Kitabı oku: «The Mighty Quinns: Sean», sayfa 2

1

SEAN QUINN sat slumped in the front seat of his battered Ford sedan. He’d found a parking space right down the street from the three-flat located in one of Cambridge’s trendy neighborhoods, and he’d been watching the front door for almost two hours.

The case had come to him in a roundabout way, through a colleague he’d met while sitting in a bar one night. Bert Hinshaw was a hard-drinking, woman-chasing, sixty-year-old private investigator, a guy who had seen his share of crazy cases over the years. They had talked for hours, Sean learning from Bert’s experience and Bert grateful to have someone to listen to his tales. A friendship developed and they now met regularly to chat—Bert doing most of the talking and Sean taking mental notes.

But health problems had slowed Bert down, and every now and then he threw a case Sean’s way. Sean had been on this referral for nearly two weeks, hired by a wealthy woman who had been romanced, married, then bilked out of a fortune by Eddie “The Cruiser” Perkins aka Edward Naughton Smyth aka Eddie the Weasel and about six or seven other aliases.

This case had been by far the most lucrative he’d ever taken, even better than the Intertel Bank case he’d had a few months ago. He was making some real money, a guaranteed rate of nearly four hundred dollars a day.

Eddie, a notorious con man and bigamist, had left a trail of broken hearts and empty bank accounts across the country. The FBI had been after him for years. A bail bondsman from Maryland had been on his tail since Eddie had jumped bail in Baltimore. But Sean had been the one to track him down when Eddie’s seventh wife had heard that he was in the Boston area. She had hired Sean to find him and to turn him over to the FBI, so she might exact her own retribution at a trial.

Sean glanced at his watch. On Saturdays, Eddie usually didn’t get out of bed before three in the afternoon. And last night had been a late one. He’d spent the evening with one of his five current lady friends, a wealthy divorcée with a Bentley and a pricey house in Back Bay. Sean had decided that the time was right to move in and had called the FBI. The agent in charge had assured Sean that he’d have two men to the flat within the hour.

“Come on, come on,” he murmured, staring out at the sideview mirror for a nondescript sedan.

It amazed him that a guy like Eddie could convince nine intelligent women from across the country to marry him and then entrust their money to him. He had to admire a guy that smooth. Not that Sean had any problems attracting women. He was a Quinn and there was something in the genes that made the Quinn brothers irresistible to the opposite sex. But, unlike his brothers, he’d never had an easy time talking to women. He just couldn’t think of anything witty or charming to say, nothing to keep them amused—beyond his talents in the bedroom.

Things hadn’t changed a whole lot since he was a kid. Brian was still the outgoing twin and Sean stood in the background—observing, evaluating. His brothers teased him that his aloofness was exactly what made him irresistible to women. The less interest he showed, the more fascinated they became.

But he knew what all those girls really wanted—great sex and a future he wasn’t prepared to give them. He recognized their need to own him, to trap him into marriage, and he always made his escape before he got caught. Quinns weren’t supposed to fall in love. And though that no longer applied to his five brothers, Sean had no intention of making the same mistakes they had.

A gray four-door sedan slowly cruised past his car and he sat up. “It’s about time,” he muttered.

He stepped out of the car and a few seconds later two agents, dressed in dark suits and sporting government-issue sunglasses, approached. “You Quinn?” one of them asked. “I’m Randolph. This is Atkins. FBI.”

“What took you so long? Did you have to stop for doughnuts?” Sean muttered.

“We were out catching some real bad guys,” Atkins said, his disdain apparent.

Sean held up his hands in mock surrender. “If you’re not interested, I can call the bail bondsman. He’ll come up from Baltimore, they’ll haul Eddie back there. Your Baltimore guys can have the collar.”

Sean knew the uneasy relationship between the Feds and bounty hunters. If they could make the arrest without too much bother, they preferred to take it rather than risk the embarrassment of being outwitted by amateurs. Either way, Sean was in for a nice finder’s fee from the bail bondsman. He wasn’t about to give that up.

“So what apartment is he in?” Atkins asked.

Sean gestured to the building. “He’s a creature of habit. On Saturdays, he leaves at precisely 3:00 p.m. Gets a cappuccino at the coffee shop down the street, buys the Racing News at the newsstand, calls his bookie on a pay phone. A little shopping, dinner around seven, then he heads out for the night.”

