by Margaret Way
“God, yes!” he freely admitted. “Why would they lie? They appeared most sincere. I know there was a lot of conflict.” He frowned. “We all more or less knew that. Bringing a beautiful, much younger wife into the family was bound to have repercussions.”
“It did that.” She turned away, as though realizing it would do no good whatever trying to enlist his sympathy. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about it. You’ve obviously made up your mind. You don’t seem to appreciate that you were blessed, Garrick. Both of us might have been born into wealth and privilege but you grew up with wonderful parents. To most people, being the Rylance heiress meant everything was within my grasp. That wasn’t so. Being wealthy carries its own burdens. You know that. One can buy relationships. People want to know you, be seen with you. But one can never buy love. It’s not for sale, when love is everything in life.”
He gave vent to a theatrical groan. “Oh, please! I had love for you, Zara. Do you dimly remember that? You didn’t want it. I knew at the time I wanted you more than you wanted me, but that was okay. What you gave me filled my life with radiance. Hope for a glowing future. In reality, there was no hope. What you actually did was expose me to a lot of wasteful unhappiness. You weren’t worth it. I detest devious, dishonest behaviour above everything.”
Colour swept her face in a rosy tide. “Then your memories are distorted. I wasn’t playing any game, Garrick.”
He found himself gritting his teeth. “Please do shut up, Zara,” he said. “We have a history of heartache, but we can’t turn this weekend into a battlefield now, can we? What’s past is past.”
Her gaze turned inward. “What did the American author, Faulkner say? The past is never dead; it’s not even past. You and Julianne suffered no family traumas like Corin and I did. You had a wonderful mother and father. Your father is the loveliest man—I’m hoping to see him. He invited me to Coorango.”
That piece of information came like a king hit “What?” He couldn’t control the fierceness of his tone. He went after her, taking hold of her arm. And there it was again. The zap of electricity that raised the short hairs on his nape. His eyes blazed, bluer than the finest back-lit sapphires. “Dad couldn’t have done that without telling me.”
“He’s still master of Coorango, isn’t he?” she challenged, her whole body trembling in his grasp. “Your mother would like to see me too,” she swept on. “Helen and I always did get on. She loved my mother. She told me so.”
That, at least, was true. For an instant he felt as though his structured life was imploding. “And when is this supposed to be happening?” he rapped, releasing her as though her touch burned him. Which, indeed, it did.
She spread the long pale fingers of her hands. “I think they thought—please be calm, Garrick—” she begged, “—I could fly back with you.”
“You can’t be serious.” He spoke flatly. “Neither of them said a word of this to me.” Shock was enveloping him. His parents told him everything. There were no secrets. They had been invited to the wedding as a matter of course. Only his father wasn’t anywhere near well enough for the long journey and his mother wouldn’t leave her adored husband. Perversely, he now realised some part of him wanted Zara to come, amply demonstrating his stupidity where she was concerned.
“So there’s a story behind this, is there?” he accused her. “You asked could you come. My parents wouldn’t refuse you. No doubt Coorango is as far away as you can get. I suppose people are still talking about your involvement with Hartmann.”
She moved swiftly away from him to the first landing. A portrait of a very elegant auburn-haired woman in a pink silk gown, late nineteenth century, hung on the wall directly behind her, a stunning backdrop. “A section of the media did their best to destroy me. Mud sticks. I have to live with it. But no one who knows me or loves me doubts my word. Konrad’s vast business dealings were under suspicion for a long time. We all knew that. But it took a lengthy, painstaking undercover operation to reveal the truth.”
“Look, I don’t want to hear about your conman ex-lover. Let’s go upstairs,” he said dismissively, picking up his suitcase again. “Of course.”
They didn’t speak until she stopped outside a bedroom door a distance down the wide corridor, hung with more valuable gilt-framed paintings. Antique chairs and tall Chinese porcelain vases atop carved mahogany stands were set at intervals.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” She opened the door, gesturing with a graceful movement of her arm that he should go in.
