Her Australian Cattle Baron

by Margaret Way

  “Am I supposed to crack under the strain?”

  High above them, a falling star shot swiftly towards earth.

  She stared up into his arrogant face. She wanted to lash out at him, but she was fighting to form the right words. Instead, her hand flashed up without conscious volition. How dare he threaten her? How dare he presume he had control over her? She, who was totally against violence in all its forms, now felt the same helpless anger as her abused women clients.

  Men!

  The world was run by arrogant men! It was wrong. All wrong. She had seen the effects of men’s domination over and over again. The least she could do was stand up for herself. For women.

  Her fierce slap was destined to never reach its target. Royce caught her narrow wrist mid-air. “Here’s your chance, Amelia. Test me out. You know you want to. Teach me what a kiss is,” he taunted.

  The truth struck her. She was frighteningly attracted to this man. An attraction that had propelled her into free-fall. “I feel sick at the thought,” she said.

  “Really? You’d have fooled me.” He gave her a scornful look.

  “I don’t even like you.”

  “Who said anything about liking?” he countered. “It’s simply an experiment. Don’t imagine for one moment you have any power over me.”

  She was barely breathing. “Sometimes things just happen.”

  “I bet they do around you. Is it possible you’re panicking?”

  “Go on then,” she challenged. “Surprise me. As if you could.”

  She was to pay for that.

  Royce pulled her into his arms as though taking action was his only possible course. This was a woman beyond imagining.

  Beyond imaging too was the way their bodies came together as if fused. They fitted perfectly, one to the other, man and woman, feeding off the other’s compulsive physical needs. If nothing else, their bodies weren’t going to lie for them. The need transcended anger, condemnation, rage, even sorrow. He hadn’t overpowered her. He hadn’t trapped her. If she had cried out, he would have instantly let her go.

  Tension held and gripped. She was melting into him, hungry for what he could offer. It was all part of a glorious, blatant seduction. It was her great gift, enslaving a man. His only protection was his certain knowledge he was a man who would never worship at her feet. What he was doing was taking advantage of this streamlined attempt at seduction. He told himself it would never work.

  Their kiss was so deep, so searing it couldn’t be explained away. It was fiercely compulsive, as though neither of them had a say. All that existed was an overpowering physical hunger, a primal appetite, a fascination, the devastating loss of self that kept them locked in a sensual trance. Whatever the huge barriers between them and the deep distrust, he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  She stayed within his arms even when he began tracing the long slender lines of her body. She could not have been closer to him, her breasts crushed against his chest. Their hips clamped their lower bodies together as if they were desperate to be one flesh. He had never felt like this in his life. He wanted to tug the dress from her. He wanted to lay her down on the thick green grass. His self-control was hanging by a thread. He needed to shatter her power, when all he was doing was kissing her over and over as if that was what it took to make him complete.

  The kisses grew wilder. More demanding. Nothing gentle or lover-like about them. Nothing sanctifying. The hell of it, he knew, was a mad desire. Spasms coursing through his aroused body were so strong he was in pain. They had to move forward to the point of no return. Or stop.

  He wrenched his head back, still holding her firmly. Even so, she quivered in the aftermath of disorienting emotion. He kept one hand on her shoulder. One thin strap of her gown had fallen down, almost entirely revealing a small perfect breast. The whole episode was unbelievable. The one thought in his mind was he would never forget it. The impossible had happened. He had been dethroned, defeated, by a woman. It was a scenario he knew well from the painful past.

  Amelia felt she could never go back to the way she was. Her throat was so tight she could barely speak. Her voice, when it came back, was splintered in her throat. It didn’t even sound like her own anymore. “I’m leaving after the wedding,” she told him, trying to sound vehement and succeeding only in sounding vulnerable. “I hope I never have to see you again.” Hand trembling, she slipped the white strap back on her shoulder. “I just dreamed you up, Royce Stirling. You’re a dangerous man.”

  He stood as still as a statue, determined not to kiss her again. His customary feeling of being the man in control had as good as crumpled. All that brought about by a woman? “Famous last words, Amelia. You will come back,” he predicted in an ironic voice. Well used to making love to women, he was severely shaken.

  “I’ll be an old lady before then,” she promised him. “Try to get a handle on this thing you think I have going with Jimmy.”

  “What you have going with my brother fills me with the greatest unease,” he swiftly informed her. “Time you got yourself a man of your own.”

  That comment pierced her like the tip of a blade. “Look who’s talking!” she cried. “You’re thirty, aren’t you? You’ve reached the decade in your life when you’ll have to think about finding yourself a bride.”

  “I’ve already got someone in mind,” he said, very crisply indeed.

  “God help her!” Amelia lifted her long skirt, preparing to run back down the tunnelway. “Who would ever want a man with such a monstrous ego?”

  “Search me,” he responded, “but plenty are determined.”

  Amelia could well imagine. “Maybe they’re convinced they can tame you? Who knows? Women can be very blind.”

  “You sound like a man-hater.”