“How long have you been watching this guy?”

“Two weeks,” Sean said, his gaze returning to the front door of the building. He watched the door open and couldn’t help but smile when Eddie stepped out—right on schedule—dressed in a tailored sport coat and perfectly pressed trousers. Though he was in his mid-forties, Eddie made a point to stay in shape. He could easily pass for a man ten years younger. He carried a leather overnight bag, an ominous sign for a guy like Eddie. Was he preparing to run? “That’s him,” Sean murmured.

Atkins looked at his watch. “Two fifty-five. I guess you don’t know your guy as well as you thought you did.” He stepped into the street and Randolph followed. “We’ll take him. You stay here.”

“The hell I will,” Sean muttered. “If he bolts, I want to be close enough to catch him.”

They were halfway across the street when Eddie saw them. Sean knew before the agents did that he was going to run. Sean could see it in that split second when their eyes met. It was that knowledge that gave him a jump on the agents. Before they could even shout, Sean took off after Eddie. He caught up to him halfway down the block, grabbing him around the waist and wrestling him to the ground.

By the time Randolph and Atkins reached them both, Sean had Eddie pinned, his hands twisted behind his back. Atkins cuffed Eddie, then yanked him to his feet. “There are a whole bunch of ladies anxious to see you again, Eddie,” the agent said.

“Wait, wait,” Eddie said. “You can’t take me now!”

Randolph laughed. “You want us to come back later? Yeah, right, we’ll do that. In fact, why don’t you just call us when you’re ready to turn yourself in?” He shoved Eddie toward the car, but Eddie stopped and turned back to Sean.

“Hey! Hey, buddy!” he shouted. “Come here.”

Sean glanced at the two agents and they both shrugged. “What do you want?” he asked.

“You gotta help me out. It’s really important.” He tried to reach into his pants’ pocket, but the agents grabbed him. Atkins pulled out a wad of bills secured in a fancy money clip. “Give the guy fifty,” Eddie said. “No, make it one hundred.”

The agent handed Sean two fifties. “What’s this for?” Sean asked.

“I want you to go over to 634 Milholme Street and tell Laurel Rand what happened.”

“You’ll get a phone call,” Sean said. “You call her.” He pushed the money back at him.

“No, I can’t. By then it will be too late. You gotta do this for me. Tell her I’m real sorry. Tell her I really loved her.”

Sean stared down at the money. He should refuse, but every dollar in his pocket was one more dollar toward a real office and maybe even a real secretary. One hundred dollars would pay the electric bill for a few months. Why not take a few minutes and run a simple errand? “All right. You want me to tell her you were arrested?”

Eddie nodded.

“You want me to tell her why?”

“You might as well. Once she learns the truth, she isn’t going to want to talk to me again. But tell her I really did love her. She was the one.”

“Yeah, Eddie,” Agent Randolph muttered. “I’m sure that’s what you tell all the ladies. Do you say that before or after you pick their bank accounts clean?”

“I loved them all,” Eddie said. “I just have this compulsion. I keep asking them and they keep saying yes. That’s their fault, not mine!”

“Let’s go.” Agent Randolph dragged Eddie away by the arm.

“Remember, you promised,” Eddie shouted at Sean. “I’m counting on you.”

The agents pushed Eddie into the back of the sedan, then roared off down the street. Sean glanced at his watch again. It wouldn’t take him more than a half hour to deliver the message. After that, he’d head back to his apartment, type out a final invoice and get it in the mail. By next week, he could have his money, and the week after that, he could start looking for a small office. There was still advertising and office equipment to think about, of course. And he’d need a phone and an answering service and a beeper. If he was going to build a successful business, he’d have to start dressing for success, too—like suits and maybe a tie or two.

He strolled over to his car. “Milholme Street,” he murmured. “This should be fun.”

Milholme was only a few miles from Eddie’s place. Sean squinted against the midday sun, pulling his sunglasses down to read the numbers on the homes along the wide boulevard. But when he reached the address Eddie had given him, he discovered it wasn’t an apartment or a business, but a church.

He pulled the car into a spot on the street. Parked near the front of the church was a long limo with a Just Married sign pasted to the back. “What the hell is this?” Suddenly he regretted saying yes to Eddie. The last thing he wanted to was to tell some woman that she was going to be dateless for the wedding festivities.

