‘I see,’ he said slowly.
‘Not that it’s any of your—’
‘Any of my business,’ he agreed sardonically. ‘Don’t you think you’ve worn that one a bit thin, Mel?’
She glanced across at him and for a moment it crossed her mind to tell him that to have someone like him to lean on during these awful times would be like the answer to prayers she’d yet to pray. But the realisation of this came rather like a blow to her solar plexus and she moved restlessly and sighed in relief when the house came in view. Because it offered the hope of refuge from all the conflicting, bewildering emotions—not to mention strange fantasies—she was subject to.
It was not to be. Mrs Bedwell received her with open arms and immediately began to shepherd her away to get cleaned up.
‘A brandy might be appropriate,’ Etienne murmured.
‘Good thinking, I’ll bring you one too,’ Mrs Bedwell said over her shoulder as Batman screamed out of the house and took a flying leap into Etienne’s arms. ‘Glory be, if nothing else you’ve made a hit with the damn dog!’ she added.
‘This is becoming a habit,’ Mel said as she rejoined Etienne half an hour later. They were on the veranda because, although he’d washed up and scraped the mud off his shoes, his clothes were still dirty.
‘Mmm,’ he agreed and poured her a brandy from the decanter on a silver tray Mrs Bedwell had provided along with a dish of nuts and olives.
Her hair was still wet and she wore her clean jeans and floral blouse. Her feet were bare and her expression was still somewhat dazed.
Etienne waited until she’d sipped some of the brandy before saying, ‘Mel, are there any other unpaid bills?’
‘A couple.’ She shrugged.
‘Why isn’t your accountant helping you to deal with them?’
She looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘His bill is one of them.’
He paused for a beat, then, ‘I’d like to see them.’
Her gaze clashed with his and she squared her shoulders but he said with soft menace, ‘Don’t.’
‘What?’ she uttered crisply.
‘Tell me it’s none of my business.’
‘It isn’t,’ she insisted.
He looked around, through the French doors to the elegant sitting room that opened onto the front veranda with its beautiful Persian carpet, its antiques and graceful chairs. ‘She was my sister,’ he said, with the planes and angles of his face suddenly hard.
‘She may have been but I don’t want any charity.’ Mel fortified herself with another sip of brandy and raised her chin.
‘You infuriating…’ He drew a breath and forced himself to relax. What was it, he wondered at the same time, that attracted him to this often prickly, difficult girl? Other than the obvious, he thought drily, such as a gorgeous figure she seemed to be unaware of, long, shapely legs she persisted in covering up and a lovely face.
Just that, perhaps? Her lack of awareness of her physical attributes? Along with a good splash of cussed independence, of course, he added to himself, and moved restlessly.
‘Uh—I wasn’t talking about charity,’ he said. ‘There’s a way of dealing with creditors other than selling off the farm, speaking metaphorically. What you need to do is keep in touch, advise them of your difficulties, ask for extensions—and come up with a plan. That’s what I could do for you.’ He looked at her ironically.
Mel lowered her chin and her shoulders slumped. ‘All right. So long as—’
She didn’t finish because the look in his eyes told her it would be dangerous in the extreme to do so. ‘Thank you,’ she said instead with a slight tremor in her voice.
He sat back and finished his drink. ‘What are you doing tonight?’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Nothing. The usual, I mean. The boys will be home from school soon, so… Why?’
‘You don’t think it might be an idea to have a break from Raspberry Hill and all its problems?’
‘As in?’
‘As in dinner at a restaurant, nothing else,’ he said laconically.
‘Just you and I?’
‘Just you and I, Mel. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ she assured him hastily, ‘except that I might fall asleep. I—’ she put her head back, stretched her neck and moved her head round a couple of times, ‘—I guess I did more—’
‘More fire-fighting than you should have,’ he completed for her. ‘All right, we’ll take a rain check.’ He stood up. ‘But I’ll take the bills home with me.’
