The Paper Marriage. Bronwyn Williams

been nearly five months along when Robert had come home one day in a rage. “Guess where I’ve been, my dearest little wife.” Sarcasm was one of his favorite weapons.

      “I can’t imagine. At the club?” He reeked of strong drink, and it was barely past noon.

      “Right you are. I happened to meet the trust officer who handled your father’s estate. Would you care to explain yourself?” His eyes flashed dangerously in his pale, narrow face.

      She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “I—I’m afraid I don’t remember him very well. I believe he was in Switzerland when Mama and Papa—after they—”

      His control snapped. Waving a fist, he shouted, “Why did you lie to me? What in hell did you hope to gain?”

      “B-but I’ve never lied. Why would you think that?” She’d been truly mystified.

      “Oh, no? What about your trust fund, what about that?” By that time his face had been fiery red, spittle flying from his thin lips.

      “Robert, please don’t shout, I don’t think it’s good for the baby. I won’t be twenty-one until September, you know that.”

      “What good will your blasted brat do me, when there’s not a damn copper penny left to inherit? All that money, wasted! Blown away!”

      That was when she’d learned that he’d married her for the fortune he’d expected her to come into on her twenty-first birthday, insuring it with a son.

      “It’s gone, I tell you! Every single investment cashed in and wasted by your cheating scoundrel of a father!”