The Great Baby Caper (3 page)

Modestly he replied, “I’m a
management consultant and entrepreneur. I handle my family’s holdings in London, as well as a few companies I’ve managed to acquire or start up on my own.”

Courtney was impressed. “My, my.
You do sound like quite a catch.”

“The most eligible bachelor in the
French Quarter willing to marry you . . . by morning,” he quipped with a
devilish air.

“And you’ve really managed to stay
single?” she continued casually.

He sighed. “My family has a
suitable young lady picked out for me, and I suppose in time I’ll bow to the
pressure—queen and country, and all that.”

“Ah.”

He grinned. “But for tonight,
love, I’m yours.”

His words thrilled her so much
that suddenly, Courtney wished he was hers for much more than just tonight. In
the back of her mind somewhere, it nagged her a bit that he was being so
cooperative and had accepted her outlandish story so readily. But at the
moment, she knew she couldn’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Mark took out his wallet and laid
several bills down on the bar. “Shall we go, then? I mean, didn’t you say you
must bag your prize with all haste in order to win?”

“Precisely. My chauffeur is
waiting outside.”

“Good show.”

In true gentlemanly fashion, he
offered her his arm and escorted her out of the bar. As she had predicted, the
sleek silver limo sat at curbside. The chauffeur hopped out and opened the back
door for them. Mischief gleaming in his eyes, he glanced from Mark to Courtney.
“So you met with success, Ms. Kelly?”

“Yes.” She got in and watched Mark
slide in beside her. “Back to the hotel, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The chauffeur shut
the door.

She turned to Mark, feeling almost
shy. “You’ll let me buy you dinner afterward, to thank you for this?”

Now he teased her with a pained
look. “Allow? Well, if you insist. I’m sure it will be torture, but someone has
to do it.”

She playfully poked him in the
arm. “Oh, hush.”

“But I do have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Just what are you planning to
tell your boss about us—in order to convince him this isn’t just an act?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I
guess that we met in the French Quarter, and it was love at first sight.”

He frowned. “I’m still rather
afraid he might call your bluff and insist we marry.”

She couldn’t resist teasing, “And
you’re saving yourself for the girl back in England, right?”

“Something like that.”

Though the prospect was daunting,
she responded with bravado. “I wouldn’t worry too much about our being forced
into matrimony on the spot. Besides, doesn’t a marriage take time, a license
and blood tests, all that?”

He scratched his jaw. “True. So
you just might pull it off. Only, there’s one aspect that might be hard to
pretend about.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

He stared straight into her eyes,
and all at once the mood changed from one of playfulness to one of breathless
anticipation. “Don’t you think it will be difficult for us to pretend to be in
love unless there’s some spark of chemistry between us?”

Courtney gulped, his gaze, his
words, searing her with unexpected sexual heat. “Well . . . I hadn’t thought of
that.”

“Wouldn’t your boss expect us to
be lovey dovey, to hug and kiss and whatnot?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,
either.”

He took her hand, raised it to his
mouth and slowly, gallantly kissed it. “Well, you’d best think, Courtney. For
me personally, it would be difficult to simply pretend consuming passion for a
woman I hardly know.”

His words made a certain sense,
provocative though they were, and she was already feeling hot from the touch of
his lips on the back of her hand. “Then what are you suggesting?”

A hint of roguishness gleamed in
his eyes. “I think we must share a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

At once he grew utterly solemn.
“You know, strictly in the name of gamesmanship, to make our pretense
believable.”

He had a point—a valid
one—Courtney had to admit it. And he made his argument with the charm of a
master.

Who was she kidding? This man was
sexy as hell, and he wanted to kiss her—not just her hand, but her mouth. A
brigade of bulldozers couldn’t stop her from accepting his offer.

“Well, okay,” she conceded
demurely, raising her face toward his. “I guess one kiss wouldn’t hurt.”

For a moment he regarded her with
wry humor. Then, smiling tenderly, he leaned over and pressed his mouth to
hers. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, and never would Courtney have expected her
world to be so rocked by it. But jolted she was. As his lips held hers and the
heat of his breath seared her mouth, a current of sexual need warmed her
midsection, then arced treacherously lower. She gasped against his mouth, and
felt his strong arms move to envelop her. The protectiveness of his gesture
further melted her. For a preppie Brit, this man certainly knew how to kiss.
When his hot tongue just teased the contours of her lips, she went light-headed
and could feel her insides melting.

“Well?” he asked a moment later.

“I—I think we’ll be believable,”
she managed huskily.