‘Well,’ she temporised, ‘I—’
‘Now, Mel.’
Despite her stiffness and feeling of exhaustion, she bounced up. ‘Do you have any idea how dictatorial you are, Etienne?’
‘Yes,’ he drawled. ‘It’s a good way to get things done. I’m not going home without them,’ he warned.
She expressed herself colourfully.
He grinned, and added insult to injury by patting her on the head. ‘Just get them, kid.’
‘No! I refuse to be treated like a kid let alone called one,’ she said through her teeth and stood her ground.
‘Well,’ his eyes glinted, ‘there are ways of dealing with stubborn women that you might prefer.’ He put one arm around her, bent her back against it and kissed her thoroughly.
When he’d finished, Mel came up for air absolutely lost for words and unbelievably conscious of a flood of sensations rushing through her right down to the tips of her toes.
Her lips felt bruised; she touched them involuntarily, but although his kiss had been a violation—she’d neither expected it nor asked for it—by some sort of subtle chemistry it had also been fascinating. While she was pressing against him, with his fingers stroking her throat, her skin had felt like silk, her breasts had tightened, and it had suddenly occurred to her that her hips were deliciously curved beneath his hand—something she’d not given much thought to before.
To make matters worse, her woodland-nymph fantasy had come right back to mind…
‘Well,’ he said with a lurking smile, ‘you’re right and I was wrong. You certainly don’t feel like a child.’
His gaze skimmed down her body then he waited as a tide of colour rushed into her cheeks, but words escaped her. He smiled a strange little smile. ‘May I have the bills now?’
Her lips parted and she breathed deeply, but that was a mistake because it brought the whole smoky, wonderful essence of Etienne Hurst to her—as if she wasn’t already dizzy with the taste and feel of him—and all he could think of were her bills.
She made an odd sound in her throat, whirled around and disappeared indoors.
But she didn’t take the bills out to him. She seconded Mrs Bedwell to do it and took refuge in her bedroom.
Several minutes later Mrs Bedwell knocked on the door and came in. ‘He said to say thanks. He said to tell you he’ll be back in a couple of days with a plan… What’s wrong with you, Mel?’
‘Nothing,’ Mel replied, although she was sitting on her bed hugging herself.
‘You look a bit shook up,’ Mrs Bedwell observed slowly. ‘You know, there was really no need for you to go fire-fighting like that.’
‘There’s every need for me to fight certain fires—uh—Mrs B, would you do me a favour?’ Mel stopped hugging herself and looked up at her housekeeper.
‘Sure.’
But Mel took an exasperated breath because to ask her housekeeper to stop calling on Etienne Hurst and inviting him to lunch could have unforeseen consequences, knowing Mrs Bedwell as she did. ‘Nothing.’
‘OK.’ Mrs Bedwell shrugged. ‘What do you mean about “certain” fires?’
‘It was just a figure of speech, Mrs B.’ She got up and tried to collect herself. ‘What’s for dinner?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder about!’ It was Mrs Bedwell’s stock answer and, having delivered it, she bestowed one more curious glance on Mel, and then left her to herself.
CHAPTER FOU
R
FOUR days later, Etienne was back.
Four terribly anxious days for Mel, since she’d received advice through her solicitor that, as she had no close relatives, the Department of Family Services would be looking into the situation of her brothers.
This time, she was presiding over coffee and homemade shortbread while trying her best to be composed and as if she’d never been kissed witless by this man.
It was a sparkling day as early spring graced the region, and from the vantage point of Raspberry Hill the waters of the Narrows glinted in the sun and the mock-orange bushes below the veranda were scenting the air.
For some reason she had dressed up for this encounter, well, as much as she ever dressed up, which was to say that she wore a three-quarter flared denim skirt belted into her waist and a fresh white blouse. Her hair was tied back in a white scrunchie.
In contrast, Etienne, in jeans, a khaki bush shirt and short boots, looked much more like a farmer than she did.