Sean noticed several single women standing in front of the church, dressed in their Saturday-afternoon finery. One of them had to be Laurel Rand. He jogged across the street and approached the first woman he met. “I’m looking for Laurel Rand,” he said.

“She’s inside,” the pretty guest replied.

Sean nodded, then took the steps two at a time. The sooner he took care of this responsibility, the sooner he could get over to Quinn’s Pub and celebrate the successful closing of a case. He found a bridesmaid just inside the doors, clutching a bouquet of flowers in her hands. “Laurel Rand?” he asked.

“She’s down that hallway,” the bridesmaid said, pointing to the left. “Last door on the right. Are you the photographer?”

Sean frowned at the girl before he headed down the hall. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he knocked on the door. But when a woman dressed in a bridal gown opened it, he knew taking the money from Eddie had been a colossal mistake. He’d just been thrown to the lions and he was wearing sirloin shorts. “Laurel Rand?”

“Yes?”

Sean swallowed hard as her gaze met his. He recognized her as one of the women he’d seen with Eddie over the past few weeks. But he’d never realized how beautiful she was. She looked like a angel, all pale and perfect, dressed in white. He had to clench his fingers just to keep from reaching out and touching her. Her wavy blond hair was pulled back from her face and tucked beneath a veil, but a tiny strand had slipped loose, the only distraction from absolute perfection.

Her dress rustled, startling him back to reality. “You’re Laurel Rand?” Sean repeated, all the time praying that Laurel Rand was somewhere else inside the room, maybe arranging the flowers or polishing the bride’s shoes.

“Yes,” she said. “Are you the photographer? You were supposed to be here an hour before the wedding.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, then pulled him into the room. Her touch was warm and caused an unbidden reaction. “We only have thirty minutes before the ceremony is supposed to begin. How are we going to get all the shots I wanted? Where is your equipment?”

“I—I’m not the photographer.”

She let go of his hand. “Who are you? And why are you interrupting me? Can’t you see I’m the bride? You’re not supposed to make me nervous,” she babbled. “I’m supposed to be calm. Don’t I look calm?”

He fought the temptation to grab her hand again, to hold on tight while he gave her the news. “You…you look—” Sean took a deep breath, searching for a word to adequately describe her. “Beautiful. Stunning. Actually…I’d say…breathtaking.” For a guy who had trouble talking to women, he certainly wasn’t having any trouble now.

A tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.”

Sean wanted to turn and run, content to keep the memory of Laurel Rand in his head just as she was when she smiled. To hell with Eddie. He was a bigamist, nine times over. But still, some inborn instinct to protect her from humiliation kicked in. “Can we talk?” he asked, reaching out to take her by the elbow, anxious for any excuse to touch her again.

“Talk?”

He shut the door, then gently steered her toward a chair, just in case she decided to faint. “Who are you marrying today?”

She stared at him for a long moment with a confused expression. “I—I’m marrying Edward Garland Wilson. But you should know that, if you received an invitation to the wedding.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Are you crashing my wedding? Who are you?”

“Just one more question,” Sean said. “Is your groom about six-one, dark hair, graying at the temples?”

“Yes,” Laurel said. “Are you a friend of Edward?”

“Not exactly. But he did send me here to give you a message,” Sean said.

Her expression brightened. “He did? Oh, that’s very sweet. But he could have come himself. I don’t care about those silly superstitions about seeing the bride before the ceremony. What’s the message?”

Sean cursed silently. Jeez, why had he agreed to do this? He should just turn around and get the hell out of Dodge. He didn’t need to break this woman’s heart. And he certainly didn’t want to see her cry. But he suspected there was no way he’d get out of the room without doing both.

He took a deep breath and gathered his resolve. “Edward won’t be coming to the wedding.”

LAUREL STARED at the handsome stranger, unable to comprehend what he was saying. “Is this some stupid joke?” she asked. Sure, it might be fun to tease the bride on her wedding day, but this was downright cruel. Didn’t she have enough to worry about?

“I’m afraid it isn’t,” the man replied. “Eddie gave me a hundred dollars to come over and tell you personally.”

“No,” Laurel said, shaking her head, panic quickly setting in. “This can’t be happening. I have to get married today. There are guests and bridesmaids. I spent two months picking out the music. He cannot get cold feet thirty minutes before we walk down the aisle!” Laurel pushed past the stranger. “Where is he? I want to talk to him.” She cursed beneath her breath as she headed to the door. They had an agreement! And he wasn’t allowed to back out, especially at the last minute.

