Beresford's Bride

by Way, Margaret

  “What else would you like in a wife?”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  Copyright

  “What else would you like in a wife?”

  “Let’s see.” Byrne stood looking down at her. “A woman who could run on her own efficiency. A woman I could absolutely trust. A woman I’d be lost without. A woman with the sweetest smile. The softest mouth. Tender, loving, concerned. A woman who wants children. Our children.”

  “You want a lot.” There was the faintest tremble in her voice.

  He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Marriage has to be the biggest decision in life.”

  “Oh, Byrne, look. A falling star!” Toni put out her hand, caught his sleeve, heart leaping.

  “All the brighter in the falling. You’d better make a wish.”

  Let him love me. The thought came spontaneously from deep within her.

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to

  Everyone has special occasions in their life—times of celebration and excitement. Maybe it’s a romantic event, an engagement or a wedding—or perhaps a wonderful family occasion, such as the birth of a baby. Or even a personal milestone—a thirtieth or fortieth birthday!

  These are all important times in our lives and in The Big Event! you can see how different couples react to these events. Whatever the occasion, romance and drama are guaranteed!

  We’ll be featuring one book each month from May to August 1998, bringing you terrific stories from some of your favorite authors. And, to make this miniseries extraspecial, The Big Event! will also appear in the Harlequin Presents® series.

  This month celebrate not one, but two weddings in Margaret Way’s Beresford’s Bride, and look out next month for Jessica Hart’s Birthday Bride.

  Happy Reading!

  P.S. Follow the series into our Presents line in September with Kathryn Ross’s Bride for a Year.

  Margaret Way

  Beresford’s Bride

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CHAPTER ONE

  AT SEVENTEEN she was as pretty as a Persian kitten. At twenty-two she was dazzling, the sort of shining ashblonde men couldn’t take their eyes off.

  Zoe all over again.

  Then again, she wasn’t, he mused, as the image of the mother was superimposed on his mind. She was several inches taller, her body very willowy and slender where Zoe’s petite frame was almost lush. But the same familiar sex appeal was there. The same chemistry that left men dazzled. She was walking away from the elevator with two good-looking guys about his own age flanking her, obviously paying court. They were doing the talking, she was doing the laughing, one arm raised to fan her long waterfall of hair.

  He lost seconds.

  The one thing he hadn’t counted on was his own reaction. It shocked him as much as some blinding encounter. His stomach muscles clenched and the blood in his veins began a slow burn. How too damned extraordinary! He gave himself a moment to regain his habitual detachment. This was young Toni, remember? Antoinette Streeton. He had known her all her life even if she had been too young to catch his attention.

  Toni was the only daughter of the late Eric Streeton and the notorious Zoe Streeton Von Dantzig LeClair. The Streetons had owned and worked Nowra Station since the turn of the century. Nowra was their nearest neighbour some hundred miles to the northeast, and Eric Streeton had been a lifelong friend of his father and uncles. In fact, Eric Streeton had been best man at his parents’ wedding. The entire family had taken it very hard when Eric Streeton had lost the battle with septicemia a few years before. A deep gash ignored until it was too late. That was Eric. At that time he and his son, Kerry, had been on their own. Zoe had walked out on him when the children were adolescents, returning to sweep Antoinette off to Paris after her final year at boarding school. It was supposed to have been a treat, six months at most. Antoinette stayed with her mother for the best part of five years. Neither had come home for Eric Streeton’s funeral. They’d been too busy cruising the Greek islands with one of Zoe’s admirers, later to become her second husband, Von Dantzig. These days Zoe was on to numero tre. That was the Frenchman. He really didn’t want to think about it, feeling the same quiet rage now as he had then, the same sadness at the way Eric had been treated. The vast Outback, sparsely populated but closely linked, had felt the same way. Now Zoe’s daughter was walking toward him, the light catching some sparkling thread in her short evening dress. It was a very simple garment, figure—skimming, but a showcase for her lovely body and limbs. Her years in Paris showed. She looked enormously chic, finished in a way other beautiful young women of his acquaintance were not. The two guys were waving goodbye like old friends, one whipping out a small black notebook and scribbling something on a page. A telephone number, address? God, shades of Zoe! It touched a raw nerve.

  She was moving into the main foyer, drawing all eyes. She must have felt his observation because her head turned quickly as though she was following a beam. He stood up, abandoning the evening paper, trying to dispel the odd mood that had settled over him.

  He was even more formidable than she remembered, tall, lean, darkly, aggressively handsome. A man’s man but with a powerful sexuality that made him dangerous to women, like the ironic sparkle in his beautiful rain-coloured eyes. She’d have known him anywhere. Anywhere in the world. For a moment on seeing him she felt a heart-stopping sensation akin to narrowly missing being run over. She found it hard to breathe. It was so strange to face Byrne Beresford again, with his bright aura of excitement, glamour, power. This was the man who ruled a cattle empire with an iron hand. The man she had fantasised about as a profoundly impressionable and romantic teenager. Not that he had ever looked at her except as Kerry’s kid sister. Not solid and focused like Kerry. Potentially another Zoe, a woman as insubstantial as she was lovely, a woman with a habit of wrecking lives. This was Byrne Beresford, the man she had known all her life and would never know.

