He’d changed into khaki trousers and a long-sleeved, light blue linen shirt. He looked big, relaxed yet entirely immoveable.
Rhiannon made a kittenish little sound of frustration.
He straightened, went to the fridge and brought out a bottle of wine. He poured a glass and handed it to her.
‘Go and have a soak in a warm bath, wash your hair and whatever else girls do.
The restaurant I have in mind is informal but pleasant and the food’s good.
We’ll leave at six-thirty—no, don’t say no or I’ll come and help you.’
She tossed him such a sparkling look of outrage, he laughed softly and said, ‘On the other hand, I’ve had my shower and changed.’
‘I never thought you actually meant it!’
‘I wouldn’t put it to the test, shower or no shower, Rhiannon. And I wouldn’t be too sure you wouldn’t enjoy it, either.’
Their gazes clashed but, although his was still amused, she’d had at least two demonstrations of the lengths Lee Richardson would go to to get his own way today.
Not only that but she was also afflicted by a sudden vision of them showering together, of him soaping her body and…
She switched her mental vision off with an audible click, audible only to her.
But her heels did click on the kitchen tiles as she turned away from him and swept out.
It was when she was spraying on her perfume, a precious bottle given to her for Christmas by her aunt, that Andrea Richardson came back to mind suddenly.
She’d done everything Lee had suggested—soaked in the bath, washed her hair and changed her clothes for taupe linen trousers and a lime-green silky knit top cinched into her waist with a wide bronze belt.
But she couldn’t help wondering suddenly what place Ross Richardson’s widow held in the family now. Obviously not a happy one but surely she deserved some status?
She shrugged, checked her reflection and took a deep breath.
‘Not such a bad idea after all,’ Lee said to her over a red and white checked tablecloth and an oil lamp on the restaurant veranda.
‘No,’ Rhiannon had to agree.
She’d managed to put her somewhat tortured animosity towards this man on hold but she had to admit he’d helped by being strictly companionable in a non-threatening way.
And, true to Sharon’s prediction, he’d tackled a large steak while she had made a much smaller meal of whiting fillets but enjoyed it.
She smiled, albeit a little reluctantly. ‘The amazing thing is that I was actually hungry.’
‘It must be a problem for a passionate cook, a soupçon here and there too many.’
‘Yes,’ she fingered her wine glass delicately, ‘you need to be strong-willed.’
‘I believe you are, Rhiannon, and not only when it comes to cooking.’
‘Probably. It may also take one to know one.’
He raised a dark eyebrow at her. ‘Are we trading insults again?’
She raised her glass and sipped her wine as she looked at him through her lashes. ‘I don’t know. Are we?’
He smiled, that sudden, unexpected smile that wreaked so much havoc. ‘Oh, I think so. I think we rather enjoy it. But war has its other side.’
‘Not in my case,’ she denied.
‘Liar,’ he accused softly and sat back.
She found herself studying the tanned line of his throat revealed by the V-neck of his shirt before she switched her gaze away abruptly. ‘Can we talk about something else?’
‘Sure.’ He shrugged those broad, tantalising shoulders. ‘You choose.’
She hesitated, then, ‘Tell me about your lifestyle.’
‘Well, it’s changed a bit since I took over from my father. I used to spend a lot more time outback—that was the area I concentrated on, but I make a lot of decisions from a boardroom these days. Have you,’ he paused and frowned fleetingly, ‘any position on an outback lifestyle?’
Rhiannon looked startled. ‘Cattle stations? I once spent a wonderful holiday on a cattle station called Beaufort, in the Kimberley. It’s owned and operated by the Constantin family. I had a ball!’
‘I know it,’ he said. ‘Tatiana and Alex Constantin are friends. Of course, he’s into pearls in a big way as well as cattle.’
‘Yes.’ Rhiannon grimaced. ‘My parents gave me a string of their South Sea Pearls for my eighteenth birthday. They were stunning but I had to sell them. That was hard,’ she said ruefully, ‘but I did really enjoy the whole outback experience.