He’d greeted her casually and with absolutely no reference to their last encounter. He’d also put a buff folder on the table but made no mention of it, although she couldn’t help her eyes being drawn to it frequently.
So they made small talk while they drank their coffee and Batman made his usual fuss of Etienne.
Then she could stand the suspense no longer. ‘Have you—’ she cleared her throat ‘—have you come up with a plan, Etienne?’
He drummed his fingers on the folder then he put Batman down and got up to stroll over to the railing and stare out over the view for a couple of minutes.
Finally he turned to her, folded his arms and said, ‘I think it would be a good idea if we got married, Mel.’
She stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Is that the plan?’ she said eventually then added stupidly, ‘Why me?’
He allowed himself a brief smile and from then on divided his attention between her and the sparkling view. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Raspberry Hill needs a lot of help, the boys need a father figure, and you yourself could do with a steadying hand to steer you down the right path.’
Sheer rage glinted out of her deep blue eyes. ‘How dare you?’
He observed her white face and pinched nostrils with, if anything, a trace of wryness.
‘Mel,’ he said, ‘you obviously have no resources to go on.’ He gestured to the folder lying on the table. ‘The only way to deal with that is either to declare yourself bankrupt or sell the place.’
‘No!’
‘Believe me,’ he murmured.
She started to feel icy cold. ‘But—anyway, I don’t see what that’s got to do with me needing a steadying hand!’
He shrugged. ‘You do have a slightly erratic reputation.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Did you or did you not,’ he looked humorous, ‘attempt to ride your horse into the Gladstone Council Chambers last year, thereby causing all sorts of chaos, and what about the famous rum party you gave only six months ago?’
‘Speaking chronologically,’ she replied through her teeth, ‘when I found Rimfire he was just a bag of bones. I couldn’t believe anyone could treat a horse that badly and I didn’t see why they shouldn’t be prosecuted, but getting the council to agree was another matter. So I decided to take it right to their doorstep.’
‘I see. But you not only caused a debacle in the centre of town, you also frightened the life out of the clerk on the door.’
‘If she hadn’t started screaming, Rimfire wouldn’t have spooked. But no one was hurt,’ she pointed out.
‘There could have been an element of luck in that. How about the party?’
‘As I told the magistrate,’ she replied with all the hauteur she could muster, ‘it got gatecrashed by some hoons. They brought the rum and they caused all the damage.’
‘All the same, you’re still saddled with not the Boston tea party but the Raspberry Hill rum-rampage tag—and you didn’t come away without a warning, Mel.’
‘That’s because I…’ she paused and twined her fingers together ‘…well, in the confusion I hit a policeman who was mistakenly trying to arrest me.’
‘I believe you didn’t have permission from your father to hold that party, Mel, because he was away at the time and unable to protect you from hoons and gatecrashers.’
She looked briefly uncomfortable. ‘I’m nineteen. Quite old enough to hold a party off my own bat, I would have thought. OK! I was wrong, but it could have happened to anyone.’
‘They say trouble attracts trouble,’ he observed.
‘And it could be said,’ she responded sweetly, ‘that marriage to you sounds like a term at a reform school. No, thank you, Etienne. I appreciate your concern for Raspberry Hill and the boys but we’ll manage somehow.’
‘What about my concern for you?’
Mel opened her mouth then shut it rather sharply as that cool, alert gaze of his drifted over her. And once again she found herself trapped in his sights, his sole focus, and experiencing the twin sensations of being hunted and quivering inwardly with the memory of his mouth on hers, his hard body against her…
She came out of her reverie with a jolt as he said her name questioningly.
‘Uh—what kind of concern is that?’
He smiled. ‘I think you have the makings of good wife material.’
She raised her eyebrows imperiously. ‘Is that so? Forgive me, but I think you’re quite wrong. Mainly because I have no aspirations to be anyone’s wife but least of all yours.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, that aside, the alternative is to sell off Raspberry Hill and see Justin, Ewan and Tosh go into foster care.’
