The Heiress Bride. Laurey Bright
at night. Kingsley’s kingdom.”
Something in his tone made her defensive. “It’s only a town.”
He turned to her again. “Your family’s town.”
“We don’t own it. Not anymore.”
“In your great-great-grandfather’s day—”
“That was a long time ago.” Jasper Kingsley, only weeks off an immigrant ship from England, had bought land from the local Maori tribe, milled the standing timber that covered it, raised a settlement on the banks of the river—in those days a navigable water-way—and leased the cleared land to small farmers, making himself a sort of unofficial squire. He’d built the big house, at that time the only house on the hillside, from which he could survey his creation. But in over a century and a half the town had grown and times had changed.
“All we own now is the house and the newspaper,” Alysia pointed out. “And a few old buildings,” she added punctiliously. Plus various stocks and shares.
“Those old buildings are on prime sites,” Chase reminded her. “Worth quite a lot in today’s market.”
She had no doubt he was right. Not that it was any of his business.
His voice butter-smooth, he added, “And one day they’ll all be yours.”
“I hope that day is a long way off,” she told him tightly. And hoped he understood that she found discussing her father’s death—even indirectly and only in theory—distasteful.
Chase turned, altering his stance so that he appeared to loom over her. He was blocking her way to the path. When she stepped forward he didn’t budge.
Alysia raised her eyes to his face, half-lit by the blue-white moonlight. She’d never thought him a particularly good-looking man—his strong features were too well-defined, the bone structure too obvious. But he was striking, and close-up he presented a formidable air of masculinity.
She didn’t recall that they had ever been alone before, unless she counted occasions when he had come to the house and she’d let him in to her father’s study.
She smelled a faint aroma of clean clothing, soap and an underlying pleasant tang that reminded her of the sea. Aftershave? As he looked down at her the planes of his face seemed angular, the chin jutting and the straight black brows almost merged in a frown.
The noise of the party suddenly seemed very distant. The moon slipped behind a high cloud, deepening the darkness.
Alysia stepped back and felt her legs touch the wall. “By the way, congratulations.” She hoped her voice sounded casual.
“Thank you. Do I get the feeling you aren’t thrilled about my promotion?”
“What my father does at the Clarion, whom he appoints, is entirely up to him…at least for some years yet.”
There was a telling silence while he absorbed the subtle warning. Then Chase enquired smoothly, “Looking to the future, are you? To when your father retires?”
“Are you?”
They remained staring at each other, the gloom making it difficult for her to see his expression.
Chase said, “I’m not a Kingsley.”
“You needn’t worry about your job yet.” It would be years before she was ready to take over the business. Embarrassment at her brief earlier assumption crawled in her stomach.
“Did I say I was worried?” Chase sounded confident, amused. As though he saw her as a puny threat, at best.
“By the time my father retires I’m sure you’ll have found yourself some wider, greener pastures. I promise I won’t hold you back.”
He rocked a little on his heels, his head slanted to one side, hands sliding into his pockets. “You won’t?” he said very softly. She knew he meant: You think you could?
Alysia’s chest felt constricted, her cheeks hot. “You’re ambitious,” she said. “My father may think you’ll stick around out of loyalty to him, but…”
“What do you think?” he challenged her. His voice deepening, he added, “Are you telling me this town isn’t big enough for both of us?”
“Is it big enough for you?” She’d never thought so. Surely this job with a provincial, family-owned paper, however respected and prosperous, was a mere stepping stone in his career path.
He said, “That depends.”
“My father won’t give up control for a long while yet. It’s always been a family concern.”
“And you’re the last of the family.”
Alysia discovered that her hands were clenched. She loosened her fingers, flexed them secretly. “Within the next five, ten years…”
“You think you’ll be ready to take over?” Chase queried.
Alysia’s teeth hurt, and the incipient headache that had begun with her father’s announcement had become an insistent throbbing. She hadn’t meant to go so far. But if Chase Osborne imagined he was in line for editor-in-chief, a title that had always remained in family hands, it was time someone disillusioned him. It had only been fair to spell it out. She took in a quick breath. “If my father wants me, hadn’t we better—”
Chase interrupted. “I didn’t say he wanted you.”
Her discomfort with his dark presence crystallized into a jagged antagonism. Her chin lifted. “You told me—”
“That he sent me to find you,” Chase said. “He wondered where you’d got to.”
“Well, you’ve found me. Now either go back and tell him I’m here and I’m fine, or get out of my way.”
He made no attempt to do so. “All in good time, Princess,” he said lazily. “I’m not your lackey.”
Unaccountably Alysia’s heart was hammering. He hadn’t moved an inch, but she sensed anger behind the deceptively gentle tone. An irrational, atavistic fear made her lash out with words. “No,” she said, her head lifting to an unconsciously arrogant tilt. “You’re my father’s.”
He seemed to be contemplating her, holding himself so still it was uncanny. The moon reappeared, throwing a faint nimbus around his head but scarcely lighting his face except for the glitter of his eyes. He made a short, sharp sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh. “Is that what you think?” he asked her. “He’s my employer.”
“So you jump when he says ‘Jump’ and obediently check up on his daughter when he tells you to. I didn’t know that was part of the deputy editor’s job description.”
“It’s part of being a guest in Spencer’s house,” Chase replied. “He didn’t like to leave the party, as he’s the host. I take it you didn’t want to be found.”
Ignoring the implication that she was neglecting her duties as her father’s hostess, Alysia said, “I didn’t need to be found! I would have been coming back in a minute anyway.”
“Well, then—” at last he moved aside so that she could precede him “—I’ll escort you.”
She swept past him, and Chase followed, not speaking again. But she could feel his gaze like a burning laser right between her shoulder blades.
When they reached the pepper tree he stepped forward and lifted the hanging branch. As she passed under it a cool, spice-scented leaf brushed her cheek. Her bare shoulder came in contact with the fabric of Chase’s jacket.
The house, lit from end to end, was before them, but they were still in the shadow of the tree when he caught her arm, drawing her back to face him.
Surprised, Alysia raised her head. “What is it?”
“Just