He nuzzled his mouth against her
flushed cheek. “Do you, love? I personally think we could use a bit more
practice.”

“Sure,” Courtney replied
recklessly, shocking herself to the core. Then she stunned herself even more
when she kissed
him
this time.

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As Mark opened the hotel door for
her, Courtney flashed him a giddy little smile. Goodness, this man was some charmer.
Pretending to be attracted to him was no longer—well, a
pretense
.

Once both were inside the glittery
lobby with its posh rugs and gleaming crystal chandeliers, he glanced about.
“Which way?”

Courtney pointed ahead. “The
Pelican Ballroom.”

Nodding, Mark took her arm and
ushered her onward. Courtney couldn’t believe her good fortune. Although Mark
had insisted on some kisses in the limo, he’d been clever and charming about
it, unlike the previous boors with their crude come-ons. By contrast, he seemed
a prince in every way. To be frank, she hadn’t minded that intimate interlude
at all. In fact, she’d enjoyed it tremendously, doubtless the reason she’d
rashly kissed him back, in defiance of her usual reserve.

Inside the vast room with its
massive chandeliers and elegant murals depicting shorebirds, people milled
about in small clumps. Courtney scanned the room, relieved to spot neither
Gideon, Gilchrist, nor Getz present. Good—she was the first back with her
haul—and what a haul.

Her eyes settled on the chairman,
who stood across the room chatting with two elderly male board members. She
tugged on Mark’s hand. “There he is.”

Mark scowled at M. Billingham. “So
that’s the old tyrant.”

“M. Billingham Bootle in the
flesh. Come along.”

As they stepped up to the group,
M. Billingham turned to eye Mark and Courtney with amusement and interest.
“Well, what have we here, Courtney?”

Proudly, she proclaimed, “What you
have here, sir, is the winner of your scavenger hunt—and the promotion. Mr. M.
Billingham Bootle, meet my—er, my fiancé, Mr. Mark Wiggleshaft.”

Amid chuckles from the two board
members, M. Billingham raised an eyebrow in amazement, then offered Mark his
hand. “Mr.—er—Wiggleshaft. Such an interesting name.”

Mark firmly shook the older man’s
hand. “Mr. Bootle. I must say I find yours equally quaint.”

With a twinkle in his eyes, M.
Billingham murmured, “So, it appears you’ve swept fair Courtney off her feet,
young man.”

“Hardly an easy task, but I
somehow managed,” Mark modestly replied, wrapping an arm around Courtney’s
waist. “Isn’t it true, darling?”

“Of course,” Courtney gushed back.
She turned to M. Billingham. “Mark literally carried me away. Now all that
remains is for you to declare me the victor.”

But a frown brought M.
Billingham’s bushy white brows rushing together. “Not so fast, my dear. You
were ordered to find an eligible bachelor. I surmise from his accent that this
young man is a Brit, which speaks well of him, of course. I’m always proud to
meet one of my countrymen.” With a bemused glance toward Mark, he finished,
“However, is he otherwise worthy of you?”

“Oh, definitely,” Courtney spouted
back.

“I do feel I’d past muster with
Dunn and Bradstreet,” Mark wryly remarked.

“Furthermore, you of all people
should approve,” Courtney went on to M. Billingham. “Mark’s from an old,
moneyed British family, and he’s also an entrepreneur in his own right.”

M. Billingham regarded Mark with
interest. “An entrepreneur, are you, Mr. Wiggleshaft? And what might be your
field of specialty?”

“I own a number of retail and
Internet enterprises based in the U.K.,” Mark replied.

A look of pleasant surprise
flitted over the old man’s features. “I am impressed indeed. So, you are
well-fixed and of good stock. An eligible candidate, I must say. But tell me,
are you willing to commit to our fair Courtney for the rest of your life?”

Even as the chairman’s question
washed Courtney with unease, Mark gave Courtney a quick squeeze and gallantly
replied, “Absolutely, sir. I’m hers.”

Courtney flashed both men a frozen
smile.

M. Billingham clapped his hands.
“Splendid, then. Well, Courtney, I’m prepared to declare you the winner—just as
soon as we dispense with one small formality.”

Courtney felt a sudden sinking
sensation in the pit of her stomach. “What?”

“Just a quick trip to the airport,
so we may all hop the corporate jet to Vegas for the wedding,” came the
all-too-casual reply.

“The—er, what?” Gasping, Courtney
exchanged a mystified glance with Mark, then turned back to the grinning
chairman. “W-wedding? Why, I’ve only just met this man!”