Of course, it helps if you ride and I do—What’s wrong?’ she added when she suddenly realised he was studying her rather intently.
‘So you don’t find cattle stations dusty and boring?’
‘Good heavens, no! Mind you, the Kimberley is unique but—why do you ask?’
He took in the genuine enthusiasm in her eyes. ‘No reason. Mary is not a fan.’
Rhiannon rubbed the bridge of her nose, then she said with a wry little chuckle, ‘To be honest, I can’t help feeling a little sorry for Mary even though I’ve never met her. She seems to be up against some rather large odds.’
‘Oh, I think Mary can look after herself in her own way. Incidentally, what exactly did my stepmother say to you today?’
Rhiannon hesitated and thought about declining to be drawn on the subject but she intercepted a narrowed, determined look from Lee Richardson she was learning not to take lightly.
‘She—well, she was obviously in a bit of a temper but the gist of it was that you, particularly, regard her as the wicked stepmother who trapped your father into marriage.’ Rhiannon looked uncomfortable.
‘But that’s not all?’ he said.
‘She did—I think—look, it’s got nothing to do with me,’ she gestured, ‘but maybe she feels she’s entitled to some place at Southall?’
He said nothing, merely stared over her shoulder with his eyes focused on the distance.
Rhiannon drained her wine, fought a small battle with herself, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘What—does she do these days?’
He withdrew his gaze from the distance and it was intensely blue as it rested on her face. ‘When she’s not making mischief? Not much. She flits between the south of France and Australia, but she does believe that Southall should be her home.’
Rhiannon frowned. ‘What kind of mischief? And does she have any basis to believe that?’
‘She’s rather enslaved Mary for her own ends and there’s a slightly awkward clause in my father’s will, granting her residence under certain conditions.’
‘When you say she’s enslaved Mary, what do you mean?’
‘She’s preyed on Mary’s desire to blend her old life with her new one; she’s egging her on, in other words, to persuade Matt to move to Brisbane. Other than that,’ he shrugged, ‘at present, she’s conceived the idea of a memorial service for my father around the anniversary of his death.’
‘Do you regard her—I mean, do you resent her marriage to your father?’ Rhiannon asked.
‘Wouldn’t you in the circumstances? She was half his age, my mother hadn’t been gone that long and she contrived to marry him without Matt or me knowing what was going on.’
Rhiannon blinked, then blinked again. ‘It sounds,’ she grimaced, ‘tricky.’
‘No, it’s not tricky at all,’ he disagreed and the coldest gleam of blue fire lit his eyes for a moment, causing Rhiannon to shiver inwardly.
Then it was gone and he said, ‘Well, I guess you wouldn’t mind an early night?’
Rhiannon glanced at her watch to see that it was nine o’clock. The time had gone fast. She said, ‘You presume right but thanks for dinner—it was probably just what I needed.’
They drove through the wrought-iron gates but Lee slammed on the brakes before they reached the garage.
‘Did you see that?’ he snapped.
‘What? No, I didn’t see anything—hang on,’ she paused as a shrill whinny tore the air, accompanied by pounding h
ooves, ‘it’s a loose horse by the sound of it.’
‘It’s not a horse, it’s that blasted she-devil of Christy’s impersonating one—she’s got out somehow.’
‘Poppy! But how?’ Rhiannon stopped abruptly as a chorus of barks rent the air.
‘She’s the ultimate escape artist and the dogs are chasing her. They’re all having a fine game, no doubt,’ Lee said grimly.
‘But what about the stable lad and Christy and Cliff? Wouldn’t they—?’
‘The stable lad goes home at night, the dogs are supposed to be patrolling the place and Cliff and Christy go to the club every Saturday night. It’s the night they run chess and Scrabble competitions.’ He got out and slammed the car door and started to whistle.
Two highly excited dogs, the ones she’d seen that morning, streaked through the night towards him, grinning all over their faces.
‘Sit,’ he commanded.
They obliged smartly.
