The Secret Heiress

by Bethany Campbell

  “Ah,” Rennie said sarcastically. “You see how far that’s gotten me in life.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marie repeated, and patted his rough hand. But she knew she wouldn’t stake any claim about being related to Louisa. Louisa belonged only to the family she knew as hers. She was happy.

  Let her be.

  By the next evening, Marie didn’t feel so forgiving toward Reynard. He took her, as usual, to go to The Secret Heiress, but absolutely refused to let Andrew join them when he came back

  “He’s bad luck on two legs,” he grumbled. “Maybe you’re right. Just get yourself back to Darwin and sling hash.”

  He got up and limped toward the restroom, muttering under his breath.

  She quickly called Andrew at Lochlain to tell him Reynard was being contrary. Just the sound of his voice made her feel the prickle of magnetism between them.

  He said, “It’s still early. Have Reynard bring you back. We could meet later, by the gate. We’d have until midnight, at least. Is that so much to ask?”

  She thought about it. He’d kept his word for weeks now. She felt closer to him than she would have believed possible. How could she refuse him such a simple request? “I’ll meet you,” she said.

  “Then I’ll be there, darlin’. In front of God and everybody.”

  She loved it when he sounded Southern. “I’ll be there, too,” she vowed.

  Reynard took her home, and at precisely nine-thirty, Marie met Andrew. He drove up to the gates, got out, opened the door of Tyler’s Jeep, and helped her into the passenger seat. The guard stood impassively, as if he saw nothing, but glancing back, Marie saw him pick up the phone.

  Was he going to tell someone she’d gone off with Andrew? Let him, she thought rebelliously, her heart banging against her breastbone.

  Andrew glanced in his rearview mirror. “Is he phoning somebody?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Do you suppose it’s about us?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  He put his warm hand over her cold one. “Would it bother you?”

  “I don’t know that, either,” she said, clutching his fingers as if they gave her strength. “Andrew…where are we going?”

  “Where do you want to go? Back to The Secret Heiress?”

  No, no, she thought, resisting pressing her other hand to her temple, where a vein throbbed with tension. Mrs. Tidwell would see them, and soon the whole shire would know about it, including Reynard.

  “Somewhere more private,” she managed to say. “Secluded.”

  He tossed her a smile. The moon was nearly full and silvered his features. “Still not ready to be seen in public with me?” he teased.

  “Rennie’s being strange,” she said, holding more tightly to his hand. She told him some—but not all—of Reynard’s warnings.

  The smile faded and his chiseled features turned stern. “Maybe he’s right.”

  “Let’s just go someplace where we can be alone,” she said. “Just you and me. That can’t hurt anything.”

  Can it? she thought. Just a few hours with him? Alone…

  He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said, “I know a place…an isolated one…”

  The isolated place was on a much-neglected back road on Tyler’s property. The Jeep rolled over the ruts of a cresting hill to a small promontory overlooking the Hunter River. On the edge of the promontory stood the strangest little building Marie had ever seen.

  It struck her as some sort of small, wondrous ruin from another, more ancient and possibly enchanted, world. At its center was a stone arch that opened to the river and the night sky. On one side was a sort of buttress of the same stone, and on the other, what seemed to be the crumbling remains of a roofless round tower, half its second story broken away. Round windows, like empty antique portholes, punctuated the tower’s crumbling first story.

  The whole, unlikely structure was no wider than a fair-sized cottage, the tower too small to be lived in except by the most abstemious hermit. It was all built of some gray stone that looked like aged pewter in the moonlight.

  “Wh-what is this?” she asked, turning to Andrew.

  He grinned. “It goes back to the early settlements in Australia. It’s a copy of what the British called a ‘folly,’ an imitation ruin, a decoration, pure and simple. Aristocrats had them. So did a few would-be aristocratic colonists. This is one. Come on. Take a look.”

