‘It’s a bit funny asking me, when you haven’t even told me why you left the Barclays in the first place.’
She chose to ignore that. ‘Perhaps I could say they were called away suddenly to a dying relative and decided to put me on an earlier coach. And then,’ warming to this theme, ‘my bags were overlooked at the depot at Westwood and unbeknownst to me weren’t even loaded onto the coach.’
‘And have the Greenwoods try to recover ‘em for you and find you were never even on it? You’ll have to do better than that, me girl.’
‘I’m not “your girl”,’ she flashed. Drat his impudence!
‘And,’ he continued, ignoring her outburst, ‘it’s pretty unlikely that Barclay would shove you off a week early without sending word ahead to have ‘em expecting you.’
‘Unlikely, but not impossible,’ she retorted coldly.
Three minutes later she had cooled down enough to try again. ‘Well, perhaps my luggage fell off the top of the coach and no-one noticed.’
‘Hmph. If there were the usual three or four coves perched up the top they could hardly have failed to notice.’
She sighed in exasperation. ‘Then what do you suggest, Mr Know-it-all?’
He grinned. ‘You spun enough yarns to me and now you’ll just have to spin a few more. Perhaps it would be better if you put up in Banana for the night while I ride out with a message. At least that way you won’t just turn up out of the blue and it’ll give you more time to make up your story.’
‘Oh,’ she exclaimed impatiently, ‘now that we’ve come this far we may as well continue. Since the coach would have arrived on Friday, I shall have to tell them I’ve been staying at an hotel. I shall just say my bags were stolen at Westwood and the authorities are doing their best to trace them. They’ll have to be content with that.’
Kavanagh’s face set in a stubborn expression. ‘I still think it’d be better if I rode out with a message.’
‘Why? Why shouldn’t you have offered your services as an escort if you heard I needed one?’
A flicker of a smile touched his mouth. ‘I can tell you why I would have and that’s the very reason Mrs Greenwood isn’t going to like it. It’s not going to help you, you know, setting her against you like that for a start. You better hope she never finds out what you’ve been up to for the past week.’
Louise flushed, realising for the first time how much she’d compromised her reputation. It was obvious that even Kavanagh, with his doubtful background, considered her behaviour irregular. Perhaps irregular was putting it mildly.
~*~
Shortly afterwards they reached Banana Creek, ahead of them the big lagoon that watered the town and, beyond that, the little township sprawling over an open rise. Today Banana dozed under the hot sun, with only a few pedestrians and a man on horseback moving in the main street, but the crowd of travellers and teamsters camped beside the lagoon hinted this was usually a busy commercial centre.
‘What’s the population of the town, Mr Kavanagh?’
He glanced at Louise and shrugged. ‘About a hundred and twenty, at last count.’ He drew rein, adding abruptly, ‘Let’s get out of here. If anyone who knows me sees us together there’ll be talk and the less talk the better as far as the Greenwoods are concerned. I hope to God they don’t come to town too often or they’ll find out you never came in on that coach.’
So Louise was left with only a fleeting first impression of Banana as they bypassed the centre of town and joined up with the Westwood road. They passed through several miles of scrub wasteland, thick with hopbush and blackcurrant bush, before stopping for lunch in a dry gully shaded by tall gums. They filled their quart-pots with water from canteens on their saddles and made their fire in the shade out of sight of the road. Louise felt awkward, remembering Kavanagh’s earlier comments about the Greenwoods’ likely disapproval. Had he agreed to take her because of that–because she was female and he was male? Had he hoped something would come of it? It was a disturbing thought.
They ate in uncharacteristic silence. Finally Kavanagh rose and poured the dregs from his quart-pot onto the fire, making it sizzle and smoke. He kicked dirt over the embers with his boot and the combination of drifting ashes and dust tickled Louise’s nose, making her sneeze. She knew his precautions were necessary, for the hot, gusting winds had only to sweep up a spark and the dry bush would be in flames.
