Strategy For Marriage. Margaret Way
was an excellent investment.
Inside almost total darkness. He put out a hand and found the panel of light switches.
“How did you do that?” She pushed back her hair.
“What?” He gazed down at her with a puzzled expression.
“Find the lights so easily? I’ve never thought they were terribly well placed.”
“I have X-ray vision. I’ve spent my life learning how to see in the dark.”
“Ah the pleasures of being a cattle baron,” she sighed. “Won’t you sit down? I have to get out of this dress. Won’t be a moment. Then we’ll have coffee.”
“Take your time,” he said very dryly.
“What’s so funny?” Christy turned back to ask.
“Oh life in the fast lane. Do you mind if I take off my cravat?”
“Go ahead.” She met those eyes and had the extraordinary sensation something was cutting off her breath. “I’m not coming back in a negligee if that’s what you’re thinking. I intend to burn this dress.”
“When I thought you should wear it forever,” he said suavely. “I like your abode. Did you do the decorating yourself?”
“Right down to painting the walls. By myself. Now I think about it, Josh always had an excuse to avoid anything like physical hard work.”
“You call painting a few walls hard work?” he called after her, his tone caustic.
Josh. Josh. Josh Deakin was out of her life.
“By the time I was finished I was burned out.”
Left alone Ashe wandered casually around the open-plan living-dining room. His study at home was bigger in area so he took small steps unless he powered into the sliding-glass doors that led out onto a small balcony. He went to the doors, opened them and stepped out to take a look at the view. Or city people called it a view. God, he could never live in the city, he thought for perhaps the millionth time. He could never be contained. But this was nice for what it was. A successful working girl’s pad.
He wondered, with a surge of anger that could get him into trouble, whether Deakin had lived with her. Slept with her. Had his morning cup of coffee with her. He hoped not, picturing it but not wanting to.
The decor was entirely feminine yet a man would feel comfortable here. She had great taste, sensibility. Even unhappy she’d filled the place with flowers. He liked that. He liked the books she read. Lots of books. She would love the extensive library he had inherited with many important first editions and historical documents. His was one of the great pioneering families. He liked the prints on the walls. An oil painting of her. Very good. He understood the artist had been in love with her. It showed. He liked how everything was very clean, very neat. Orderly. She’d make a fine wife, he thought with a kind of dark amusement when in reality he was appalled she wanted Callista’s brand-new husband. Yet when was the last time he’d found a woman so damned intriguing? Never was the answer. It left him feeling vaguely shell-shocked.
Finally he got his silk cravat undone and placed it on a side table. There was a glass bowl filled with beautifully perfumed yellow roses on it and a silver-framed photograph of her and he presumed her parents. She bore a strong resemblance to the woman, so youthful-looking she might have been an older sister but he knew she wasn’t. The man was good-looking, too, rugged, with a look of character. For some reason he thought them landed people. Maybe they owned a farm of some sort. Living on the land was character building in his experience.
Ashe sank down into an armchair with apple green upholstery; spring colours dominated the room, awaiting the drama of her return. He was starting to wonder what the hell he thought he was doing? He wasn’t the man to be swept away by a woman’s very obvious charms. Correction: he hadn’t been up to date. There was her beauty and the rest, the way she talked, the way she moved, but he realised he was getting too big a charge out of being with her.
He wanted her. The thought stunned him. He’d only just met her, under the worst possible circumstances, yet he wanted this woman. He supposed it was the way he lived his life. He was always making instant decisions. Big decisions. But he was never, couldn’t afford to be, reckless. This was madness. So ill-advised. How could he possibly want a woman who was tearing herself to pieces over another man? A man moreover he already despised. Worse, married to his cousin. He knew better than anyone what happened to a man who let himself fall very deeply in love. It was like handing over one’s soul. His mother had cheated on his father long before she finally left him. He couldn’t get her treachery out of his head. More than twenty years later. His father was the finest man he had ever known. He had never grown another emotional layer of skin to enable him to remarry. His mother right up to the day he died had been enshrined in his father’s memory. If it had been him…if it had been him…
“Oh dear, what’s the matter?” Coming back into the room Christy gave him an alarmed glance. He looked positively daunting, the expression on his face dark and brooding.
“Nothing.” He emptied his mind of all violence. “Do come further in and let me see you. Didn’t change your mind? No negligee?” He spoke flippantly, trying to kill desire.
“You’re a complete stranger.” Just as coolly she answered his banter. She’d put on the first thing that came to hand, a pink-embroidered shirt over white cotton jeans. “Would you like coffee?”
“Coffee, the instant cure. Not the instant kind, I hope? You wouldn’t by chance have any single malt whisky?”
Her face froze as memories floated up. “I let Josh have all his liquor back. I’m not much of a drinker. There is however a bottle of Tia Maria. It goes exactly with coffee.”
“Tia Maria it is,” he answered rather shortly, outraged anew by her feelings for Deakin. “It’s not exactly what I planned but it will do. Strong, black coffee, no sugar. Do you need a hand?”
“There’s not the space for you. How tall are you anyway?”
“If I remember correctly just over six-three. Are they your parents over there?” He inclined his head towards the photograph.
“Yes.” She came back into the living room, her beautiful face breaking into a smile. “I miss them terribly.”
“Where are they?”
“I grew up on a sheep and lavender farm in Victoria. My parents are still there. They’ll never leave. They adore country life and one another.”
“You’re an only child?” He stared at her with brooding eyes.
“Sad to say yes. My mother had a lot of trouble having me. My father couldn’t have borne to lose her. That put paid to a bigger family. But I was never spoilt. I was never of the over-protective one-child syndrome. In fact I ran wild.”
“So you’re a country girl?”
“Does that put me up a notch?” She heard the approval in his voice.
“Indeed yes. When I marry—”
“To great applause,” she cut in dryly.
“My wife will have to understand what living in the Outback means.” His vibrant voice cracked right down the line.
“You look extremely sober when you say that,” she commented.
“It’s a top requirement.” He didn’t bare his soul to her. He didn’t say his mother had been a beautiful social butterfly. A city girl, born and bred. In fact the last woman his father should have married. The last woman to mother a child. It was a miracle she had stayed so long. She had missed—expected to miss—his tenth birthday. There had been no celebration. His charming extravagant mother had run away. She was an adulteress, goddamn it. Love wouldn’t stand between him and a successful marriage.
She brought him a hot steaming cup of excellent coffee along with a small crystal