Both Matt and Lee Richardson had been perfect, Matt in an obviously welcoming, enthusiastic role that seemed to come naturally to him, and he had already met some of the guests, whereas Lee had provided a laid-back yet at the same time subtly commanding presence.
Rhiannon had seen both men and women eye him with unwitting respect, although in the case of some of the women there’d been open speculation that had then transferred to her—Lee had rarely left her side. “Lucky you” some of those gazes had patently said, causing her to squirm inwardly a little.
And Andrea Richardson, who appeared to have come partnerless to the party, was certainly no wall-flower, but, for those in the know, from the way they ignored each other you could feel the dislike and hostility between Andrea and Lee. You could also see that Mary and Andrea were close.
As the dinner was cleared the DJ, who’d been playing softly in the background, started to wind up to a more throbbing beat.
‘You can relax now,’ Lee said into her ear as he took her hand.
‘I thought I’d been a model of relaxation,’ she replied.
‘No,’ he contradicted. ‘You’ve been a great hostess but anyone who knows you could detect a certain preoccupation with the food and the service.’
Rhiannon had to laugh. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s all right but that area of responsibility is at an end now.’
‘There’s still the coffee and—’
‘Rhiannon,’ he ordered, ‘switch off. Do you dance?’
‘Well…’ She hesitated.
‘Either one does or one doesn’t.’
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ she objected. ‘One can but maybe not that well, for example. One—’
‘Forgive me for interrupting but I can’t imagine any finishing-school worth its salt sending you out without that skill.’
She stared into his eyes with a tinge of exasperation. ‘That’s a long time ago.
I—’
But this time he put his finger to her lips and drew her into his arms.
They danced well together. Too well together, she came to think as she felt his body against hers, his hand on her waist. It was heady stuff.
She’d have liked to be able to stare over his shoulder but her gaze took to roaming over his thick, short dark hair and she wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through it. Then she found the strong, tanned line of his throat fascinating and, although her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, she could feel the play of his muscles through the stuff of his shirt and the fine silk and mohair of his jacket, and it produced a little thrill of sensation down her body.
That got worse, or more thrilling, as she thought of his lean, hard body only in his swimming shorts as she’d seen it earlier. He’d smelt of sweat then and leather and chalk. Now there was a hint of an astringent cologne and fresh linen, but whichever, she thought with a little trip of surprise she immediately corrected, he was potently attractive to her.
There was still another sensation to deal with. She recalled the mastery of the way he drove his powerful car and the embarrassing comparison it had brought to mind; his mastery over her body in bed.
They definitely weren’t in bed but it was his direction, his expert handling of her as they danced that was making her feel as light as gossamer and open to the rhythm of the music. She felt undoubtedly sexy as she moved, not only her feet, but also her body to the beat.
‘You didn’t honestly believe you weren’t any good at this?’ he queried as her skirt and her hair belled out and he held her around the waist with both hands.
‘I—that wasn’t the point I was trying to make,’ she replied breathlessly.
‘Granted.’ He smiled sardonically, pulled her back into his arms and spoke into her ear. ‘You were trying to come up with a way to get out of dancing with me.
But you’re more than a good dancer, Rhiannon.’
‘Actually, I’m surprised,’ she confessed. ‘It’s been so long, I did think I’d be all thumbs or whatever the equivalent it is with feet. Must be like riding a bicycle.’
‘Why has it been so long?’
‘All sorts of reasons!’ she said lightly.
‘No, tell me,’ he insisted, and he slowed the tempo deliberately so that they were barely moving and she was pressed against him with his arms wrapped around her back and his hands on her hips.
‘You…you can’t make me.’ She bit her lip as she felt his breath on her neck.
He eyed the flush of exertion in her cheeks and the faint dew of sweat just below her hairline. He noted the slight quiver of her lips and felt the tremors running through her body, the look of surprised uncertainty in her eyes.
He had no need to question the effect on him of her skin and her perfume…
He said, ‘I don’t need to make you. When two people affect each other the way we do, surely we have to talk about it?’
Rhiannon tried to think straight. The music had moved to another powerful beat but he danced them to the spot where they’d watched the moon rise earlier, where the level of noise was not so high and they could talk more normally.
She stared over his shoulder for a moment. The area they’d left was crowded and the coloured strobe lights the DJ had set up were turning people pink, purple and green.
Mary danced by in the arms of a stranger, no longer turquoise but orange then magenta, still obviously in her element.
Then Andrea drifted past in the arms of a distinguished, silver-haired man, causing her to think briefly about Lee and Andrea. The dislike they felt for each other was almost tangible in the way they so blatantly avoided each other…
She took a deep breath. ‘I got really close to a man once. We were engaged and due to get married but it became apparent that I wasn’t the heiress he thought I would be so he broke it off. To complicate matters, after he did that I discovered I was pregnant, although I subsequently miscarried.’ She paused.
‘I wondered about that,’ he said quietly.
Her eyes widened. ‘How could you possibly…?’
‘You spoke about the mood swings pregnancy can bring as if from experience. Two nights ago, in the kitchen,’ he added.