He saddled the two horses and turned when Louise made no move to go. He stood there looking at her, waiting, and suddenly she dreaded their imminent parting.
Emboldened by the fear that he was about to be lost to her, she patted the ground beside her. ‘Come here, please.’
He obeyed her, dropping to his heels. ‘We have to go. You know that.’
Her gaze fixed on his face and she swallowed the lump of uncertainty in her throat. ‘I know. I just wanted to thank you for escorting me this far. You’ve been very good–I must say it was the greatest piece of good fortune I encountered you at Bauhinia Downs that day.’ She uttered a shaky, self-deprecating laugh that was totally unlike her. ‘Perhaps you’ve thought it otherwise, however.’
He continued to regard her intently, saying nothing and she added, ‘We should say goodbye now. We shall hardly be able to do so under the eagle eye of Mrs Greenwood.’
She held out her hand to him, which he took, his eyes still holding hers. The expression in them reminded her of the way he’d looked at her a couple of nights ago in his shack and she realized she’d lured him into something more than a simple handshake. This was the moment to move away and forestall him, but anticipation held her captive. Her heart thudded while he edged closer, clasping her hand in his and moving his calloused thumb caressingly on her palm.
Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes locked with his, while the movement of his thumb sent little tingles of delight coursing through her body. Then he twisted her hand so that their palms were together, their fingers entwined. He tipped off his hat and bent his face down to hers to find her mouth.
One hand on the ground supported his weight, the other relinquishing hers to come up and stroke the sensitive skin at the back of her neck. The awkwardness of earlier was overtaken by her body’s surging response as his mouth moved over hers. Louise was conscious of nothing but a blurred image of green eyes and light-brown hair, tanned skin and a firm mouth that tasted of pipe tobacco and strong black tea. At last he lifted his head, his hand dropping to her shoulder. Owing to his crouching position their bodies hadn’t even touched.
‘Louise’– he used her Christian name for the first time, his voice husky–‘what the dickens made you leave the Barclays like that?’
She looked at him, startled even in the midst of her desire. ‘How did you know my name was Louise?’
‘It was on one of your handkerchiefs.’
Of course. She’d dropped a handkerchief beside the campfire one day and he’d retrieved it for her. It had happened to be one that little Sarah Barclay had embroidered, using Louise’s first name instead of the more usual initials. It was lucky she hadn’t used the initials. That item would have to stay packed away in future.
‘I’m generally called Lucy, you know.’
His hand tightened on her shoulder. ‘Louise suits you better. But you haven’t answered me question. I want you to tell me why you left the Barclays–the truth, that is.’
Her nerves tightened. Suddenly she badly wanted to tell him. She couldn’t go on under false pretences like this, letting him believe in Lucy Forrest, the governess. Yet she would have to feel the way, first.
‘Lloyd, have you ever heard of the Ashfords?’
‘Which Ashfords do you mean?’
‘The Harry Ashfords, from Banyandah. They’re cousins of James Barclay.’
‘Harry Ashford,’ he repeated. He jumped to his feet, his face and voice suddenly grim. ‘Yes, I know of the family. I didn’t know they were cousins of the Barclays, though. James Barclay’s a bit too good for ‘em, isn’t he?’
/>
‘Why?’ She could hardly breathe. ‘What do you know of them?’
He laughed unpleasantly, looming above her in a way that made her heart pound. ‘Not a lot. But I do know that Charles Ashford’s supposed to be a rake of the worst kind and Harry Ashford’s a rotten scoundrel who doubled his money by cheating other people. Me included.’
She gasped. ‘Have you met him? But surely—’
‘Oh, I’ve never met him. Don’t want to, either. I’ve seen him once or twice, in the distance. But when I was carrying in Rockhampton, me partner and I contracted to do a few loads for him. More fools us.’
‘Why? What happened?’
His mouth was set a tight, angry line. He moved restlessly, not looking at her as she stared up at him. ‘He swindled us, that’s what. He’s just the sort of arrogant, crooked blighter that makes us workers hate the upper classes’ guts–excuse the language. Sorry, I know you’re upper class yourself, but you’re different.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘I don’t mind what the other fellow’s got so long as he hasn’t lined his pockets at the expense of everyone else.’