  He got out, helped her from the car, and led her to the arch. She looked across the river at the land, half-ravaged by fire, beyond. She put a hand against the stone, which still held the warmth of the vanished sun.

  “I’ve never seen such a thing,” she breathed. “What’s it for?”

  “Amusement. Fantasy. Pleasure. And ‘folly’ doesn’t mean something foolish, only something to make you feel happy.”

  She looked more closely. The tower’s remaining windows were barred. She turned to Andrew questioningly.

  “To keep out drifters, bushrangers,” he said. “And just plain old party types.”

  “You can’t get in?” she said in disappointment.

  “No. But you can hide in its shadows.”

  Gently he steered her toward the central stony face of the buttress and put a hand against the wall on either side of her head. He leaned nearer and kissed her on the mouth. She felt as if she were somehow falling upward, spinning toward the stars.

  His mouth was firm, hungry and seeking. Her lips parted. He raised his hands to frame her face, bringing it closer to his, deepening the kiss. Her stomach fluttered tipsily, and heat invaded her body, a heat that was powerful and tingling.

  So this is what all the songs and stories are about, she thought in wonder. This is why people in love go a little crazy. She felt ringed round with happiness, and at its center was Andrew, touching her, his lips searching hers.

  He drew back and she looked at him. The light of the moon shone on his hair, cast his face into a work of silver and shadows. His breath, coming fast, tickled her mouth.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t really meet me,” he said.

  “I was afraid I wouldn’t, either.” Her voice trembled. “I wasn’t sure…”

  But she’d had to see him; she hadn’t been able to resist. It was as if the moon and stars and darkness had drawn her here to be with him. And it felt so good, so right, being with him. But it also frightened her. All of heaven could look down on them, nothing hid them but the shadow of one whimsical building. They were otherwise completely in the open, vulnerable and, yes, more than a little reckless.

  “If anyone comes down that road…”

  He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I doubt anyone will. And we’d hear them from far off.”

  “But—”

  “Maybe it’s time to stop worrying so much about being seen,” he whispered. “I think people are starting to realize how I feel about you. And there’s nothing shameful in it.”

  “I’m not so sure,” she said, gripping his biceps more tightly. “Your campaign…”

  “I can’t stop being a human because of the campaign,” he said, bending nearer. “I want you to be protected. But I want to be with you, too. I care about you. So much. So much.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her again. This time his tongue delicately explored her lips, her mouth, and her own hesitant tongue. She loved the sensations he made pulse through her, but as her desire quickened, so did her anxiety. She pulled back, and he lowered his hands, gripping her shoulders to keep her from moving away from him.

  “I care for you, too,” she admitted. “But what if Jacko Bullock finds out about this and uses it against you somehow? Uses it to hurt you.”

  “Marie, we’ve been discreet. More than discreet. Why not just admit we’re a couple? Be open about it? It’s probably safer to do that. If people discover we have a secret relationship, it’ll seem much more suspicious. And we have so few opportunities to be together. I have to leave again tomorrow.”

 
; A knot formed in her throat, and her muscles went taut. “Just for now let’s keep it secret,” she whispered. “It won’t be long until the campaign’s over. Please. It’ll be easier on both of us in the long run. If people know about us now, the press will go snooping. They’ll find out I’m illegitimate and so was my mother. It’ll be all over Jacko’s papers. I don’t want that for either of us.”

  She was pleading with him with all her might, and she felt tears stinging her eyes.

  But what terrified her most was that someone would somehow discover—and make public the reason she’d come to the valley in the first place.

  If that came out, she would seem deceitful and scheming, and Andrew would seem too gullible to deserve the presidency. And Louisa would again find herself and her home the object of gossip.

  Confused, conflicted, she said, “Sometimes I wish I’d never come here.”

  “If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found you again.”

  He lowered his head to kiss her once more, but she turned her face away. “Being here like this is too—too difficult.”

  “For now, maybe. But someday, it won’t be. And we’ll be together. Like normal couples.”

