know how they found out Mother was intent on seeing me married. But they did. Now, Ariel Marie Montgomery has found herself engaged to a very wealthy man—considering who my father is. Hell, the joke's on her though. I wouldn't take a penny from the old man.”

“But you're far from broke. Hell, just look at this place. It's one of the finest homes on this island.”

“It is the finest. Had C.W. built here instead of Absecon though, my home would pale in comparison.” Cray chuckled as he envisioned the monstrosity his father called home. With him and his brother, Clifford, out of the house, it only left his youngest brother, Henry, living with his parents.

A smile touched his face at the thought of his youngest sibling. Henry was quite the handful. As a matter of fact, he was the whole reason his mother invited him to Bridgeport. Tabitha had wanted to persuade him into taking Henry off their hands. Of course, due to his present situation, Cray had declined. Now, he had a wife to control. And, of course, control her he would.

“By the look of things,” Matt's voice filtered into Cray's musings, “I believe you've thoroughly compromised this woman's daughter and you have no other choice but to marry her.”

Cray eyed his friend carefully beneath one raised brow. “That's exactly how Mother put it. Have you two been conspiring against me by any chance?”

Matt looked wounded, but Cray doubted he even scratched the arrogant man's pride. “Absolutely not! Your only way out is to prove this Ariel and her mother are lying about her virginity, and I really don't see how you'll possibly prove that before the wedding night.”

“And she better pray she still has it.” Cray slammed a hand atop his rolled-top writing desk. “By God, if I'm going to marry, it certainly won't be to another man's leavings.”

Atlantic City, New Jersey
November 1870

“Go help someone who gives a shit,” rang threw her thoughts assiduously as a lone tear ran down her cheek unchecked.

Ariel Marie Montgomery sat in a gray Queen Anne styled chair looking out the large, curtained window of the private railroad car, barely noticing the landscape as it flashed by. The trees, houses, and ocean all but a blur. She cared little for where the ornately decorated car took her. Her life, as she knew it, was over.

“Go help someone who gives a shit,” troubled her once more. She placed her face in the palms of her hands, shielding all from view, though the only other occupant of the train, her mother, sat to the back of the car reading L.M. Alcott's Little Women, paying her little attention.

“Go help someone who gives a shit.” Tanner McCabe's parting words to her. How could she still care for him after all he did? How could she still love him? But the fact remained, she did, and probably always would. How does one stop loving? The hole left in her heart ached for healing.

She glanced back out the window, noting the blur of the many trees being quickly replaced by that of the vast ocean. Her destination neared, her new home—Atlantic City, New Jersey. Oh God, she nearly cried aloud. How was she ever to get through this?

In the passing months, her life had turned completely around. No longer did she cherish the dream of being Mrs. Tanner McCabe, but cowered at the idea of being Mrs. Craylen Wayne Rollins III, a man she scarcely knew. Her wedding was a scant three months away.

Garbed in a midnight-blue street dress, Ariel toyed with the Russian-sable muff lying atop her lap. She thought of the days gone past when Tanner had excitedly talked of their life together, raising horses and being blessed with children. She could still see his white teeth flashing in his devilishly handsome face, tanned by heritage. His blue-black hair flowing nearly to his waist as he proudly wore the traits of his ancestors. His grandmother, a full-blooded Apache, was the reason her mother had forbidden the two her blessing.

“Over my dead body!” she had said.

But her love for Tanner had been based on a lie. He hadn't been faithful. Oh, she knew he loved her all right, but the wait for marriage had been too much for him to endure. He took another to his bed, one who was unwilling, and conceived a child—her nephew, Joey. The shock of that news had come on the heels of another revelation; that she and Cheryl Donovan were half-sisters.

They had the misfortune of having the same father.

Charles Montgomery was a monster. His miserable life was taken abruptly when he faced the sharp end of a knife, stealing his life's blood. Justice had been served. She would no longer have to endure the groping of the vile man in the middle of the night who had stole her innocence at such a tender age. Pity that her life should take a turn for the better only to spiral downward like a splinter of wood in a whirlpool a year later.

Craylen Wayne Rollins III, her husband-to-be.

Her mind traveled back to the night they shared the same bed, sealing their fate, the night she thought her vivid dreams seemed all too real. Her body reacted wantonly to the man in her honeyed dreams only to discover it wasn’t a fantasy at all, but a flesh and blood man—one who pulled the strings of her desire to a fevered pitch. Had it not been for the untimely arrival of her mother, her mother's maid, and his parents, she would have freely given herself to him.

A flush crawled up her skin, heating her face. Was she truly a product of her father's sins? Did she have no more control over herself than to give herself without regard to a man she never even met? She remembered little of the night that changed her life, much of it still remaining a cloudy haze.

Her last coherent thought before waking up beneath Craylen's ministrations was of her mother's maid, tucking her in for the night. Could Vanessa have made a vital mistake and placed her in the wrong room? More than likely she was correct in thinking her mother involved. It certainly wouldn't have been beneath Adelaine to see to it her daughter was in Mr. Rollins' bed when he had expected a whore. After all, the end result would be what Adelaine had sought all along. Ariel Montgomery would never become the wife of Tanner McCabe.

