Page 2 of The Rented Bride

As they climbed, the snow that gleamed within the shade of the trees grew in size. By the time Henry turned from the main road onto a private road leading to the castle,the scattered patches had turned into large swaths of snow. A tremble rippled through Cassie’s stomach. Lord, she hadn’t experienced jitters since her eighth grade winter dance.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Relax, she ordered. You can do this. You know your stuff. You’ve handled parties larger than this one. Just because this particular party is hosted by rich playboy Trent Weston makes no difference. You won’t see the man. Men of his stature and wealth don’t dally with the help.

The limousine crested a hill and an open wrought iron gate came into view on the right. A moment later, they crossed a short stone bridge, passed through the gate, and started a wide swing around a circular driveway.

Henry slowed the car. “All the Weston history lives in Brettonwood. Sometimes I can imagine I’m driving a carriage rather than a limo.”

“It’s beautiful.” She leaned closer to the window.

“No matter the season, Brettonwood has a magic of her own. Mr. Weston senior says the spirit of the Guardians of Scotland live within her walls.”

Her forehead pinched as a thought sent a shiver down her spine. “The castle isn’t haunted, is it?”

He chuckled and Cassie kept her gaze on the castle.

Fir trees bordered the drive. At the front of the building a turret located to the right of a slanted Tudor-style roof lifted three stories high. A massive oak door stood beneath the Tudor roof and three large archways were located to the left of the door. Cassie expected Henry to stop at the door. Instead, he drove through the third archway and they entered an inner court. A six-car garage sat directly ahead. A large snow-dusted fountain filled the center of the courtyard.

Cassie recalled yesterday’s conversation with Maryanne. “If you pull this off, it’ll be the event of the year. A week from now, Cassie, we’ll be the most sought after event planners in the country. From Miami to LA to New York. We’ll have more clients then we’ll be able to accommodate and they’ll all try to outspend each other.”

Maryanne was right. Working for a man of Trent Weston’s stature would put them on the map—guaranteed.

Henry brought the limousine to a stop and Cassie studied another turret that jutted up from somewhere in the rear of the castle.

Maybe this party was beyond her scope. Maryanne should be here instead of her. Cassie glanced at her purse and envisioned her cell phone tucked away in the side pocket. Should she give Maryanne a call? She would be awake, probably deep in paperwork to keep herself from obsessing over this party.

Did Maryanne realize just how rich Mr. Weston really was? The owner of this house was richer than Richie Rich and Bruce Wayne put together.

Henry left the car and rounded the hood to her door. She gripped her purse like a lifeline. Forget everything except the job, she ordered herself. It doesn’t matter that their client was rich enough to buy a small country. She wouldn’t be dealing directly with Trent Weston. His personal assistant, Meg Nelson, planned to meet with Cassie the moment she arrived.

Cassie smiled at Henry as she swung her feet out of the car, stood and craned her head to look at the fourth floor. This was a real castle.

“It’s really not as big as it looks, Miss Adams,” Henry said.

The entry door opened and a sixty-something woman stepped through the large doorway. Cassie watched her approach, following the cut of a stone walkway. Cassie met her gaze. I’ve got this.

“The place is mammoth, Henry,” Cassie said. “It’s not nice to lie to a lady.”

He barely stifled a laugh as the woman reached them. “May I introduce Mrs. Doris O’Brien,” he said. “Mrs. O’Brien, this is Cassie Adams.”

Mrs. O’Brien extended her right hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Adams. I oversee Brettonwood for Mr. Weston.”

Cassie accepted the hand and was pleased by her firm grip.

Mrs. O’Brien’s eyes shifted past Cassie. “Henry, would you bring Ms. Adams’ bags in, please?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Cassie said. “I’ve made arrangements to stay at the Vail Lodge.”

Mrs. O’Brien smiled. “Those reservations have been cancelled. You’ll be staying with us. The bags, please, Henry. Oh, and Annie has something special for you. She was very emphatic that you stop by first chance you get.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a grin.

“Staying here?” Cassie said. “Mrs. O’Brien, that’s very kind, but I couldn’t impose.”

The housekeeper started away and Cassie was forced to walk alongside or remain standing beside the limo.

“Put your mind at ease, Ms. Adams, we have spare bedrooms.” This time, a hint of amusement laced Mrs. O’Brien’s voice.

Cassie flushed warm with embarrassment. “Of course, I didn’t mean to imply—” They reached the door and Cassie followed her into a massive foyer. “Mrs. O’Brien—”