‘Oh. Yes, I suppose I did.’ She looked away. ‘Anyway, it turned me right off—no,’ she said as he moved, ‘I wasn’t going to say men; it turned me right off trusting physical attractions, not to mention my own judgement. So—’
‘You must have been a lot younger, Rhiannon,’ he broke in. ‘I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been painful but—’
It was her turn to break in. ‘I was twenty-one, and if the level of pain I went through was anything to go by, I’d be mad ever to let it happen to me again.’
He studied the shadows in her eyes but at the same time the imperious tilt of her chin. ‘There could have been extenuating circumstances that made it all—all the more catastrophic for you. Your mother, your father.’
‘Perhaps,’ she conceded, ‘but if I ever do marry…’
His lips twisted. ‘I’m glad to hear you haven’t entirely struck it off your agenda.’
‘If I do,’ Rhiannon heard herself say, ‘it will only be to someone who could never hurt me like that again. Obviously, someone I like and trust, someone who had the potential to build a good life with me, some common ground, but I won’t be expecting him to fall madly in love with me and I certainly won’t do that either.’
He cupped her shoulders in his hands. ‘That sounds like a declaration of independence worthy of a nation let alone a girl.’
‘Mr Richardson—Lee,’ Rhiannon chose her words with care and she strove to keep her expression neutral, ‘I’m not interested in casual affairs and the only reason I’m here is to do a job. N-now,’ her voice wobbled slightly for the first time, ‘now we’ve sorted that out, I intend to go back to doing that job. Please excuse me.’ And she slipped out of his grasp and away.
Chapter 4
The kitchen staff welcomed her back into their bosom enthusiastically w
ith no questions asked other than those concerning the business end of things.
‘How did it go? Was it really all right?’ Sharon queried.
‘It was a triumph,’ Rhiannon reassured her. ‘It went off wonderfully.’ She glanced at her watch, seeing it was past midnight. ‘Wow!’ she looked around at the gleaming, tidy kitchen. ‘You’ve even done all the dishes!’
‘Two dishwashing machines always help! Uh—time to start thinking coffee and bacon-and-egg pies?’ Sharon suggested.
‘Yes. We’ll serve them at one o’clock and hope people take that as the signal to think about going home.’
The bacon-and-egg pie was a secret recipe of Rhiannon’s passed down to her from her mother’s mother. She’d made a couple of large ones and she’d found they were the perfect way, along with coffee, to wind down a party.
But as she worked alongside Sharon to warm the pies and slice them and make the coffee, her thoughts were elsewhere.
Such as—where had the sudden decision to make a suitable marriage rather than a love match come from?
Well, not exactly a decision but the idea?
Was it the discovery that she was not as immune from a physical attraction as she’d thought?
That doesn’t make sense, she told herself. That’s exactly what you swore never to be taken in by again.
Then, she contemplated, had Southall got to her? In the sense that it was a home, it had seen years of trust and companionship, growing children—things that were rather like a siren call however much you might mistrust falling in love.
Had it even grown in her, unrealised, from working in other people’s homes, with other people’s families? Doing, in other words, what she was undoubtedly good at but never for herself…
Maybe, she conceded, but that wasn’t going to happen with Lee Richardson, who obviously had his own reasons for remaining “unspoken for”.
What were those reasons? she wondered with a sudden frown.
‘Rhiannon?’
She blinked and discovered Sharon was staring at her in some puzzlement.
‘Sorry. I was thinking about something else. You said?’
‘I asked you three times whether we should start serving the coffee.’
‘Yes! Would you mind doing it, Sharon? I’ve had enough of the noise et cetera.’
‘Not a problem.’ Sharon turned away but turned back. ‘Oh. You left your mobile in the kitchen. It rang earlier but by the time I found it, it had switched off.
There’s probably a message. It’s on the counter now.’
‘Thanks,’ Rhiannon said automatically as she found her mobile then went cold as she brought up the missed call number—her home phone in Sydney.
She always checked in with her aunt twice a day when she was away and had done so today, so there had to be a problem. She pushed some buttons and got her aunt’s slightly hysterical message.
Lee found her half an hour later, huddled in a chair in the pool house.
There was no way she could disguise the fact that she’d been crying this time.
Her mascara was smudged, her nose was red and she looked wrecked.
He sat down opposite her on the end of a cane lounger. ‘Rhiannon? What’s happened? Sharon got worried that you’d disappeared after getting a message on your phone.’
‘I’m really sorry but I’ll have to go home tomorrow,’ she said huskily.
‘Your father?’
She nodded and shredded a tissue—she’d found a box of them in the pool shower room. ‘He’s been heading for a hip replacement for some time but he’s had a car accident and broken his pelvis as well as damaging some internal organs—it’s all become really complicated now, and critical; he needs at least three operations.
I’ve booked myself on the first available flight tomorrow but that’s not until ten o’clock.’ She choked back a sob.
‘Don’t.’ Lee stood up and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come with me.’
‘Where? All those people…’
‘They’ve just about all left.’ He looked fleetingly grim. ‘Anyway, I have a private wing. I’ll shout you a brandy.’