“Nice,” he muttered. It was way better than nice. The bedroom was large—and he was used to large—with a lofty ceiling opening onto the massive plant-filled rear terrace. There was a wrought iron setting where one could get a great view over the rear garden, the swimming pool area and, of course, the deep river. Inside, classic, sophisticated custom furnishings; king-size bed, colour scheme elegantly subdued—cream, bronze, ivory. “The most harmonious bedroom any male guest could ask for,” he said without looking at her. He was so close to her his muscles were tensed like steel springs.
“There’s an en suite, of course.”
“Of course!” he echoed with sarcasm.
She gave him a long searching look. “You’ve become very hard, haven’t you, Garrick?” she said, studying his superbly lean figure. Hardened or not, he was more devastatingly handsome than ever. The heat in his brilliantly blue eyes made her feel consumed. “You’ve quite lost your smile.” He had such a beautiful dazzling smile, like sunshine breaking out. “Only with you, Zara,” he shot back with easy mockery.
“Your voice is deeper too,” she continued. “You sound more and more like your father. Once I used to think Rick will be like that, with all your father’s gravitas and wisdom. His wonderful sense of humour and his understanding of human nature, our strengths and our weaknesses. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“I’ll never be my father,” he said. “But I try my best. I never knew you, Zara,” he countered. “I fell for you when we were kids, outlandish as that may seem. I thought you were as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. I was so wrong. Anyway, it’s all ancient history now. A man can only afford to make a fool of himself once.”
“Did you not love Sally at all?” she asked with a serious questioning look.
His blue eyes raked her. “Do you really want to know?”
“Very much. I only ever wanted your happiness, Garrick.”
He gave her a glower that would have outdone Jane Austen’s Mr Darcy. He had developed a real talent for it. Sadly, the glower was intensely sexy.
“Zara, give me a break,” he groaned. “You cared nothing for me. You were just wallowing in a young man’s worship. Sally was a breath of fresh air after you. It was mutual, our breaking up.”
Her great eyes flashed prior knowledge. “Not what I heard.”
Someone was bound to have told her. “Sally deserved a different kind of partner,” he said. “I admit I have grown…harder. Sally needed someone who would suit her better— Nick. So put me in the picture. For a woman who was expected to marry early and brilliantly, you’re damned near on the shelf. What happened to all the guys before Hartmann?” His expression could have stripped her to the bone.
“No one measured up to you!”
He was so angry he spun about and caught her by the shoulders, shocking himself with the violence of his reaction. He wanted to pick her up bodily. He wanted to…damn…damn…damn…
“Don’t do this, Zara,” he warned. “I’m not sure what lies at the centre of this new campaign—if that’s what it is—but, I have to tell you, you disgust me.”
She stared back at him with absolute calm. That was a major point in Zara’s favour. She could keep her calm. “Feels good, does it, shaking me?”
Instantly he dropped his hands. God, around Zara he needed a keeper. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You’d do well not to provoke me. Which you’re doing deliberately.” He could feel the heat running along hi
s arms to his shoulders, down the length of his body. The slightest physical contact and he was on the verge of losing it. He wanted to pull her back into his arms. Kiss her senseless…
For God’s sake, remember all you’ve learned.
Not easy when his emotions were in chaos. Another shock to absorb. For the first time in a long time he had come alive in a way he hadn’t experienced since she had left him. The powerful sexuality that was in him, so long dormant, was frantic to break free. Now the big question was—just how long was he going to be able to hold out? Weddings were very special occasions. Weddings did things to people. They filled the air with magic. He would have to spend the entire time smothering his instincts to death.
She had slipped one hand to her shoulder, massaging it gently.
Shame overwhelmed him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he apologised again, not fully aware how daunting his physical presence was—a stunningly fit male, well over six feet, emanating a fierce anger.
“I think you did,” she said, but in a low accepting voice. “It’s going to be very difficult these next few days if we can’t appear to be friends.”