“Darling?” Her mother disrupted her musings. “Do you see we are almost there?”

Ariel's stomach settled to her knees at the pitch of excitement lacing her mother's words. Apprehension clawed at her already raw nerves, as she glanced out the window and spotted the depot slipping into sight. She was certainly in no hurry to see her future husband as she was sure he shared the same trepidation.

Upon leaving the hotel room in Bridgeport, he had made himself perfectly clear by saying, “You'll rue the day you decided to trap me into marriage.”

The wheels slowed their relentless clacking as they neared the bright red station. The train whistle blew, sending steam billowing from the large stack. Ariel gripped the wooden arms of the chair, whitening her knuckles, as the scenic view before her rolled to a slow stop and the whistle sounded once more.

A stout man poked his head through the door at the front of the car. A flat, pill-style cap topped his graying head. “Atlantic City, ladies. Mr. Rollins sent his coach for you. Said we're to help you with your trunks before taking back this car.”

“Taking back this car?” Ariel drew her eyebrows together.

“Yes, ma'am.” The short man nodded. “This here belongs to C.W. Rollins himself. He commissioned us to pick you up and deliver you into the hands of his son. Safe I might add. Can't be too careful these days.”

“Is Mr. Rollins' father here then?” Adelaine's tone rose in pitch.

“Sorry, ma'am. C.W. said he wouldn't be making this trip for another couple months, but I'm sure Mr. Rollins will fill you in when you arrive at his estate.” The man grinned. “You have to be relieved you're near the end of your long journey. His coachman is waiting for you outside the station. May I assist you?” He held out one thick elbow.

Adelaine, already bundled for the chill of the weather, stuck one gloved hand at the curve of his arm and allowed him to escort her to the waiting coach.

Alone now, Ariel spun around the elegant car, looking for a place to escape. The time had come, her life had ended, the decisions had been made, and there was nowhere to run.

With trembling fingers, she grasped her matching blue jacket trimmed with gold braid and slid each arm into the sleeves. Her fingers shook, barely allowing her to slip each button through its fastening. She bent to pick up her discarded muff now lying on the floor just as the man re-entered the car, causing her to jump.

“Forgive me, ma'am. Didn't mean to startle you.” The man's reddened cheeks clearly spoke of his embarrassment.

Ariel picked up her reticule and headed for the stout man, taking his offered elbow. “Don't be silly. I'm just a little jumpy today.”

“I can understand, meeting your future husband's staff and all.”

Ariel paused in her walking and glanced at him, coming eye to eye. She hadn't given a thought to Craylen having a staff other than like her mother who had a single maid. Of course, he was wealthy but...

“How many people does Mr. Rollins employ?”

“Excluding those who work for his father, I'd say about fifteen.” He placed a hand atop hers and began leading her to the coach.

“Fifteen?” she mumbled more to herself than to the gentleman beside her. Good Lord, what was she getting herself into?

“Yes, ma'am. But it isn't anything compared to the thirty or so C.W. has in his household staff.” The man beamed as though he prided himself on knowing the Rollins' business first-hand.

Rounding the corner of the depot, she received her answer on just how wealthy her future husband was. Before her sat an Eight-glass Coach complete with coachman decked in the latest livery, and a footman, dressed in the same fashion, who held open the door for her. Adelaine sat in the plush interior, grinning from ear to ear, as though she was quite pleased with herself. No wonder Craylen had disliked her so much. He thought she was out to steal his fortune.

Ariel released a groan and allowed herself to be assisted into the freshly oiled leather interior. The smell of lemons threatened to choke the life from her.

Several minutes later, the coach turned onto a long crushed shell driveway, leading to a large white, two-story house bedecked with gray shutters. There were many windows gracing the front, trimmed to match the entrance. A balcony with french doors sat above the main doorway also painted in the same fashion. The double-entrance doors beckoning all visitors were painted a scarlet red.

Blood red was more like it. She shuddered at the thought. Her blood. The roof, too, seemed to drip the color.

As the coach pulled around the circular drive in front, they were greeted by several servants standing on the six-pillared porch. Ariel noted most to be in their later years aside from one, a young girl, whom Ariel guessed to be about the same age as she. She stood to the side, nervously wringing her hands in the fabric of her gray skirt.

Ariel's gaze darted about, but she didn't catch sight of her future husband. She hadn't seen him in three months, not since the night sealing their fate, though she held little doubt she would recognize him. His imposing size and lion-like features made an unforgettable impression.

The door to the carriage opened and Adelaine alighted quickly, wasting no time. Ariel hesitated momentarily, then gave the footman her hand, allowing him to help her disembark.

She ran her hands over her blue street dress, attempting to smooth the wrinkles creasing her gown due to the long trip. Squaring her shoulders and straightening her Waterfall hat, she glanced at the front of the house, catching a glimpse of a moving curtain as it fluttered back into place.