‘You’re safe, Rhiannon,’ Lee called. ‘They’re trained not to attack. OK, guys,’ he added to the dogs, ‘heel! We’ll get you shut up then—Rhiannon, would you mind giving me a hand? Poppy can also be the ultimate vandal when she sets her mind to it. She can actually turn on taps with her teeth.’
‘Certainly.’ Rhiannon stepped out of the car. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s in the vegetable garden as we speak.’
‘Whow! Having turned on a few taps, on the way,’ he cursed as he stepped into a large puddle that shouldn’t have been there. ‘I don’t know why I put up with this blasted horse!’
‘Because you’re rather fond of Christy?’ Rhiannon suggested with a smile.
They discovered how Poppy had got out when they reached the stables. She’d kicked a hole in the lower half of her stall door and somehow scrambled through.
‘You have to give her some marks for sheer ingenuity,’ Rhiannon laughed, although Lee was swearing as he locked up the dogs.
‘OK, let’s arm ourselves.’ He took down two leads and a headstall from hooks on the wall and gathered two biscuits of lucerne hay from the feed room.
As Rhiannon had predicted, they found Poppy in the vegetable garden—where she’d turned on another tap thereby creating something of a quagmire—expertly digging up carrots.
‘Oh, poor Cliff,’ Rhiannon breathed as she summed up the devastation in the moonlight.
‘It might just prompt him to consider getting his daughter a decent, well-mannered horse,’ Lee said caustically. ‘Let’s back her into that corner.’ He pointed. ‘I don’t think she can get through that hedge. Oh, Poppy,’ he called in dulcet, singsong tones as he advanced with his lucerne, ‘if you know what’s good for you, you old witch, you’ll come quietly!’
Poppy had other ideas, but with two experienced horsemen in front of her and a thick, scratchy hedge behind her, she was finally cornered, although Lee caught his shirt in the hedge, ripping it severely and finally abandoning it on a wicked thorn.
Neither of them said a word as they marched the pony back to the stables, nor as Lee put her into the sand-roll and closed the metal door on her, but it wasn’t a silent time. The dogs were barking; the other horses were all stirred up.
They checked them out individually and mixed some small feeds to settle them all down.
Then they stood in the middle of the stable yard and eyed each other.
Rhiannon was the first to crack. ‘Talk about a snow man—you look like a mud man!’ she gurgled. ‘It’s in your hair, all over your chest, everywhere.’
‘I know that,’ he countered. ‘And talk about a mud maiden—you look as if you’ve gone through some bizarre tribal ritual. There’s only one thing to do.’ He shrugged. ‘What does a little more water matter anyway?’
He reached for the stable hose, turned it on and sprayed himself from head to toe.
‘Your turn now!’
She couldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell him not to—and it was the only sensible thing to do anyway, so she accepted her hosing down.
But something changed between them, an awareness grew between them out of nowhere.
She was struck by the beautiful proportions of his upper body, clean and slick now. She could only drink in the width of his sleekly muscled shoulders, his taut diaphragm, his lean waist and the mat of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his trousers…
‘You look like a siren,’ he said huskily, causing her to look up guiltily.
‘A well-dressed one.’ She glanced down at herself and bit her lip. Her top was moulded to her breasts, her nipples clearly outlined, so were her thighs.
‘Maybe not so well-dressed,’ he murmured.
Her eyes flew to his. ‘No, I mean—’
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Luscious and very lovely.’
She started to colour. His eyes glinted wickedly.
Rhiannon clenched her fists. She battled to control the tremors that were starting to run through her as that dark blue gaze of his swept her body again—it was almost as if there was an electric current running between them.
The moonlit stable yard with its puddles of water, the sounds of munching, now contented horses, all had a surreal quality and for a blinding moment she wished she were young and refreshingly open again. So that she could reach that open, honest plane with Lee Richardson…
If he made one step forward, she thought, she’d be lost. She’d be vulnerable to all those fantasies about him she’d thought, wrongly, she’d banished.
She’d be as helpless—no!
‘I think it might be timely to remember,’ she said with an effort, ‘that basically, I’m the housekeeper here on a job. Goodnight.’