  She shook her head. “We’re not a normal couple.”

  “We will be. We’ll make it happen. I’ll find a way. We’ll find a way. We’ll escape.”

  “We can’t,” she said. “That’s like trying to escape reality. Your campaign exists. You could compromise your whole future.”

  “It’s not a future I want if you’re not in it.”

  Did he mean that? Could she believe such an extravagant statement? She searched for words, but imagined that she heard a car rounding the curve and flinched.

  “I don’t feel safe here,” she said, trying to pull away. “I’d better get back. Take me back. Please.”

  “Wait,” he begged, not letting go. He bent to kiss her hard and with a barely restrained desperation. “One last time,” he whispered. “And don’t worry about the campaign—”

  They stood in the untamed landscape, the strange ruin and the running river bathed in the ghostly luminescence of the moon. And his lips took hers one last, tormented time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day was wildly hectic, the whole kitchen hustling to prepare for the night’s gala for Jacko Bullock.

  A caterer would arrive from Newcastle to provide and serve the main menu, but Francois was in charge of appetizers and Marie was to make the desserts, which included three varieties of Louisa’s beloved Pavlovas, lime cheesecakes, lemon bites and bread pudding with a sauce of berries and rum.

  Francois grumbled that he had not become a chef to play second fiddle to some ridiculous rural catering company. But although in ill humor, he labored to make the appetizers, outdoing himself with crab cakes, lobster rolls, grilled squabs, and figs stuffed with goat cheese.

  “I will upstage these farmers,” he muttered. “The guests will feast on my appetizers until they have no appetite for the main courses.”

  The party rental people had swarmed over the front lawn, setting up tents, tables, chairs, accessories, and even a stage.

  Twelve huge inflated kangaroos in digger hats were staked, massively bobbing, on either side of the drive. Twelve poles flew the flags of the Australian states and territories.

  “I’ve never seen so much fuss,” Marie said, shaking her head.

  “She used to do things even more elaborately,” said Mrs. Lipton. “And she’d arrive in a gloriously colored hot air balloon—‘descending like a goddess from the sky,’ she liked to say.”

  Marie sighed. She and the rest of the kitchen staff would have to stand by during the gala, just in case there was a missing server, or an emergency of any sort.

  She had to admit the gala would be impressive, but it also struck her as a tremendous expenditure for such a dubious guest of honor.

  The evening was nearly half over, but people kept revisiting the dessert buffet. Mrs. Lipton asked Marie to get the last two Pavlovas out of the fridge. “Your work is a great success,” she whispered to Marie. “Miss will be pleased.”

  On the stage, a group of musicians played old standards, and the moon had risen and seemed suspended over their heads as if it were a prop. Marie got out the last of the Pavlovas and set them on the buffet table, then took the emptied serving dishes to return to the kitchen.

  She had sidestep a clown passing out buttons and balloons that said Jacko For President. A group of laughing people made her detour again, until she felt boxed in between the champagne tent and the wine tent.

  “Ha,” a hearty voice boomed in her ear. “Louisa told me that you’re the little sheila who made these desserts. Fair dinkum! I ought to steal you for my own. How about it, blondie?”

  “No,” Marie said without looking at him. She smelled gin on his breath and felt him moving close to her, far too close.

  “Oh, don’t get uppity,” he laughed. “I know more about you than you think. Used to work at the Scepter, didn’t you? Heard you came down this way. Got a boyfriend?”

  He patted her bottom and gave one hip a squeeze.

  Marie was tired, she had serious matters on her mind, and she didn’t tolerate men grabbing her. She reacted automatically and turned, bringing down her foot as hard as she could on the man’s instep.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” she ordered from between clenched teeth.

  People nearby gasped. She looked up at the man and realized with horror that he was Jacko Bullock. He was a big man, widely built and elegantly dressed. But no fine clothing could disguise his basic coarseness. Or his anger.