He couldn’t help it. He threw back his head and hooted, the sound mocking and derisive. “Friends?”
“Maybe not—” she wavered in the face of his contempt “—but we’re both adults. Surely we can play the part?”
He shrugged a languid shoulder. “I don’t see why not. You’re a superb actress, and the last thing I want to do is upset Corin and his lovely bride. What I don’t see is why you want to come back with me to Coorango? I’ve made it quite clear what I think of you.”
Her midnight-dark eyes were pinned to his face. “I haven’t seen your parents for some time. They like me. They want to see me even if you don’t. I admit I’d like to get out of town for a while. Your father and mother understand that. You’ll be out and about the station for most of the time. I know how hard you work. I can only say I’ll do my best to keep out of your way. I could be a help to your mother, with Jules in Washington, expecting a baby.” Julianne Rylance had married a young career diplomat some years back. His current posting, an upgrading, was in Washington.
“I have to think about this,” he said. It came from the depths of his being. Take her back to Coorango? Kill or cure? His whole attitude was forced, that was the worst part. A defence mechanism; a way of controlling his emotions. “I like my life the way it is,” he told her, not bothering to keep the anger away. “I don’t want you back in it. Leave me alone, Zara. Whatever was between us, it’s long over.”
The “friendship”, curiously enough, lasted right through a delicious dinner and well after. They retired with coffee to the rear terrace, where the river breeze was circulating, shaking out all the myriad scents of the garden. The sky was ablaze with brilliantly blossoming stars. The exterior lights lit the grounds—the huge sapphire pool and the landscaped gardens with their spectacular banks of densely blue hydrangeas, a flower his mother loved but could not grow on Coorango. Even at the rear of the house the air was infused with the fragrance of the roses that mingled with the familiar scent of Zara he was drawing in.
He didn’t have to force his smooth easy manner. It came without effort. He was, after all, well schooled and the happiness Corin and Miranda so obviously felt flowed very sweetly and calmingly over him. It lifted his spirits and lowered his entrenched cynicism. Corin adored his Miranda. Miranda adored him. A man should be so lucky!
But then hadn’t he once thought the gates of Paradise had been opened to him? Zara had seduced him with all her ravishing little overtures. Or had he seduced her? Who could tell which way it had been? He had made love to her over and over so passionately. She had let him. Or had it been the other way around? Whatever way it had happened, it was as though it was meant to be. Cruel as the outcome had been, he would remember it all his life.
Tonight, both young women were wearing ankle-length summery dresses that fell from shoestring straps. Maxi dresses, Miranda told him when he complimented her on her enchanting appearance. Miranda’s dress was in a beautiful stand-out turquoise to match her amazing eyes; Zara’s was closely patterned all over with pink and coral flowers outlined in black. Two beautiful young woman, perfect foils for one another. It was clear Zara had worked her charm on her soon-to-be sister-in-law. Miranda’s manner with Zara was soft with affection.
Pity she didn’t use her winning ways on the tragic Leila.
Zara turned her head. Their eyes met. He took a deep breath that was like a knife thrust. He realised, too late, he had just been sitting there staring at her.
A million miserable damns!
He couldn’t change how she affected him.
He couldn’t unmake the past.
Ecstasy and betrayal often went hand in hand.
Workmen were swarming all over the grounds when he went down to do a few quick laps of the pool. It was a magnificent blue and gold day with the prediction of plenty more perfect days to come. A great omen for the wedding. He woke in the pre-dawn, as was his habit, but for the initial few seconds he couldn’t think where he was. His dreams had been anything but restful. Predictably filled with a Zara who kept walking steadily away from him up a rising slope. She was even managing to dominate his unconscious. At one point in the early hours he had woken with one hell of a start, thinking her body was curled around his.
How crazy could a man get?
Getting through the wedding was going to be a lot tougher than he’d thought. The trick was to focus on Corin and his beautiful Miranda and forget his own problems. He wasn’t proud of the fact that the woman who had betrayed him still had immense power over him. No wonder men got so angry when they were treated like fools.