She swung on her heel and squelched through the yard towards the kitchen door.
Lee made no attempt to follow her, although he stared after her with a muscle flickering in his jaw.
She saw little of him the next morning and was grateful for all the work she had to do towards the party—it was one way of keeping her thoughts on other things at bay. It hadn’t been an easy night…
Not only that, but there was also a devastated Cliff to counsel and a subdued Christy to handle.
‘One more incident like that and she has to go,’ Christy told her tearfully.
‘Not only is Lee mad but so’s my father. She trampled his prize begonias and his vegetable garden is wrecked.’
‘I know,’ Rhiannon said ruefully.
‘Actually, I’ve never seen Lee in such a bad mood,’ Christy confided.
Rhiannon paused and grimaced inwardly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if they get over it, both Lee and your dad. But in the meantime it would be a good idea to be firmer with Poppy, Christy. Don’t let her get away with murder. If I had more time I’d help you. Maybe after the party I’ll be able to sort something out.’
Christy went away looking happier.
But Rhiannon still had the girl on her mind when she did bump into Lee and it led to a tense little encounter.
She was sorting cutlery and wrapping each knife and fork in a linen napkin on the dining-room sideboard when he walked through the room on his way to the kitchen.
‘Ah. Basically the housekeeper,’ he said sardonically, coming to a stop beside her.
She flicked him a quick glance and went on wrapping cutlery. ‘Good afternoon.’
‘How is your day going so far, Ms Fairfax?’ he enquired.
‘As well as can be expected, Mr Richardson. How’s yours?’
‘Not without its complications. Things would appear to be a little tense.’
‘Just don’t take it out on Christy!’ she flashed at him then could have shot herself.
He opened his mouth, closed it and said smoothly, ‘What would you recommend? That I give her a certificate? Pretend Poppy’s escapades were laudable?’
Rhiannon set her teeth. ‘No. But don’t transfer any annoyance you might be feeling towards me onto her.’
‘Now, what on earth made you think that?’ he drawled.
>
‘Men can have fragile egos,’ she retorted. ‘And, since I got myself into this impossible conversation, I might as well keep going. Someone needs to give Christy some help with Poppy, so why don’t you?’
He put his head to one side. ‘You really are the most complete housekeeper, aren’t you?’ he said, annoyed. ‘Will there be any aspect of our lives you haven’t reorganised by the time you leave?’
‘She is only eleven, she doesn’t have a mother, she loves Poppy—any one of you could have worked that out, I would have thought.’
‘Are you suggesting I become a horse whisperer in my spare time?’
‘Yes.’
He regarded her bent head and busy fingers thoughtfully. ‘Since you’re such a fountain of wisdom, Rhiannon, how would you suggest I deal with a difficult night filled with visions of you, clothed but soaking wet then unclothed in my arms?’ He waited then went on,
‘Or, since you’re so touchy this afternoon,’ he paused as she lifted her head and their gazes clashed, ‘maybe you had a similar night? In which case, perhaps you could tell me what the hell we’re fighting about.’
Her throat worked but nothing came out.
He smiled drily and walked away but they both stopped what they were doing, she folding napkins and he turning back, and they spoke simultaneously.
‘Look,’ he said.
‘Listen,’ Rhiannon said.
The silence grew after their words had clashed until he said, ‘Be my guest.’
‘I think we should—put aside all this,’ she said with an effort. ‘It’s going to be a huge day one way or another and…’ She gestured helplessly.
‘My sentiments entirely. Should we sign an entente cordiale for today at least?’
‘I think we should agree to one, anyway. And,’ she frowned, ‘talking of guests, are you still sure you want me as one? It really would be much easier—’
‘I’m afraid to say on that point I’m rocksolid,’ he murmured. ‘I see you as invaluable on the social scene.’
She blinked. ‘But why?’
‘You’re very talented, Rhiannon. It just,’ he shrugged, ‘shines through. As a matter of fact, you remind me of my mother. She managed to blend considerable social skills with a streak of solid-gold practicality and genuine warmth.’
The Australian's Housekeeper Bride Page 5