  He was moving purposefully towards her with all the natural grace of some powerful big cat. Six foot three of taut energy that crackled loose like electricity, elegant in the city clothes he wore like a patrician, but something about him, the vigour, the vitality, the deep tan and the far-seeing eyes proclaimed four walls couldn’t contain him. He was what he was, a member of the landed establishment, a cattle baron of influence and power. A man impossible for anyone to ignore, much less a member of the opposite sex.

  “Byrne!” She took a deep breath and put out her hand. He not only took it but bent his dark head to brush his mouth against her cheek. A smooth slide that had a profound effect on her. She not only felt it on her face but right through her body.

  “Antoinette, welcome home. How are you? You haven’t changed at all.” Which was absurd. She had blossomed like some wondrous rose. She had a perfect creamy skin with a light fragrance that seemed to engulf him. Damn. It rattled him, being so effortlessly charmed.

  “How wonderful to see you! It’s been years!”

  “Five next March,” he responded, regarding her. “You’re all grown up.” But definitely off-limits, even if she was far more than he was prepared for.

  “Paris has been good to me. How is everyone? You must tell me.”

  “Everyone’s fine,” he told her. “Why don’t we go in? Have a drink before dinn
er.” He took her arm with his refined, assured manner, his fingers momentarily pressing into her bare skin.

  She felt scorched, a hot lick of excitement against her ribs. It might have been the first time a man had touched her. Slow down, she thought, shocked by the speed and intensity of her reactions. This man was unique.

  A waiter led them to a table in a room lined with mirrored panels. Huge crystal chandeliers on dimmers threw a flattering illumination over their heads.

  “What will it be?” He looked at her expectantly, his extraordinary light-filled gaze all the more disturbing for the fact he cared nothing for his own magnetism. It was part of him, like the aura that hung over him, the power and prestige, the great wealth his family had accumulated through successive generations.

  “A glass of champagne would be lovely.” She turned her blond head, catching their reflections repeated many times over in the cross fire of mirrors. They looked like a study in black and gold.

  “Champagne. Why not? We do have something to celebrate.” As he spoke to the waiter, Toni found herself studying his profile. His was a bold face in every particular, a face of very definite planes and angles. Not gentle. Strongly sculptured. He had the Beresford cleft chin, not shallow like Joel’s, his younger and much more approachable brother, but deeply indented. She thought he would find it a hassle to shave.

  “So, have I changed?” He turned swiftly, catching her out.

  “Sorry. Was I staring?”

  “Just a little.”

  She shook her head as though to free herself from currents it would be all too easy to plunge into. “I was thinking how familiar your face is to me, yet so unfamiliar. If you can follow my meaning.” She broke off.

  “Well, we were never contemporaries. You’re more of an age with Joel.”

  “How is he?” she asked.

  “Actually, he’s thrilled you’re coming home.”

  “Why make it sound like you thought I wouldn’t?”

  “You haven’t bothered before.” It came out more harshly than he intended, but she was having the damnedest effect on him. An unwanted rush of desire, under the desire hostility, and deeper yet, a need to put an end to it.

  Opposite him, acutely aware of it, Toni’s eyes glittered with tears. Her voice fell, as though she was talking to herself. “We’ll never be forgiven, will we?”

  Those eyes, he thought. Lotus lilies. Blue into violet. “It’s done, Toni,” he said. “All over with.”

  There was a pause. “I don’t think so, Byrne.” She wanted to speak candidly, bridge the gulfs, but there were aspects of Zoe’s life she needed to keep private. “You can’t know the difficulties. Zoe was using her maiden name. It complicated things terribly. We were at sea. When we finally got the message, it was too late.” She stopped abruptly, anxious not to implicate her mother further. Zoe had an immense capacity for poor judgment. She had kept the news from Toni for days as she battled her own demons.

  “Well, it’s the nearest you’ve got to explaining,” he said in a terse voice.

  Her look of pain was almost physical. “We’re still raw with the memory.” The whiplash of grief.

  The gray eyes assessed, calculated, found her wanting. “Forgive me, Toni, but that’s a little hard to believe. Zoe didn’t have the slightest difficulty walking out on your father.”

  “Am I expected to make expiation?” Her nerves tightened powerfully.

  “Certainly not to me.” His voice was clipped. She was getting too close to him. Under his skin.

  “I don’t want to have to bear your constant disapproval, Byrne. We are going to be in-laws.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was showing any. You’re very lovely, Antoinette.” He gave her a glance that left her shaken. “Paris has put a fine polish on you.”

  “I wasn’t talking about my looks,” she countered a little sadly.

  “Good Lord, doesn’t everybody?”

  Sometimes her looks were a downright disadvantage. Deliberately she changed the subject, picking something safe. “Cate must be very excited.” .