He grabbed her hand as she brushed past him, his touch firm and sure. “He’s not here. And you can’t talk to him.”

“Why not?” she demanded as she yanked out of his grasp.

“Because he’s on his way to jail,” he said.

Laurel spun around and faced him. “Who are you? And why are you here?”

“I told you. Eddie sent me. My name is Sean Quinn. I’m a private investigator. And I’m…” He paused. “I’m the one who sent your groom to jail.”

She gasped. “Jail? You sent Edward to jail?” She wasn’t sure what possessed her at the moment. Maybe it was all the stress of the last few months—planning the wedding, making sure everything was perfect, finally finding a suitable man who wanted to marry her. Laurel didn’t expect a fairy-tale wedding, but she didn’t expect this nightmare, either! She balled her fingers into a fist, cursed beneath her breath, and punched Sean Quinn squarely in the stomach.

The punch caught him by surprise and the air left his lungs in a loud whoosh. For a moment he didn’t breathe. He just looked at her with shock. Then he took a ragged breath. “Nice punch,” he said. “I—I guess I deserved that.” He slowly straightened. “But I expected a few tears, not a right jab.” He cleared his throat. “I think after I explain, you might feel a little better.”

She leveled a withering gaze at him. “The only thing that will make me feel better, Mr. Quinn, is if you disappear into thin air and Edward appears in your place.”

“That’s not going to happen. Your fiancé isn’t who he pretends to be. His real name is Eddie ‘The Cruiser’ Perkins. He’s a con man and he’s wanted in eight states.”

“You must be mistaken. Edward is from a very good family in West Palm Beach. They’re in international banking and investments. I met his parents.”

“They were probably actors he hired,” Sean said. “That’s his modus operandi, according to his sheet. He’s very good at what he does. You shouldn’t feel bad for being duped.”

“Duped?” Laurel said.

Sean Quinn gave her a weak smile. “I—I didn’t mean duped. I—I’m not saying that you’re stupid.”

“Stupid?” She felt an edge of hysteria creep into her voice and she fought the urge to punch him again. “You think I’m stupid?”

“No,” Sean countered. “Not at all. I think you’re—”

“Naive? Trusting? Gullible?”

He shook his head and swallowed hard. “Like I said before. Beautiful.”

His gaze met hers and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. He had the most amazing eyes, an odd mixture of gold and green, strangely intriguing, yet direct, honest. Since he’d walked into the room, she hadn’t really bothered to take a good look at him. After all, this was her wedding day. She was supposed to have her mind on her groom.

Frustration welled up inside of her and she felt like screaming. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. This wasn’t the most romantic day of her life, but it did represent a milestone of sorts. From this day on, she was supposed to be in control of her life.

Laurel walked over to the window and fixed her gaze on the courtyard outside. “The best laid plans…” she murmured. How could they have gone wrong? “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I’m sorry,” Sean said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I—I really didn’t mean to mess up your special day.”

All of a sudden, exhaustion overwhelmed her. She turned back to Sean. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault.” A tear dribbled down her cheek and she angrily brushed it away. All this planning and now…nothing.

“Hey, don’t cry,” he murmured. He gently rubbed her arms, as if to soothe her. But the moment he wrapped his arms around her, all thoughts of Edward and her ruined wedding fled from her mind. Instead, Laurel was taken by his kindness and his strength…and his incredibly muscular chest.

She sucked in a sharp breath, then stepped back. If she had any questions about the depth of her feelings for Edward, they were answered now. She hadn’t loved him. He was out of her life barely ten minutes and she was in the arms of another man!

Laurel walked across the room, determined to observe Sean Quinn from a safe distance. His eyes weren’t the only part of him that she found attractive. His hair was dark, almost black, and brushed the collar of his leather jacket. He was handsome, but there was something else, an air of indifference about him that made him seem aloof, untouchable.

“What was he arrested for?” Laurel asked.

Sean cleared his throat. “Ah…bigamy.”

Laurel gasped. “Bigamy? He has a wife already?”

“Actually, he has nine. You’d have been number ten.”

Laurel groaned, a flush of humiliation warming her face. “I guess this is what I deserve.” She smiled weakly. “I should have suspected something was up. I wanted him to meet my friends, but he always had some excuse, some business meeting that he had to attend. And when I asked about his family, he changed the subject. And then he couldn’t make the wedding rehearsal last night. He said he had a business meeting.”