‘No!’ She said it quite definitely.
‘Just no?’
‘Even if I have to sell Raspberry Hill, I’ll be able to make a home for them somewhere!’
‘Mel, you’re still only nineteen; I don’t think a court would even consider placing them in your care. And Raspberry Hill is mortgaged to the hilt. There won’t be any money to spare.’
‘Thanks to your sister,’ she shot back.
‘Not entirely,’ he returned coolly. ‘And she may have been my sister but perhaps you should examine your real reason for disliking her as much as you did.’
Mel flinched then opted for honesty with a queer little sigh. ‘OK, I was as jealous as hell. We’d had Dad on his own for so long after our mother died then, well, he was besotted with Margot, but the fact remains that—’ she looked around with sudden tears in her eyes ‘—it did all start to go downhill after he married her.’
‘You wouldn’t have that problem with me.’
Mel wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and stared stonily out to sea as she examined the unpalatable truth of this.
‘It’s still…’ she shook her head in frustration ‘…it just doesn’t make sense. We don’t even know each other that well. Look, I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful—most girls would probably jump at the chance but…I guess I’m not most girls,’ she finished rather lamely, and stood up.
‘And I probably wouldn’t be doing this if you were,’ he murmured and straightened. ‘But I don’t believe there’s any other way for you to go.’ He contemplated her silently.
Mel took an unexpected breath beneath that suddenly authoritative dark glance—it was like running into a brick wall. In a moment, it brought home to her that Etienne Hurst had made up his mind to marry her and would ruthlessly follow it through. Not only that, despite reeling inwardly, she also discovered herself to be in very strange territory on another front.
It was the most amazing sensation. One part of her was outraged to think he believed he could offer her marriage out of the blue and that she would keel over immediately and accept. While the other half was undoubtedly impressed not only by his authority and power but also by him as a man.
What qualities about him, she wondered, were capable of causing her to fantasise about him at the same time as she hated his arrogance?
&
nbsp; She wasn’t left to wonder for long. He strolled over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Think about it, Miss Ethridge, but in the meantime perhaps this will help you to see the light.’
He kissed her again, not deeply this time, but lingeringly and quite sufficiently for one of those qualities in him she’d pondered so recently to leap out at her—raw sex appeal.
In fact, everything about him appealed to her in those moments and the feel of his lean, hard body drew a primitive response from her own body. A yearning to be captured by him and brought gloriously alive in the most intimate way, so much so—and so much did it take her by surprise—she gasped beneath his mouth and shuddered beneath his hands.
He lifted his head and looked into her wide, stunned eyes with the faintest smile twisting his lips.
‘I’ll be back,’ he said, and she wasn’t sure whether it was a threat or a promise.
Whatever it was, it kept her rooted to the spot while he strode down the steps towards his car. How long she would have been paralysed like that she was not to know if it hadn’t been for Mrs Bedwell.
With her trademark stalk, reminiscent of a tall, thin bird, Mrs Bedwell came round the corner of the house to waylay Etienne just before he got to his car.
Having had Mrs Bedwell meddle in her life for as long as she could remember, Mel came out of her reverie and slipped discreetly inside. She sprinted down the hall towards the study, from where she would be closest to the drive.
So that, lurking beneath the study window, she heard Mrs Bedwell say to Etienne, ‘Mr Hurst, I think that’s a very good idea of yours.’
‘You do?’ came Etienne’s reply. ‘What idea is that?’
‘The idea of marrying Mel. I’ve been going crazy trying to work out what’s to become of them since their father died. And your sister,’ she added conscientiously.
There was silence and Mel peeped over the study window sill to see Etienne stopped in his tracks by Mrs Bedwell’s eavesdropping habits.
Which Mrs Bedwell took full advantage of to continue volubly, ‘You see, I always did reckon Mel was born one gene short. For that matter, Justin is turning out the same, and as for Tosh…’ Mrs Bedwell threw up her hands and shook her head.
The Unconventional Bride Page 3