If Erik, here, was any indication, the eccentricity thing was no rumor at all.
Still, from all accounts the Randolphs were harmless. They were, in fact, gregarious, magnanimous people, known throughout several states for their wealth, their prominence, their numerous and varied social causes and their limitless philanthropy. But never had she heard anyone refer to any of the Randolphs as psychotic, crazed or homicidal. Which, naturally, was quite a relief.
Nevertheless, she still felt a bit cautious as she extended her own hand and shook his. Then he grinned as he gripped her fingers firmly—but not homicidally or maniacally—and Jayne relaxed.
“Mr. Randolph,” she said, feeling glad that she had hesitated setting off the alarm. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she added, uncertain what else to say. After all, she couldn’t very well tell him she accepted his proposal, could she? As an afterthought she added, “I’ve heard so much about you.”
He nodded amiably, as if he was in no way surprised to hear her say this. “All good things, I hope.”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “From all reports, you’re quite the charmer.” And also quite the odd duck, she added to herself.
“Well then, you have me at a disadvantage,” he told her, still smiling, still relaxing her. “Because I’m afraid I know little about you. Other than the fact that you, too, appear to be quite charming. And that you are in need of a wealthy husband. Which,” he hurried on before she had a chance to contradict him, “works out perfectly, because I, in addition to being wealthy, am in need of a wife.”
Oh, dear, Jayne thought. They were back to that, were they? Very diplomatically she said, “Well, I wish you luck in your search, and I’ll be happy to assist you in finding the perfect ring to present to your fiancée. But I couldn’t possibly accept your offer myself.” She smiled, too, what she hoped was a kind—and in no way homicidal-mania-provoking, just in case—smile. “Even if I know of you, I don’t know you. So I really couldn’t accept your proposal. Not that I’m not flattered,” she hastened to add for good measure. “Now about that ring,” she hurried on further. “Personally, I think the square-cut diamonds are just so lovely, especially in the white-gold setting, and very—”
But Erik Randolph was not to be dissuaded that easily. “No, no, no,” he interrupted her gently. “You don’t understand. It isn’t necessary for my wife to know me.”
Jayne arched her brows curiously. Eccentric, she thought, really wasn’t an accurate word for Erik Randolph. No, she was beginning to think the term delusional might better describe him. “Oh?” she said.
He nodded knowingly. “The marriage will be in name only,” he told her. “Oh, certainly, we’ll have to live together, to fulfill the terms of the agreement, but that won’t be a problem.”
Wondering what it was that made her prolong this discussion, Jayne nevertheless asked, “Um, no?”
“Certainly not.”
Well, naturally, a man would think that way, she thought. Especially a delusional—oops, she meant eccentric, of course—man like Erik Randolph. But Jayne kept the observation to herself and, in an effort to conclude this part of their dialogue and move on to the next, said instead, “Well, I’m sure you’ll find the right woman soon. Now then, we have a very good selection of square-cut solitaires that you might find—”
Before she had a chance to direct his attention to the jewelry showcase, however, Erik interrupted her again. “Oh, I believe I’ve already found the right woman,” he said.
Oh, Jayne didn’t think so. She met his gaze again—really, he did have the most beautiful brown eyes, thickly lashed and so dark she could scarcely see where the irises ended and the pupils began and…and…and…
And what was it they had been talking about? she wondered vaguely. Oh, yes. He had asked her to marry him, and she was trying to explain why she couldn’t.
It was all coming back to her now.
“Yes, well, as I said,” she tried again, “I’m very flattered that you would ask, Mr. Randolph, but I really can’t marry you. Truly, I can’t. I’m afraid I decided a long time ago that before I married a man, I wanted to, well, know him. And being in love with him would be even more helpful. But thank you, anyway. Now about that ring for your intended, whoever she might turn out to be…”
Jayne tried once more to turn his attention to the array of sparkling diamond rings that lay in the glass case between them. But Erik Randolph would have none of it. Instead of focusing his attention on the exquisite gems, he eyed Jayne with much consideration and interest.
“You don’t think I’m serious, do you?” he asked.
Actually, Jayne suspected he was serious. Which was entirely the problem. Aloud, however, she only said, “Well, can you blame me?”
“I suppose it does make sense that you would draw such a conclusion,” he conceded. “How often do strangers come in from the street and propose marriage, right?”
“I think I can safely say that you’re my first.”
For some reason, he smiled very suggestively at that. Then, “Well, I assure you, Jayne Pembroke, that I am completely serious. I want you to marry me.”
“You fell in love with me at first sight, is that it?” she asked playfully.
“Don’t be silly,” he countered. “I don’t even know you.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, I don’t believe in love at first sight. Or any sight, for that matter.” Before Jayne could comment on that—not that she had any idea what to say—he continued, “As I said, the marriage I’m proposing would be in name only. A marriage of convenience, if you will. I’ll be turning thirty soon. And my grandfather, a lovable old rogue, I assure you, decided a long time ago that I should be married by the time I turn thirty. In fact, he’s blackmailing me into it.”
“Can’t you talk to him? Explain that you don’t want to get married?”
“No,” Erik said. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He’s dead, you see.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Erik Randolph looked genuinely bereft as he said, “I am, too. But he was a lovable old rogue, as I said, and I do believe he only wanted what he thought was best for me.”
“And what did he think was best for you?”
“The love of a good woman,” Erik replied promptly.
“Oh,” Jayne said, smiling in spite of the strange situation. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”
“And also one-third of his $180 million-dollar estate,” Erik added, in as matter-of-fact a tone as Jayne had ever heard.
Then his words hit her, and her mouth dropped open slightly, an incredulous little gasp of air escaping. “One-third of…of…of…”
“Sixty million dollars is what it boils down to.” Erik did the math for her, in that same matter-of-fact tone, by golly, when Jayne wasn’t quite able to calculate—or enunciate—the amount herself.
“Well,” she finally got out. “Well. Well, gee. Well, that’s pretty doggone good,” she conceded with much understatement.
Erik nodded, apparently oblivious to her complete astonishment, as if everyone came into $60 million because their lovable rogue of a grandfather willed it to them. “Unfortunately,” he said, “Grandfather Randolph insisted