  “Once in a while, I am,” Amelia freely admitted. “I’ve seen too much suffering of women at the hands of men.”

  “So you feel bound to make men suffer in return? Is that it?” It was a theory.

  “You should be giving me absolution, not condemnation, but you’ve lost your heart somewhere along the line. Good night, Mr. Stirling. I won’t say it’s been a pleasure to know you.”

  “Ditto!” He bowed low, one arm held elegantly in front of his body.

  He watched her until she had almost reached the end of the flower-wreathed bower. Her long diaphanous skirt was floating like a cloud around her. She had moved with a swiftness that didn’t seem to him like that of an ordinary woman, but a goddess. He gave a brief discordant laugh. She had paused once, looking back. He gave her a satirical wave. She would hate that. A moment more and the purple darkness swallowed her up.

  How had he arrived at this point? he was forced to ask himself. He had never behaved so wildly, so out of character in his entire life. It shocked him. It also tormented him far into the night.

  * * *

  On a perfect cobalt and gold Saturday afternoon, James Stirling and Marigold Boyd were married in the presence of the extended Stirling family and their closest friends. Amelia was intensely aware of the surprise of family and friends, especially Jimmy’s mother, his aunt, and her architect husband, a fine-looking man. The wedding was so low-key. They had expected when James married, it would be to much fanfare. Even more surprising was the tension between bride and groom.

  Only she and Royce knew the reason. Amelia was furious he could think her the sort of woman who would deliberately destroy another woman’s happiness, let alone that of her adopted sister.

  The guests were dressed to the nines. Hopefully they would put the tension between bride and groom down to the fact James had been too long a playboy.

  Now he was facing up to a far more responsible life. In other words, marriage was a culture shock for Jimmy. The bride was a pretty little thing. That was the universal opinion. Not exactly what they had all expected knowing James’s taste in women. But she was his choice. That was all they needed to know.

  A Stirling cousin declared himself delighted to wa
lk the bride down the aisle of the picturesque stone church adjacent to the main house. It had been built in the mid-1880s for the master, staff, and servants of Kooralya to worship.

  To Amelia’s eyes, Marigold looked like a storybook bride in a feminine, short, white wedding dress with a strapless bodice adorned with rhinestones and dazzling beading and frothy layers of tulle for a skirt. She had opted for a fingertip white tulle veil held in place by a lovely jewelled bandeau, a family heirloom that Anthea had lent her.

  Amelia had known even before Marigold had shown her the bridesmaid gown she had picked out for her that she was meant to look like the mother of the bride. The colour was a shade of pink that many would call insipid, but at least the fabric was lightweight chiffon. She had discarded the short taffeta jacket that was meant to go with it. It was a cover-up quite unnecessary in the heat. Later, after turning this way and that, she had taken her scissors to the bulky corsage of taffeta flowers sewn to the side of the fitted waist.

  She had intended to wear her hair up. She had brought with her two very pretty jewelled combs, but Anthea had presented her with the prettiest headpiece she had ever seen: a coronet of exquisite pink and cream rosebuds interwoven with a tracery of baby green ferns. It was meant to encircle her head and forehead, so they both decided on leaving her hair long.

  “Have a happy day, Amelia, dear,” Anthea said, a glitter of tears in her eyes.

  “You too, Anthea.” Amelia leaned forward to kiss Anthea’s cheek. She was touched by their rapport.

  “I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the bride,” Anthea said with a wry little grimace, “but I think our Marigold was rather frantic to make sure you didn’t steal the limelight. That pink could easily have been a disaster on someone else.”

  “I think your beautiful head piece clinched it for me,” Amelia smiled. She was well aware of Marigold’s intentions. She knew Marigold too well. On the other hand, she wouldn’t have minded all that much if she had looked a bit on the dreary side. This was Marigold’s day, after all. She prayed things would settle down between Marigold and Jimmy. A baby was on the way. Nothing mattered now but they should find happiness and raise their coming child in peace and love.

  * * *

  The reception was held in what the family called the Great Hall. It had been purposely built for all manner of large functions. Even for a small wedding, the hall had been splendidly done out. The high ceiling was draped in miles of the same filmy pink material, the same shade as the floor-length cloths that covered the eight-seater tables. A low-set arrangement of pink roses acted as centrepieces. It was all Anthea’s idea. The bridegroom’s mother, Sally, had left Anthea to it. Anthea, in turn, had flown in a team of wedding planners to help her.

  As the chief—one and only—bridesmaid, Amelia sat at the lavishly bedecked bridal table. Jimmy’s mother, Sally, the prettiness of her youth faded by time and more than her fair share of unhappiness, Amelia assumed, was feeling some concerns. She was Jimmy’s mother, after all, and Jimmy wasn’t looking the way he should.

  Marigold, on the other hand, looked positively radiant, even ecstatic. She now had everything she had ever wanted. A rich husband to indulge her at every turn. They all watched on as the best man, looking stunningly handsome in his wedding finery, rose to give a short speech. Touchingly, it was filled with love, humour, and congratulations for the presumed-to-be happy pair. Amelia found herself raising her crystal flute along with everyone else.