“My God, man. She's beautiful.” Matt straightened his tied cravat. “You're dreading being married to that? Are you blind?”

“Isn't there something else you should be doing?” Cray grumbled, glancing out the window himself.

He wondered about his decision to go along with this little farce for the sake of his mother; she had been adamant about not ruining this poor girl's reputation. But what did he care? He certainly didn't give a hoot about his own. Seeing her again, though, had told him more than he cared to admit, a part of him almost wanted to make this little minx his own.

And Matt had been wrong. His future wife wasn’t just merely beautiful. Men dreamed about women like her. Her blonde hair tucked beneath a hat adorned with ribbons and roses then cascaded freely down her back. Even from his faraway view, she held him mesmerized by the summer-blue of her vibrant eyes. His lower abdomen tightened in response. Disgusted, he hastily dropped the curtain back into place.

“No, not really,” Matt responded, grinning foolishly. “You'll be happy to hear I cleared my schedule for the remainder of the day.”

“Oh, lucky me.” Cray shook his head, rolling his eyes as he slammed down the cover on his rolled-top desk.

“No need to get testy.” Matt pulled on his black jacket and checked his appearance in a long mirror hanging by the door. “You have the rest of your life to be alone with her.”

“By the looks of you, you'd think you were the one marrying her—which doesn't sound like a bad idea.” Cray ran a hand through his shoulder length hair, knowing how mussed he must appear.

“Oh, no you don't,” Matt chuckled, heading for the study's closed door. “You're the one who made the mistake of trying to bed her.”

“Don't remind me,” he grumbled, sighing heavily, not even bothering to check his appearance on his way out the door.

Ariel stepped past the servants, nodding her head in greeting as she passed them and walked into the foyer. An elderly butler stood static, holding one door open for her.

Lemon-scented polishing oil wafted to her nose as she noted the well-kept entryway. The wood-planked floor gleamed beneath the light cast from a low hanging five-candle chandelier.

A long-case clock sitting to the left of the door struck the hour, drawing her attention. Several gold-framed paintings lined the corridor. A potted fern sat twenty-five feet ahead on a wooden stand sporting six spindled legs beside a graceful cantilevered stairway. A floral carpet runner ran down the length of the stairs, secured by gleaming brass rods.

A coat tree stood beside a low-back sofa along one wall, while the opposite wall sported a tea table garnished with a gleaming silver tray, teapot, and cups.

Adelaine entered the room behind Ariel, gasping at the elegance. “Oh, my. What a home.”

“But then you already guessed that, didn't you, Mother.” Ariel stepped further into the room, allowing the valet to close the door behind them.

A door to her immediate right opened. Ariel swung about to meet her future husband, only to be caught off-guard by one of the most handsome men she had ever laid eyes on. One might even be tempted to use the word pretty to describe his face. His vivid-blue eyes twinkled with mischief. His glossy black hair fell to one side, partially shielding an eye from her view. His jaw was thin, almost pointed, but the arresting smile on his face caught her attention. His perfect white teeth flashed at her.

“Miss Montgomery.” He extended a hand.

She offered him her own hand, which he took, bringing it to his lips, and kissing the back. She fought the urge to pull it from his grasp. “Mister…I don't believe I caught your name.”

“Gilson,” he supplied, giving a slight bow. “Matthew Gilson at your service.”

The hairs at her nape rose unnaturally, causing her to glance beyond the elegant man before her. In the doorway, arms crossed over the broad expanse of his chest, stood the man who held her future in the palm of his hand. He leaned one shoulder against the frame of the door, his feet crossed at the ankle. His substance exuded such power she wondered if it were he who supported the frame of the door or the doorframe, which supported him.

His tawny-colored hair fell untamed about his collar. His white shirt lay unbuttoned to the second hole, revealing a portion of the crisp curls on his chest. Her eyes traveled to the waistband of his trousers, which accented his trim waist, making his upper body appear in the shape of a “V”. The trousers he wore sported crisp creases running down the front of his legs.

Her gaze quickly returned to his. Heat rose in her cheeks at being caught openly perusing him. Though he had detected her admiring his powerful form, it did little to rattle her stance. But the rancor she saw when their gazes locked, found her backing for the door.

“Miss Montgomery.” His deep voice boomed from somewhere within his colossal chest, stopping her from taking flight. He raised one yellow-brown eyebrow in challenge. “We meet again—though I wasn't sure I would recognize you with your clothes on.”

Ariel gasped. Her mother feigned a swoon. The doorman caught her beneath her armpits to keep her from falling to the floor. All smiles left their respective faces as each turned to glare at the man who stood unflinching from his position.

Ariel was the first to move. She traipsed around the well-dressed man and stood ramrod straight in front of the lion threatening to devour her.

“And you, sir, would do better to keep yours on.” She grasped the sides of her skirt, turning, and scanned the rows of gawking faces. Finding the one she sought, she mustered a smile, telling the young woman, “If you could show me to my room. It's been a long trip.”