“He was with another woman,” Sean said. “But if it makes you feel better, he said he really did love you.”

Laurel laughed. Love. She was far too practical to believe in that particular emotion. She and Edward were compatible, and she’d thought he came from a good family, so she’d decided to accept his proposal when he’d asked. After all, it had fit right in with her own plans. She would marry Edward, collect her trust fund from her uncle, and make all her dreams come true. And now, everything was ruined.

Or was it?

“Tell me something,” Laurel said, lifting her gaze to Sean and sending him a smile. “Are you married?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Do you have a girlfriend or a fiancée?”

He cleared his throat, an uneasy expression crossing his face. “I better be going now. You have a lot to take care of. You probably can’t return the wedding dress, but maybe your guests will let you keep the gifts—once they realize this wasn’t really your fault.”

“What size jacket do you wear?” Laurel quickly turned and retrieved a garment bag from a hook on the back of the standing mirror. “I’m pretty sure this will fit,” she murmured as she unzipped the bag and glanced down at his shoes. She could still salvage something from this mess. “I doubt if we’d be so lucky that the shoes would fit, too. Edward had really big feet.”

“No way. I’m not getting all dressed up so I can tell your guests you’re not getting married,” Sean said. “I’ve done what I came here to do. I’m leaving.”

“I don’t want you to tell the guests,” Laurel said. “I do plan to get married this afternoon.”

“Eddie is in jail. I don’t think they’re going to let him out,” Sean replied.

“Oh, I’m not going to marry Edward. I’m going to marry you.”

Laurel waited, the silence in the room deafening. His jaw slowly dropped and he stared at her as if she’d just sprouted horns and a tail. Maybe the suggestion was a little rash, but she was desperate. “Before you say no,” she murmured, “I want you to listen to my proposal.”

He backed away from her, his hands up. “I don’t need you to propose, lady. I’m not walking down the aisle. Not with you, not with any woman.”

“And I have no intention of calling off my wedding. Now, as I see it, this is entirely your fault. You’re the one responsible for Edward getting arrested and—”

“He was a damn bigamist!” Sean shouted. “He was breaking the law. And you should be grateful I saved you from him.”

“I would be, if there wasn’t so much riding on this wedding. There are guests and gifts and a huge reception planned. The embarrassment would be…” She let her words drift off. She felt a bit guilty for manipulating him, but the wedding was important. Once she got married, she’d get her inheritance. Once she got her inheritance, she could rent her building. She had it all picked out, an old brick storefront with lots of light and high ceilings.

The idea had come to her several years ago when she’d started teaching music at a grade school in Dorchester. After college, she’d bounced around from job to job, trying to find her place in the world. She’d joined the Peace Corps on a whim, only to find herself with a chronic case of dysentery. They’d sent her home after four months. A few months later she’d taken a job teaching dance on a cruise ship. But the exotic locales didn’t make up for the cramped quarters and the sea-sickness. Her career as a flight attendant ended when she’d realized she had a paralyzing fear of flying.

But this time she’d found something she might actually be good at. There were plenty of after-school programs for kids who were interested in academics or athletics, but very few available for children with talent in the arts. So she had decided that once she got her hands on her five-million-dollar trust fund, she’d open an after-school center that focused on theater and dance and music, and maybe even the visual arts. She already had a picture of it in her mind. And she would call it the Louise Carpenter Rand Center for the Arts, after her mother, who had passed down her love of the arts to Laurel.

If her uncle Sinclair hadn’t been such a miser, she might not have had to go to such extremes. But he controlled the Rand family trust, doling out money as he saw fit. And since he’d been named the administrator of her trust fund after both her parents had died, he held the purse strings. Sinclair had laid out the conditions. The trust fund provided her with a small monthly income. If she married before her twenty-sixth birthday, she would be entitled to her inheritance of five million. If she remained single, she’d have to wait until her thirty-first birthday for the money.

In truth, Sinclair Rand was nothing more than an old chauvinist. In his mind, no woman could handle that amount of money without a man to supervise. He hadn’t cared who she married, he hadn’t even bothered to meet Edward. As long as her husband had a penis, then Uncle Sinclair figured he had the brains to handle her finances, and that was enough for him. Uncle Sinclair claimed his ideas were in keeping with how Laurel’s father, Stewart Rand, would have wanted things. But she also knew if her parents were alive, they’d support her idea for the arts center.