  His faced reddened in rage and pain. “Who do you think you are?” he demanded and called her a nasty name.

  It was a name so vulgar that her temper rose again, eclipsing any chance that she’d apologize. “And who do you think you are?” she shot back.

  A woman’s voice, shrill and sharp, rang out. “Marie!”

  Marie blinked and saw Louisa coming toward them. Obviously, she’d witnessed the whole sorry scene. “Marie,” she said again, “get back to the kitchen—now!”

  Jacko looked at Louisa and gave her a boyish smile. “I just complimented her. Gave her a little pat of appreciation. She misinterpreted it.”

  “I did not,” Marie retorted, inflamed by his lie.

  “Marie, I told you to go,” Louisa said fiercely.

  As Marie stalked away, she heard Jacko say, “I shouldn’t have tried to be nice to the little skank. I hear she’s had half the blokes in Darwin.”

  Her face burned at the accusation and her temper flared.

  What’s he mean? she wondered in panic. Half the blokes in Darwin—what a filthy thing to say. She moved fast, and the music and the murmur of the crowd drowned out any more of the conversation. But gossip moved faster than she did. By the time she made her way to the kitchen, the story of her outburst had already reached Mrs. Lipton.

  She seized Marie by the arm, her eyes wide. “I just heard that you stamped on Jacko Bullock’s foot,” she said. “Is it true?”

  “Well…yes,” Marie managed to say. “But I didn’t know it was his foot. A man grabbed me and I just…reacted. Louisa saw. I’ll probably lose my job.”

  What, she wondered again, had Jacko meant about “half of Darwin” having had her? How could he even remember a nobody like her from the Scepter? Was it because she’d rebuffed him before? The night she’d been tempted to pour the drink on his head?

  She remembered how powerful Jacko was. And although the night was warm, she shivered.

  When the evening was over, the staff was exhausted and Francois was still fuming.

  “I hope Miss is happy,” Marie said. “She honored Bullock as if he were a king. I don’t know why she thinks so much of him.”

  “I’m not sure that she does anymore,” Mrs. Lipton said, grim-faced. “She’s been increasingly disillusioned by him.”

  Marie blinked in surprise. “She has?”

 
“He’s taken her too much for granted. And Miss doesn’t like it that he never spoke up for her when she was in the hospital. All he said was ‘Unlike Andrew Preston, I’m not going to use Miss Fairchild’s misfortune for publicity. The law will equitably solve the problem, and I have word her condition is excellent.’”

  “That’s all he said?” Marie asked in disbelief. “Why didn’t she cancel the gala?”

  “Perhaps she didn’t want to go back on a promise. Perhaps she hated to admit she was wrong about him. Perhaps she was giving him one last chance. Who knows?”

  Marie shook her head in confusion. “This situation gets too tangled for me. I keep thinking I ought to resign and go home.”

  “Not right now,” said Mrs. Lipton, her smile vanishing. “She’s going to want you around for a while. Francois just went to his room to pack. He’s leaving. She hurt his pride.”

  “Francois? No!” Marie exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, too. But Miss will want you to stay. At least until she can find a satisfactory replacement. Which will be difficult, my dear. Very difficult indeed. For I’ve heard her say myself that you’re irreplaceable.”

  “Me?” Marie asked in disbelief. “She said that about me?”

  Mrs. Lipton nodded and smiled. “I think she’d like to keep you on for good.”

  Marie was flooded by confused emotions. Louisa had come to like her? How surprising. How strangely touching. And how ironic. They were becoming attached to each other.

  All the more reason to leave. Soon.

  Feeney sat on his bed, half watching a horror movie on television while he filed the serial number off a gun.

  The move was a silly thing about mutant venomous spiders taking over an American town and killing just about everybody. The spiders would bite their prey by hiding in ingenious places like football helmets and toilet bowls. Feeney admired their inventiveness.

  His phone rang and he sighed. He stopped the TV with the remote and answered. The caller ID said simply Unknown.