By the time he pulled himself out of the pool two splendid white marquees had been erected, with a third underway. Buffet tables were being put swiftly in place with several women waiting to drape them with white damask tablecloths and, he understood, gold moire over-cloths to match the elegant gilt chairs. Excitement was in the air. No doubt about it. He had never seen Corin happier. That counted for a lot.
He was towelling himself off when Zara surprised him by materialising at his shoulder. He hadn’t heard her. He’d been too busy watching the proceedings as she had come across the plush emerald grass.
“You were up early,” she said, slipping off her flimsy cobalt blue and white cover-up and placing it neatly around the back of a chair.
“Wow!” It came without volition. For a few moments arousal closed his throat.
“Wow?” she questioned, raising her brows.
“Yes, wow, wow, wonderful wow!” he said shortly, angry with himself for making any comment. He felt the predictable blood rush to his loins; more heat from the sight of her than the sun. There was an element of déjà vu in it too. How many times had he and Zara swum together in Coorango’s Blue Lady Lagoon? Sometimes with swimsuits, sometimes without. Acting wild. He could still visualise her naked body, her long black hair streaming down her back, creamy skin that never tanned, huge eyes locked on his, each hypnotised by the other.
I love you, Rick. I always will!
And I adore you! We’re perfect together.
Every atom of his being—his whole psyche—had told him it was true. Zara was the only girl in the world he wanted to marry.
But that was another time. Another place. Only deep, deep memories would never fade.
“Well, thank you,” she said and smiled. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” A priceless piece of understatement.
“Hard work tends to keep one in shape,” he snapped.
“Still tanned all over?”
“That you’ll never know.”
“Don’t make statements that might be used against you,” she said softly.
“And don’t you try flirting with me,” he warned. “You’ve had your day. Full stop.”
“And every day since I’ve died a little.”
He swung on her then, blue eyes blazing.
“Okay, okay!” She held up the palms of her hands in surrender, head held high and proud. “I disgust you. But you haven’t found anyone. Neither have I.”
“Maybe we damaged one another. Leave it, Zara.”
Showing a little agitation she withdrew a long hairpin from her hair; the sun made it gleam, like a thoroughbred’s coat polished high for a race. What a glorious thing was a woman’s mane, thick and sleek and straight. Her white one-piece swimsuit was cut high at the leg to make the most of her beautiful graceful limbs. The plunging halter neckline revealed a tantalizing glimpse of the sides of her small but perfectly shaped breasts. The top section of the swimsuit was printed with cobalt blue and silver. Plunging neckline or not, she projected her innate refinement and elegance.
He forced himself to look away. He picked up his discarded towel, giving his thick hair a vigorous once over.
“You’re not going, are you?” She raised a hand to block the sun from her eyes.
“I’ve had my swim.” He wouldn’t look at her.
“Stay, please,” she begged. “Miri is coming down. It will make her happy to see us together. You know—friends.”
His eyes shot over her then, narrowing, intensely blue against his darkly tanned skin. “Ex-lovers. Friends has nothing to do with it. Anyway, I thought I fulfilled my obligations last night.”
“We had a lovely time,” she said, more a statement than a question.
“And you were so sweet,” he mocked. “I’m supposed to feel good?”
“Well, at least you look good.” Her face softened. She gave a little shaky laugh. “Here’s Miri now. Please stay on a while, Garrick.”
“Okay, I will, for Miranda’s sake. Her New Zealand family are arriving before lunch, aren’t they?” He ran a hand through his hair, quickly drying in deep crisp waves. A slight frown appeared on his forehead. “I didn’t even know until last night that Miranda had a family in New Zealand. But then I know very little about her. I even had the notion that side of her family was darn near a closed topic.” He gave her a searching look, not all that surprised when she turned her beautiful head away from him. It seemed to him—he could be wrong—there was a story there.