The Horseman. Margaret Way
his lawyer’s face as she thought of it. They were standing in the dappled shadows of a shade tree, he playing with her fingers. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the hand that bore his splendid diamond engagement ring to his mouth.
“Ceci?” He looked longingly into her eyes. “You have to marry me very soon. I’m crazy about you, don’t you know?”
“I do, Stuart, I do!” Her heart felt as though it could break. How could she possibly betray him and his love? How could she even think about it? She had given her solemn promise to marry him. She’d had any number of admirers to choose from since the age of sixteen, but none she’d been able to take as seriously as Stuart. She wanted to marry. She wanted children. She loved children. She would be a good mother, shielding any child of hers from all the pressures that had attended her own childhood. There wasn’t going to be any grand passion for her. No use waiting around for it. The knowledge was a factor in her decision to marry Stuart, who had many attractive qualities and, she believed, genuinely loved her. Everyone knew lightning strikes were dangerous, anyway.
There was absolutely no way out.
Stuart threw back his dark head and laughed triumphantly. “That’s the very thing I’m desperate for you to say—‘I do.’ A June wedding would be perfect, wouldn’t it, darling? We need to be together, man and wife. I know you love the idea of Morelands for the wedding, but surely you’d want to be married from your own home? You couldn’t possibly disappoint Justine. Or my mother, for that matter, though she’s neutral. She thinks the world of your grandfather. Morelands is an incredible venue, no denying that, but Justine and I have our hearts set on Melbourne. Tell me that’s what you want, too, Ceci. I’ve known you for a dozen years and more, but sometimes I think I don’t know you at all.”
She had the eerie feeling that was true. She couldn’t tell him that many changes were taking place inside her. In retrospect she realized she rarely confided in him. Stuart was a little like her mother in that he had a tendency to close his ears on what he didn’t wish to hear. “Let’s just enjoy today, Stuart,” she begged gently. “I can’t always do what you and my mother want. Oh, look—” she shifted her gaze gratefully “—there’s Sasha Donnelly calling to us.”
“I say, she’s looking very glamorous.” Stuart was distracted by the shortness of Sasha’s skirt and the sassiness of the gala confection she had on her head.
“She is, and she’s still carrying a torch for you,” Cecile pointed out lightly.
JUST WHEN SHE THOUGHT the stranger must have left early, she saw him standing with a knot of older guests. Profound disappointment, even despondency, was transformed into soaring spirits. They rose alarmingly, threatening to make her airborne.
You fool! You’re not even putting up a struggle.
She ignored the little voice. At the center of the group was her grandfather. Her mother and father flanked him, both of them looking extremely stylish; they were handsome people. With them were close friends of the family, Bruce and Fiona Gordon and the Ardens. Bruce Gordon and George Arden were among her grandfather’s oldest friends and business partners. All of them were smiling warmly.
“Ceci, darling! Stuart!” Joel Moreland caught sight of them, gesturing them over. When they were close enough, he put out his arm to gather his much-loved granddaughter to his side. “I don’t think either of you have yet met Señor Montalvan, who is visiting us from Argentina. When Fiona told me she and Bruce had a houseguest, I insisted he come along with them today.” Joel turned his aristocratic silver head to smile at the well-to-do couple.
“Cecile, my darling—” he beamed down at her as he began the introductions “—may I present Señor Raul Montalvan from…”
She didn’t hear another word for the roaring in her ears. Every dormant cell in her body fired into life.
Damn it, damn it! This isn’t like you. Get a grip!
She might have been standing at a distance, looking at her double. The tide of feeling she was experiencing was not untainted with remorse, even shame. There was Stuart, her fiancé, proud and smiling by her side. She wore his ring. She should only be thinking of Stuart, while all the while she was racked by her attraction to another man.
He was even more stunning close up. Indeed he could have stepped out of a bravura painting. The bronze of his skin was in striking contrast to the dark caramel of his hair with its glinting golden strands. How dark his eyes were! Not black, but a brilliant dark brown with gold flecks. Their expression was very intense. She didn’t think she had seen such intensity in a man’s eyes before. They made her feel more conscious of herself as a woman than at any moment of Stuart’s most passionate lovemaking. It was as though that dark seductive gaze pierced right through her breast to her heart.
“Miss Moreland, I’ve heard so much about you.” He spoke with exquisite gentleness. “The whole of it glowing!”
This drew a smile from her grandfather, who Cecile guessed correctly had been singing her praises.
There was an intriguing hint of an accent. No more. It was a cosmopolitan voice, coming from deep in his chest, the timbre dark, beguiling, with a faint cutting edge.
Good manners demanded she extend her hand. “My grandfather has a very natural bias, señor. I’m very pleased to welcome you to our country.” Her skin seemed to sizzle at his touch. She thought she flushed. He didn’t shake her hand as she expected, but bowed over it in a way that showed his heritage. It was an entirely natural and elegant ritual courtesy that didn’t demand his lips touch her skin. She didn’t think she could have borne that given what the mere touch of his hand could do. His hands were as elegant as the rest of him, but she could feel calluses on the pads of his fingers and the palm. Was that the cause of that extraordinary surge of electricity?
Then it was Stuart’s turn. He gave a hearty, “Happy to meet you, Mr. Montalvan.” To Cecile’s ears that didn’t quite ring true. Stuart hadn’t taken to the newcomer, she could tell, but he was shaking the other man’s hand vigorously. “What brings you to the Territory?” he asked.
Montalvan gave a very European shrug. “Pleasure, business. I have always wanted to come to Australia.” He spoke in a relaxed fashion, but the gentleness, it seemed, had been reserved for Cecile. “Your Top End is not so very different to my home in Argentina. Very beautiful, very isolated, hot and humid, plenty of rain when it comes, glorious vegetation, vast open spaces.”
Joel Moreland nodded his agreement. “This is still largely frontier country, Señor Montalvan.”
“Please, do call me Raul!” Montalvan turned to his host with a charming half smile.
“Raul it is,” Joel Moreland responded, his expression revealing that unlike Stuart, he had taken a fancy to this young man. “Raul is in the ranching business,” he informed Cecile and Stuart, “so we have a lot in common. His family have been in ranching for many generations. Ranching and mining, isn’t that so? He’s also a very fine polo player, I’ve been told.”
“Not surprising, when he hails from a country that has won the World Cup every year since 1949,” Cecile’s father, Howard, contributed with an admiring laugh.
“True.” Montalvan gave another elegant shrug of his shoulder. “But you have some wonderful players here,” he added appreciatively. “I’m hoping I’ll be invited to participate in a few matches during my stay. Australia is nearly as polo mad as Argentina, I believe.”
“It’s the great sport of the Outback,” Moreland confirmed, “but we can’t challenge your world supremacy. Don’t worry, Raul, I’m sure we’ll be able to arrange something. I used to be a pretty good player myself in the old days.”
“I’m certain that’s an understatement, sir.” Montalvan gave a respectful inclination of his head.
“My father was absolutely splendid!” Justine, who adored her father, spoke proudly. “We have two polo fields on Malagari.”
“That’s