But two could play at her uncle’s little game. “You mentioned you were a private investigator. I suppose you’re accustomed to being paid for your time. I’m willing to pay you ten thousand dollars to put on this tuxedo and walk down the aisle with me.”

He gasped. “Ten thousand dollars? You’re crazy.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me. It wouldn’t be legal. We don’t have a marriage license. All I’m asking is that you walk through the ceremony with me.” She paused. “And the reception. You just have to pretend to be Edward. Think of it as playacting. And once we’re in the limo and on our way to the honeymoon, that’s it. Your part is over.”

It would be a way of buying herself some time, Laurel mused. Sooner or later her uncle would have to see that his insistence on marriage was antiquated and untenable. After all, she’d nearly married a criminal to get her hands on her inheritance. Pretending to marry a handsome private investigator wasn’t nearly so serious. Once her uncle saw how far she was willing to go to build her dream, he’d have to relent.

“All this just to save you a little embarrassment?” Sean asked, leveling her with a suspicious gaze.

“Yes,” she lied. He didn’t really need to know the truth, did he? After all, she was paying him well for his services as a stand-in groom.

“And you’re going to pay me to do this?”

“Yes. Ten thousand. That’s a lot of money,” she said. “You could afford to get a decent haircut.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze intense. “I’m not sure I trust you.”

She felt a shiver skitter along her spine. She’d planned a wonderful honeymoon in Hawaii and was tempted to make that a requirement, as well. Maybe another ten thousand would cover a week of frolicking on a secluded beach. An image of Sean Quinn, shirtless, his skin burnished by the sun, flitted through her mind. It was immediately replaced by an image of him diving into the surf…naked…the water gleaming over his—

Laurel cursed inwardly. This was getting ridiculous! She’d nearly married another man today and she couldn’t stop fantasizing about a guy she barely knew. “I’m not paying you to trust me. I’m paying you to marry me. If it will make you feel better, I’ll put it all in writing.”

He thought about the offer for a moment longer, then sighed. “All right. I suppose I could help out. I could use the money.”

Laurel threw herself into his arms, unable to contain her joy and relief. But when he slipped his hands around her waist and held her just a bit longer than proper, she found herself wondering what it might feel like to kiss Sean Quinn. “I—I’ll write out our agreement while you get ready.” She hurried to the door, then turned around before she opened it. “You’re not going to back out on this, are you?”

Sean picked up the tuxedo and looked at it critically. “With that right jab you’ve got? I’d be fool to make you angry again.”

THE DOOR CLOSED softly behind her. Sean released a tightly held breath, then shook his head. “What the hell am I doing? I’ve got to be insane.” He glanced over at the window and wondered if he could get it open and crawl out before she returned.

The day had started out with such promise. He was going to close a big case, take a sleazebag off the street and collect a nice fat fee. But he’d made an error in judgment by offering to do a favor for that sleazebag and look where it got him. He hadn’t needed Eddie’s hundred-dollar fee; he’d already had a good day financially. Greed had gotten him in this mess.

He thought back to the tale of Ronan Quinn, how the wolf had nearly eaten him because he’d gotten a little too greedy. Now he had a chance to collect a tidy ten thousand acorns from Laurel Rand, just for pretending to be Edward Garland Wilson.

It would be ten hours’ work maximum, at a rate of one thousand dollars an hour. He’d have to be a fool to turn that down. And what did he have to lose? His only real plans this evening had been to stop by Quinn’s Pub and have a few beers, then go back to his apartment and type up the bill. And Laurel Rand was right—he hadn’t signed any marriage license, so the whole thing was off the books. Just a charade for her high-society wedding guests.

Sean slowly unzipped the garment bag and withdrew the tuxedo. He checked the label, noting the fancy designer name. The jacket looked like it might be a little small and the pants on the short side, but at least the shirt collar wouldn’t choke him.

This was certainly not what he had in mind when he thought of marriage. Of course, he’d never thought of marriage for himself at all. Sean had been told all the cautionary tales of his Mighty Quinn ancestors—as had his brothers. But Sean had been the only one in the family to recognize that the odds were against all six brothers being able to achieve eternal bachelorhood. When his oldest brothers had fallen victim, he had assumed that his odds for avoiding matrimony had improved considerably.