M. Billingham scowled. “Did you
not take seriously your assigned task in the scavenger hunt?”

“Well, I . . .” Floundering,
Courtney stammered, “Of course I did, but . . . I thought, well, I mean I
assumed I’d have some time, time to get to know this man better—”

“Time to wiggle out of your
commitment with Mr. Wiggleshaft here?” M. Billingham quipped cynically. “No
dice, Courtney. If you want the promotion, you must comply with my terms—
exactly
—which
means you must marry this chap before morning.”

“Before morning?” Now Courtney was
suffering full-fledged panic, and a look at Mark’s face revealed that he too
had gone pale. “But that’s preposterous! You can’t expect me to actually marry
a complete stranger—”

“And I thought you said it was
love at first sight,” M. Billingham scolded. “Were you trying to trick me,
Courtney?”

“No, but you were obviously trying
to trick me.”

“Trick? I put my all cards on the
table and made my terms crystal clear.”

“Well, your terms are terrorist
tactics.”

Now Mark intervened. “Sir, I agree
with Courtney. I do think you are rushing matters a trifle.”

M. Billingham shot him a glower.
“We hardly need input from the groom here. You, sir, are but a technicality—”

“A
technicality
?” Mark
repeated irately.

“And see that you remember your
place. As for you, Ms. Kelly . . .” M. Billingham swung about to Courtney.
“Kindly make up your mind. My patience is not limitless. In fact . . .” With a
superior air, he gestured toward the doors of the ballroom, where a crowd was
gathering. “It appears your competition is close on your heels. Pardon me,
please.”

“Pardon you?” With mouth hanging
open, Courtney watched the chairman calmly stride away. “Can you believe this?”
she whispered to Mark. “He’s actually insisting we fly right off to Vegas to be
married.”

He nodded grimly. “Yes, I was
afraid something like this might happen. Didn’t I warn you?”

“Yes, you did, but I never dreamed
. . .”

Mark scratched his jaw. “I don’t
suppose we could just indulge the old psychopath, fly to Vegas and marry, then
get a quickie annulment?”

Courtney was horrified. “Are you
joking? The way he’s going at it, he’ll likely demand a . . . well, a ringside
seat at our wedding night.”

He actually blushed. “Ah, you have
a point, my dear.”

Craning her neck to view the
activity near the door, she added, “And damn, now it looks as though my
illustrious competitors are returning with their haul. Come on.”

Before he could protest, she
grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the others. Virtually all the
convention-goers had now gathered near the door, and the sounds of laughter and
snickers filled the air. As Mark and Courtney broke through the wall of people,
she discovered the source of everyone’s amusement. At the center of the crowd
stood the chairman, and next to him a grinning Gilchrist and his companion, a
skimpily clad, heavily made up female dancer with a live boa constrictor
dangling around her neck!

Even as Courtney struggled to
absorb this astounding scene, Al Gideon marched into the ballroom, escorting a
large African American woman wearing a turban, along with brilliantly patterned
skirt and scarves. In short order he was followed by a limping, grimacing Gil
Getz, in tandem with a short, wiry man who mouthed blasphemies in French while
tugging along a small alligator on a leash! As the obviously irritable creature
snapped at several onlookers, the crowd began to scatter.

“My Lord, can you believe what
we’re seeing?” Courtney muttered to Mark.

“I’m stunned,” he responded. “And
I think you work for a gaggle of lunatics.”

“No kidding. Let’s get a closer
look.”

He touched her arm. “Yes, but mind
the ’gator, love.”

She rolled her eyes.

They arrived in the center of the
crowd just as Gilchrist was addressing the chairman. “Sir, in compliance with
my order to bring back an exotic dancer with a snake, may I present Miss Cuckoo
La Clerque and her dance partner, Barry the Boa Constrictor.”

While laughter erupted all around
them, Cuckoo grinned at the chairman and undulated her bosom, shaking the snake
as well as her well-endowed breasts. “You want I put the moves on you, honey?”
she teased M. Billingham.

Amid more merriment, the chairman
grinned. “Charmed, I’m sure, Ms. La Clerque, but I’ll take a rain check. Well
done, Gilchrist, but I’m afraid Ms. Kelly may have already beaten you to the
punch by bringing back her assigned eligible bachelor.” He gestured toward
Mark.

With a quick glance toward the
couple, Gilchrist glowered. “Damn. You mean I had to go to all this trouble,
and she just had to pick up some guy?”