Louise digested this in stunned, painful silence. This was a picture of her father that had never been presented to her before. It was difficult to credit. She knew he was arrogant, but she’d always believed him to be respected in the community as a gentleman. She hadn’t heard allegations of dishonesty before; but as his daughter, she realized, she would be the last person to hear.
Instinctively, she sensed Kavanagh wasn’t lying. Strange to think she would vouch for his integrity before that of her father.
She resisted a hysterical temptation to laugh. Heavens, if he were to know it was Harry Ashford’s own daughter that he was addressing! How could she tell him now?
‘What made you bring the Ashfords up, anyway?’ Kavanagh was asking in a more level tone, looking down at her now. ‘Did you meet ‘em while you were with the Barclays?’
‘Oh, I’d met them before,’ she dissembled. ‘But Charles was coming to visit and that is why I left. I... I was afraid of him.’
This was at least part of the truth. However Louise immediately wished she hadn’t said it, for Lloyd’s gaze sharpened, his eyes hard and discerning. She felt her colour heightening again as she realized how he would interpret that statement, knowing as he did Charles’ reputation.
He spun away abruptly, untying Shadow and leading the horse to where Louise now stood. He moved to her side as if to help her to mount, but then he paused, looking down at her. The hardness in his eyes faded and Louise met his gaze uncertainly, wondering if he meant to kiss her again. Her heart beat faster; she knew she should move away and put an end to this foolish dalliance. Yet when he dropped the reins to slide his arms around her, bending his head to hers, she was unable to deny herself this new, exquisite pleasure.
There was a difference in this embrace to the previous one. His mouth was more insistent and she opened her lips under his, responding purely by instinct. He pulled her close until their entire bodies were in contact–she could even feel his thighs through the layers of clothing that separated them. That slim strong body that she’d become so aware of, had watched so covertly,this was what she’d been wanting for days now, though she’d scarcely admitted it to herself. Yet even this wasn’t enough.
Away from the constraining presence of Cecil Divine, away from the sheer hard work of the past few days, the spark that had flickered between them ignited to a blaze. The kiss went on and on, until he was breathing unevenly and her own breath seemed to have escaped her lungs. Her mind and senses were full of the feel and smell and taste of him. Their embrace was verging on indecent, but she couldn’t bring herself to protest.
It was like a dam that had been slowly filling for the past week and now the bank had burst, with the water rushing out of control. How ironic that she’d been so indifferent to Jack Barclay and now had fallen into the arms of this man who was nothing that Jack was and everything Jack was not.
It was this realisation that finally brought her to her senses. She pulled away from him, panicking a little, remembering the family she was supposed to be going to and whom it was holding her so intimately. A man whose loathing for her father could only be equalled by her father’s contempt for him. A man who didn’t know her real name and would probably hate her for her deception if he found out.
‘Oh, Lloyd, this is impossible.’ Her voice shook. ‘We’re worlds apart, you and I. I shouldn’t have let this happen.’ She knew she should be angry with him, but to be fair she’d invited this.
Lloyd stood there looking at her for a moment, breathing heavily. At last he turned away and busied himself with tightening the girth on his saddle. Then, without another word, he helped her on to her waiting horse and mounted himself. He led them back to the road and they resumed their journey in strained silence.
Miserable and ashamed, Louise watched him covertly. It was as if she’d been living in a dream world these past few days and had suddenly emerged into reality. Hadn’t she already done enough to defy her parents without becoming involved with this impoverished selector? She’d mooned over his looks the other night, but the truth of it was that he still looked more the stockman than station-owner in his best clean moleskins, leather leggings, scuffed riding boots and rusty goose-necked spurs.
Certainly she couldn’t marry him to put right today’s indiscretions–supposing he was of a mind to offer matrimony. That he was attempting to raise himself from the squalor of his origins would count for nothing with her parents.