Rhiannon was in no condition to argue as the toll of the day on top of her aunt’s news started to claim her.
His wing overlooked the east lawn but at the other end of the house from the east veranda.
From what she could see it was a bedroom and living room that had its own entrance from the veranda, and double doors from the living area to the rest of the house.
‘No one comes in here except by invitation.’ He flicked on a couple of lamps and turned the overhead lights off.
It was a comfortable room in a masculine sort of way. A brown buttoned leather couch and two winged armchairs; a state-of-the art sound and television system in a mahogany cabinet; no flowers, no ornaments but some lovely landscapes on the walls, very outback, Australian ones. And a beautiful, very old ivory chess set on the coffee-table.
‘Who do you play with?’ she asked with a sniff as he opened a drinks cabinet.
‘Cliff,’ he said over his shoulder as he reached for two balloon glasses and a bottle of cognac. ‘He’s a formidable opponent.’
‘My father and I—’ She stopped and took her bottom lip between her teeth.
‘Here.’ He handed her a glass and splashed more of the tawny liquid into the second glass. ‘Put your feet up,’ he suggested.
She hesitated then slipped her shoes off and curled her legs up beside her.
He shrugged out of his jacket and untied his tie. ‘So he’s safe and sound in hospital for the time being anyway?’
‘Yes. But I need to be there!’
‘Of course.’ Lee sat down in a winged armchair and cradled his glass in his hands. ‘I’ll drive you down to Coolangatta tomorrow but—’
Before he got time to continue, the house telephone rang.
He answered it but from the monosyllables he uttered it was impossible to tell what was being said at the other end. He put it down and got up.
‘I’ll be back soon.’ He walked over to the sound system and put on a CD and set it to play softly. ‘Drink your drink.’
She looked up at him, so tall, so impressive, so—suddenly implacable-looking, and she asked involuntarily, ‘Is there a problem?’
‘No—nothing to do with you, anyway. Relax, Rhiannon.’
He went out and closed the double doors behind him.
Rhiannon laid her head back as the soft strains of Mendelssohn and A Midsummer Night’s Dream played through the airwaves, relaxing her even as she wondered, and hoped devoutly not, if the last of the guests hadn’t created a fracas or anything of that nature.
She took another sip of her brandy and tried to concentrate on this turn of events but she couldn’t think straight and her eyelids grew heavy.
She sipped the last of her brandy to try to keep herself awake but it did the opposite. She fell asleep.
She woke just before dawn.
The red numerals of a digital clock on the bedside table told her this but it struck her slowly that the bedside table in the blue and white guest bedroom at Southall didn’t have a digital clock. It had a gorgeous, old-fashioned, miniature carriage clock she’d fallen in love with…
She struggled upright and the next discovery she made was that she was fully clothed apart from her shoes.
She made a strangled little sound and reached out blindly, only to knock a glass of water from the bedside table to the floor with a dull thud.
A lamp went on, illuminating an adjoining room she recognised—Lee Richardson’s living room in his private suite, which meant she must be in his bedroom, in his bed!
She sat up with a gasp of horror and Lee himself appeared in the doorway, stretching. He now wore track pants and a sweatshirt.
‘Oh, good heavens,’ she murmured and flung the bedclothes back preparatory to scrambling out of the bed.
He crossed the floor in a couple of swift strides and sat down on the side of the bed.
‘Rhiannon, it’s OK. You were out like a light when I came back last night so I thought the simplest thing was to put you to bed here.’
‘But…I…what about you?’
He grimaced. ‘I slept on the couch.’
She subsided a bit. ‘That—that was very kind of you. I’m sorry! I mean, to be such a nuisance. I can’t imagine why I would have fallen asleep like that.’
‘No?’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘After a day that would have slain most people then some traumatic news?’
She closed her eyes as it all came back to her and slumped against the pillows with tears beading her lashes.
‘Sorry again,’ she said thickly and wiped her eyes impatiently with her
knuckles. ‘I don’t usually weep all over the place.’
‘I believe you,’ he said, and lifted her gently into his arms. ‘Look upon me as a shoulder to cry on.’
She didn’t cry. She sniffed several times as she rested her cheek on his shoulder and took a couple of shuddering breaths.
Then she quietened and it came to her that she felt a bit like a lone warrior coming in from the cold. Yes, she had her aunt, but otherwise she’d been so alone through the break-up of her father’s empire, her mother’s death then her own trauma and through the hard-working years that had followed so that some physical comfort, like this, was a taste of heaven.
She felt warmed by it, soothed…she didn’t want it to end, she wanted more and the fact that Lee Richardson had been so right about her didn’t make the slightest difference…
She raised her head and looked into his eyes. His dark hair was ruffled, and again, she’d been right about designer stubble. It made him look gloriously sexy and desirable and the heavy-lidded way he returned her look added to it.
Her heart started to beat like a muffled drum then she saw him deliberately close his eyes and she felt his arms loosen as if he’d made a sudden decision.
‘No,’ she breathed and raised her mouth to his, ‘don’t let me go, I’ll fall apart.’
The Australian's Housekeeper Bride Page 7