“Not just any guy, as you’ll soon
see,” M. Billingham quipped back. “Although you may still win against Ms. Kelly
by default as she’s not yet fulfilled all the terms of her assignment.”

Gilchrist brightened. “Really,
sir?”

M. Billingham flashed a superior
smile toward Courtney. “Yes, Ms. Kelly seems to have a small problem with
follow-through . . . or perhaps commitment.”

Courtney shot him a nasty look.

M. Billingham took no note,
turning instead to Gideon. “Well, Alfred, who have you there?”

Gideon gestured toward the large
woman with cocoa-colored skin and noble features, who stood with chin thrust
high, scowling magnificently at the others. “Sir, as you know, I was ordered to
bring back a voodoo priestess to perform a spell to rid the company of evil
spirits. Thus I present Mamma St. Mambo, the most respected practitioner of
black magic in the Big Easy.”

M. Billingham nodded to the woman.
“Madame St. Mambo.”

“M’sieur,” she responded archly.

“And is she ready to perform her
incantation?” M. Billingham inquired.

“Absolutely. Tell him, Mamma.”

She drew herself up. “I ready to
throw the bones,
cher
.” Retrieving a small bundle from her pocket, she
knelt, threw out a handful of sinister-looking bones and feathers, then stood
and began to chant, dance, and wave her arms. Several onlookers shrank away,
while others watched in wide-eyed fascination.

Shaking his head at the
demonstration, M. Billingham turned to Getz. “Well, Gilbert, it looks as if
you’ve complied as well, even if you are a day late and a dollar short.”

Wearing a frown of supreme
frustration, Getz hobbled forward, followed by the still-cursing man tugging
along the ill-tempered alligator, which again scattered bystanders in its wake.
“Sir, may I present Hal the Alligator and his handler, Gabe the Cajun. You’ve
no idea of the trouble I went to find these two. Why, I had to visit a carnival
out in Kenner. Then the damn lizard nipped me on the ankle, and afterward he
made a dreadful mess in the taxi—”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’ve been
thoroughly abused,” M. Billingham interjected patiently.

Struggling with the gator, the
wiry little handler spoke up in a thick Cajun twang. “Sir, Hal, he don’ like
these folks.”

Grimacing as the animal snapped at
him, M. Billingham replied, “Never fear, we don’t like him, either.” Clapping
his hands, he turned back to Courtney. “Well, Ms. Kelly? As you can see, your
competition has made a formidable showing. Are you prepared to fulfill your end
of the bargain, or default to Gideon here—that is, Gilchrist?”

Absorbing so many eyes focused on
her, Courtney was feeling desperate. She glanced at Mark and caught his look of
keen compassion. Swallowing her pride, she decided to try pleading. “Mr.
Bootle, please. It’s utterly absurd for you to expect me to marry this man in
order to get the promotion.”

“She has to marry him?” Gilchrist
gasped to Gideon.

“Wow, didn’t we get off easy?”
answered Gideon, fanning his flushed face with his hand.

Mark spoke up again. “Yes, sir, I
think you’re taking this matter a bit beyond the pale.”

M. Billingham turned on Mark. “I
said, sir, that we don’t need any comment from you.”

Mark was clearly indignant too, a
vein jumping in his temple as he strode aggressively toward M. Billingham.
“Well, I have every right to comment, and furthermore, you are going to listen
to reason, sir.”

“Why should I listen to you?” M.
Billingham sneered.

“Because I say so, Grandfather!”
Mark shouted back.

As a gasp rippled over those
assembled, Courtney was left reeling. She turned wide-eyed to Mark. “
Grandfather
?”

He offered her a sheepish grin.
“Ooops, it just slipped out.”

Courtney could not believe what
she was hearing. “Ooops? He’s your grandfather, and all you can say is ‘Ooops,
it slipped out’?”

“Sorry, love, I forgot to mention it.”

“My God!” Appalled, Courtney
whirled on the chairman. “You two are related?”

The chairman burst out laughing.
“Indeed we are. You didn’t really think I’d expect you to marry an utter
stranger, did you, Courtney? For a smart girl, you’ve been a bit slow catching
on here, haven’t you? And you must admit I’ve found a most clever way to pair
you up with my grandson—and get you to marry him.”

Courtney could only stare from the
chairman’s triumphant face to Mark’s suddenly guilt-stricken visage. She was so
caught off-guard and confused, it took a long, agonizing moment for everything
to sink in. When it did, the emotional impact was devastating. Glancing
mortified from Mark to M. Billingham, she demanded, “You mean this whole thing
was a set-up, a practical joke?”