Strategy For Marriage. Margaret Way

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      Deakin-McKinnon Wedding

       Reception—McKinnon Riverside Mansion

       Brisbane, Queensland

      “ASHE, darling, who is that girl?” The blonde in the exquisite green dress?” Mercedes, his aunt by marriage and mother of the bride, dug him in the ribs, a worried frown on her brow.

      “You mean Ms. Botticelli?” His answer, even to his ears, was sardonic. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.” In fact he’d begun to marvel at just the amount of attention he was giving that particular young woman and was amazed at the unprecedented thrust of sexual desire she aroused in him. He’d grown cynical, really cynical, about a woman’s beauty and her ability to hold a man spellbound. Beautiful women in the style of this blonde reminded him of his runaway mother. The mother he’d hated and ached for since she’d abandoned him and his father when he was ten years old.

      “No one on our side seems to know her,” Mercedes whispered with genuine concern, her fingers fidgeting with her extremely valuable string of 19 mm Australian South Sea pearls, the finest in the world. “That is to say everyone I’ve asked. Oh for heaven’s sake why am I worried?” She gave a false little laugh. “It’s not as though she isn’t beautiful and well behaved but I mean it’s fairly obvious our dear Josh seems to know her even if he’s not going anywhere near her. Would you mind awfully, darling, getting some idea of who exactly she is?”

      The fact was he’d been about to make his move. For one thing “our dear Josh” was the bridegroom. A possible ex-girlfriend didn’t help. “No problem, Mercedes.” He smiled down at her. “Leave it to me.” He was extremely fond of Mercedes, and his quiet little cousin, Callista, who looked as radiant as she could ever look on this day of days. Sad to say he hadn’t taken to her new husband, Josh Deakin. In his most suspicious moments, which were frequent, he was a suspicious person, he thought Deakin the male equivalent of the proverbial gold-digger. At one time he’d very nearly said so, worried Deakin was only after Callista’s money. The problem was Mercedes was very taken with him and Callista was clearly head over heels in love. She wouldn’t have listened. She’d have dug in her heels. Although Callista dearly loved her mother, at twenty-nine she was anxious to escape the nest, get married and set up her own home. This was a fairytale wedding he’d been told. Who believed in fairytales? Certainly not him, though he had to admit Ms. Botticelli looked magical.

      Mercedes’ rich contralto brought him out of his reverie. “Everything is going marvellously,” she said as though at any moment all could change. “The last thing we need is for something—um-um—” She stared across the crowded room at the beautiful blonde, seeking the right word.

      “Don’t fret. I told you I’d handle it,” he soothed, hoping to God it wasn’t already all too late. But if Deakin imagined Mercedes and Callista didn’t have someone looking out for them, he’d better think again.

      “You’re my great support, Ashe,” Mercedes told him fondly. “I’m afraid I lean on you for so much.”

      “We’re family, Mercedes,” he offered lightly when he didn’t feel lightly about family at all. He was head of a clan even if his immediate family had gone. His mother with her lover. They lived mostly in New York. His father and his uncle Sholto, Mercedes’ late husband, had been killed in a light plane crash five years ago. An event that made some people say the family was cursed. Maybe it was. It had had its fair share of tragedies. So in his late twenties he had become head of the family, head of the McKinnon pastoral empire, executor of the Family Trust. He took his responsibilities very seriously.

      As Mercedes, in a very becoming silvery outfit, sailed off towards her guests he acknowledged he hadn’t told her he’d had his eye on Ms. Botticelli since she’d gatecrashed the reception. His well-honed instincts warned him that was the case but he didn’t want to put a blight on such a day by overreacting. He’d take his time. She’d done it in the cheekiest way possible. Two ushers were guarding the open double doors of the McKinnon mansion taking the wedding invitations from the guests and checking them against their lists when he spotted her arrival from the head of the gallery. He couldn’t look away. He who was very good at taking a woman’s beauty and aura in his stride. She was tall, even taller in high-heeled sandals. She wore a ravishingly pretty dress, a froth of chiffon, printed in a swirl of different greens. The crossover sleeveless bodice showed a tantalising glimpse of the curves of her breasts, the short ruffled skirt sprinkled with glittering little beads showed off her lovely long legs. High up on one shoulder was a huge rose made out of the same material sprinkled with brilliants like the skirt. It was an outfit only a beautiful young woman with a perfect figure and lots of self-confidence could wear without risking the dress overwhelming her.

      So there she was. A long-stemmed mystery blonde, her hair drawn back from her face into a high knot, the rest of her mane cascading down her back to past her shoulder blades. The overhead chandelier, plus the last rays of sunshine, washed her in light, so she gave off a spectacular sparkle. Her skin, he could see clearly, was a smooth textured cream, blushed over the high