  “She is,” he agreed, watching the different expressions chase across her face. “The wedding is having a big impact on all of us. The first wedding on Castle Hill since my grandfather’s time. My parents. were married in Sydney, as you know.”

  “And Dad was best man. I suppose it was inevitable both families would be united at some time. Cate and Kerry have always been great friends. They radiate such warmth and ease when they’re together. I suppose it was only natural they would fall in love. They’re the lucky ones.”

  “Surely you’ve fallen in love yourself?” he asked.

  “I thought so. Once or twice. It didn’t work out.”

  “Take your time,” he advised. “Marriage is a huge risk.”

  “Could that be another dig?”

  “Not at all,” he returned. “Clearly you have a chip on your shoulder. How is Zoe?”

  She frowned defensively. “She’s staying with friends at the moment.”

  “Morocco, isn’t it?” Byrne said.

  She nodded. “A villa a few miles from the centre of Marrakech. It’s very beautiful, a French colonial style farmhouse surrounded by date palms, cedars and lots of silver gray olive trees. Pink bougainvillea smothering the walls.”

  “You’re really making it sound terribly attractive. You’ve been there, I take it?”

  “Some time ago,” she acknowledged in a low voice. “Patrick is hoping to marry my mother.”

  “No! ” He feigned shock. “Surely that’s a little difficult even for Zoe. What does her husband think about it?”

  “Shut up, Byrne,” she said through clenched teeth. Lord, had she said it? She had.

  “No, really.” His smile was cool. “There are a few rules.”

  “Mamma hates rules. Besides, Claude is resigned to losing her. He’s many years her senior.”

  “So that makes a difference, does it?” His brilliant eyes were diamond hard.

  “It does to Zoe. If a thing doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.”

  “Of course, one must be happy at any cost. assume Patrick’s rich?”

  The gibe nipped sharply. “Of course, he is. We both know Zoe must have money.”

  “She appears to have looked after you rather well.” His eyes recorded her perfect grooming, the lovely, expensive pink and yellow silk dress.

  “I haven’t lived off my mother or her husbands,” she told him quietly. A point of honour.

  “I’m sorry. I understood you followed them all around Europe. You’ve acquired an accent, by the way. It’s utterly charming.”

  “Would it surprise you if I told you I spoke French like a native?”

  “Not at all. So what have you been doing for yourself in Paris?”

  His eyes held a cool taunt.

  Obviously he wouldn’t see her as a dedicated schoolmarm tutoring English, which was what she had been doing quite successfully. That and part-time photographic modelling, mostly featuring her long blond hair.

  “I’ll tell you some time if you’re really interested,” she said.

  “What’s wrong with now?”

  “I think you have some preconceived notions about me.”

  “Actually, Toni, you hadn’t established yourself at all.” Which wasn’t true. She was affecting him strongly. “After all, your mother spirited you away when you were only seventeen. Kerry missed you terribly. Did you realise that? Especially after your father died.”

  She heard the little catch in her voice. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “No,” he agreed, his striking face grim. “Your father grew careless with life. He was profoundly affected by the divorce.”

  “I loved him, Byrne.” She lowered her head, her voice sad.

  “He certainly loved you.” Adored her, more like it.

  “I was devastated when I heard.” In fact, she had collapsed, full of hysterical accusations against her mother.

  “You couldn’t find you
r way back?” He didn’t feel in the least sympathetic, although she made an irresistibly poignant picture.

  She gave herself a second to get herself together. “I had serious concerns about Zoe.” She couldn’t elaborate. “And there was the question of money.” At that time she had been pretty well without resources.

  “Zoe wouldn’t give you any?” One black eyebrow shot up.

  “Her nest egg had been more than halved. She was terribly worried. She’d made a disastrous investment. A person she thought highly of abused her trust. Zoe’s so impulsive. She acts before she thinks.”

  “Hell, yes,” he agreed discordantly, thinking of how hard Eric Streeton had worked for his money. “Let it go, Toni. It’s all in the past now.”

  “Unfortunately the past is never truly past. It follows us around. I was very surprised when Cate wanted me for a bridesmaid.”

  He knew there had been a big power struggle, the family dividing into two camps, pro and anti Antoinette. “You got on very well as girls,” he said evasively. “You are her fiancé’s only sister.”

  “I’m sure that was the only reason I made the bridal party.”

  “I have to say one or two of us were concerned you mightn’t show up on the day.” He saw a quick flash of hurt in her eyes and instantly regretted his cutting remark. Lord, was he trying to punish her? Maybe he was.

  The waiter returned, bearing a silver tray. He deposited a bottle of Dom Pérignon on the table and proceeded to uncork it, murmuring a fervent thank-you as he pocketed his tip.

  “Welcome home,” Byrne said, lifting his glass to salute her. “I must apologise, Toni. I’m being too hard on you .”

  “I may pay you back one of these days,” she retorted, sounding a different person suddenly. “Anyway, you’re a hard man.”