~*~
Lloyd looked up to find her watching him and met her gaze levelly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Sam Naylor asked me to take care of you. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation.’
She shook her head, her eyes downcast now. ‘I could have prevented it, but I didn’t.’
Her honesty did her credit, but did little to ease his shame. It was one thing to kiss her, but he’d taken it further than either of them had intended. He’d wondered about her, true enough, but he suspected now she was more inexperienced than he’d thought. He’d noticed her flushed gaze dropping hesitantly to him and quickly away again, as if this was her first real encounter with the male body. That very innocence and freshness reminded him of his own lack of either. How could he even ask a girl like her to ally herself with someone like him?
He found himself thinking of his old mentor, Mr O’Donnelly, who had lectured him about his attitude to women on several occasions. Lloyd had never hit a woman as his father had hit his mother and he was determined he never would. But at fifteen he’d already learned to drink and had lost his innocence with the type of female O’Donnelly disapproved of. The old bloke had told him any man who couldn’t live without liquor and loose women wasn’t worth two bob and he’d believed him.
But right now he was impatient of such pious ideals. It was too long since he’d drunk rum with his mates, or enjoyed female company that wasn’t oppressively respectable.
Once his errand was discharged Banana would be awaiting him and to hell with behaving himself. If he was too choosy to fraternise with the whores of Banana, at least getting drunk would stop him from thinking about this hopeless attraction that had him tied in knots.
Chapter Seven
They arrived at the New Haven turnoff in the early afternoon. Lloyd dismounted to open a set of slip-rails, frowning as he did so. If the Greenwoods couldn’t be bothered making a proper gate for their entrance, it didn’t bode well for what lay ahead.
The narrow rutted track crossed a deep gully and appeared to lose itself in a patch of brigalow. However it didn’t peter out amongst the scrub after all, but continued over the rise and entered a small clearing containing a new weatherboard home. In contrast to the slip-rails, this house suggested a family of some standing.
The outbuildings–a shed of some sort, a meat-house and what appeared to be servants’ quarters–were far inferior, all obviously older than the main house, the upright slabs greyin
g and in disrepair. Some of the shingles had fallen from the roofs and a slab hung drunkenly from one of the shed walls, a water-butt disintegrating nearby. The entire appearance of the homestead was one of starkness, for there was no greenery apart from a few native trees. Perhaps any attempt at gardening was discouraged by the fowls scattering in front of their horses’ hooves, to say nothing of the small herd of goats watching indifferently from a meagre patch of shade.
As they drew up, two small, grubby children ran out of the house and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of them. One of them turned and sped indoors again, shouting clearly, ‘Mama, there’s someone here’, but the younger, a boy of five or six, stood his ground and stared at them inquisitively. Lloyd dismounted and helped Louise to do the same, then stepped back quickly as his body responded to her nearness yet again. He tied their horses’ reins to a hitching rail while Louise asked the child, ‘Is your Mama at home? Will you tell her please that the new governess has arrived?’
The boy nodded and turned to obey her, but was pre-empted by the appearance of a middle-aged woman and several children of varying ages at the doorway. The woman was stylishly dressed in a fashionable gown that contrasted strangely with the shabbiness of her children’s clothing. Her plump face was set in stern lines of disapproval, the heavy black eyebrows raised suspiciously.
‘Who are you? Did I hear you say something about the governess? Surely not–she’s not due until Friday.’
‘However, I’m afraid you heard correctly.’ Louise was at her most charming, smiling and holding out her hand. ‘I’m Lucy Forrest and this is Mr Kavanagh, who was kind enough to escort me from Banana. You, I presume, are Mrs Greenwood?’
Lloyd stayed back a little, watching the proceedings with growing amusement. Louise was shameless and he shook his head with wonderment, admiring her polished manners and her sheer gumption in dealing with an impossible situation. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who’d seemed so vulnerable in his arms just a short while before. He suppressed a sigh at the memory.
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