  She could see the smiling faces of the guests, all ages, glasses raised for the toast. She couldn’t help noticing how a very attractive, beautifully dressed young woman never took her eyes off Royce. She was wearing an enchanting, wide-brimmed cream hat that dipped to one side. Her glossy dark hair was caught in an updated chignon at the back. It was a style Amelia often adopted herself. The young woman’s dress was perfect. Form-fitting without being tight, cream silk scattered with tiny sprigs of rosy apricot-coloured wildflowers.

  It had to be the neighbour, Charlene Warrender. Anthea had filled her in on the guest list. The Warrenders were close neighbours, if a couple of hundred miles apart could be deemed close, but apparently was in the Outback. Anthea had made no further comment, but Amelia realized this could very well be the woman Royce Stirling had in mind for marriage. So suitable! No question at all, Charlene Warrender was under his spell. She could see it. She could feel it. Charlene’s blue, near-agonized glances fell into adoring mode.

  A group of musicians had been hired to play at the ceremony and reception. They were very good. Not only did they excel at classical music, but they knew exactly how to get a party going. Jimmy and Marigold led off the bridal waltz. After a few moments, the younger guests moved onto the floor. Amelia saw Royce take Charlene into his arms. She saw the vulnerable softness in Charlene’s expression, the faint quiver to her lovely smile. Poor girl, she was madly in love with the man. Really, someone should warn her, only all the other guests seemed to be delighted to see them together.

  She found herself in great demand on the dance floor. This was a wedding after all. She was determined to enjoy the day. Only her heart skipped a painful beat when Jimmy tapped her partner on his shoulder. “Hi, Dave, do you mind?” he smiled. “It’s my delightful duty to dance with our bridesmaid.”

  David, a charming young man still at university, where he was training to become a doctor, assured Amelia, “I’ll be back!”

  “Lucky devil!” Jimmy breathed close to Amelia’s ear. “You look beautiful. I should have told you before.”

  “Thank you, Jimmy,” she said, keeping her tone light and affectionate. “You’re a married man at last.”

  “That was the whole idea, wasn’t it?” Jimmy said.

  “God, Jimmy, you can’t go on like this,” Amelia was endeavouring to keep a carefree smile on her face. People would be watching as they always did. “You have to make an effort; otherwise, you’ll never be happy. Marigold looks lovely. Everyone thinks so.”

  “You mean everyone is wondering how we came to get married,” Jimmy answered as if he wanted to yell the place down, get drunk, or both. “Marigold is not my type at all.”

  “You should have thought of that before you got her into bed,” Amelia moved in closer so she could murmur her disapproval in his ear.

  Jimmy laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Amelia, darling, I was known for my dalliances, but not a one of them set out to trap me.”

  “Then you were lucky. You know I care about you and your happiness. I’m always your friend. If you try hard, you can have a life.”

  “How can that happen when I’m in love with you?” he said, his dismal mood unhappily on show.

  “Jimmy, you’re destroying yourself,” Amelia said, almost feeling his heart break.

  Across the floor, Royce, who had been keeping an eagle eye on the pair, made a swift excuse to the female cousin who was hastening towards him. Without drawing too much attention to himself, he made it over to his brother, the bridegroom who had Amelia, the bridesmaid, locked in his arms.

  “May I?” he asked, a totally misleading smile on his face. “Dance with your bride, Jimmy,” he ordered in an undertone. “Go on. Move.”

  Jimmy moved.

  If they had been anywhere else, Amelia would have rushed away as well. Instead, she allowed herself to be taken into Royce’s arms as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Poor Jimmy, desperate for your sweetness and understanding?”

  “Don’t take it out on me,” she said.

  “Smile.”

  “Smile yourself,” Amelia answered, tartly. “God knows you were positively beaming down at . . . Charlene, is that her name? She’s lovely, by the way. I’m assuming she’s the one.”

  His dark eyes blazed out of his dynamic face. “Quite a few people are starting to think something is amiss.” His arm was curled hard around her, carrying hints of a fatal attraction.

  “Does anyone believe in perfect love?” She raised her blond head, givin
g him a brilliant smile to complete their happy picture.

  “If you have any regard for Marigold, you’ll leave Jimmy alone,” he said. “Let them get away. They’ll be in the States a good two months.”

  “It’s their honeymoon. They shouldn’t waste it.”

  “No.” He pulled her even closer as if he didn’t know how to do otherwise. They were moving in perfect unison. Not easy to do. No other partner had. Not even Charlene, the young woman he had danced with a million times. But with her. He brought his head down so they were cheek to cheek. “Act enthralled,” he said.

  “You’re kidding me.” There had been compulsion in his voice. “The man who has to be obeyed?”

  “If you don’t, you won’t be able to predict what I’ll do next,” he said.

  “With Charlene watching?” she scoffed. “Not that you wouldn’t have had your ups and downs, I dare say, you being what you are.”

  He could feel the slow burn. “Do it for my family’s sake,” he said.

  She couldn’t resist that appeal. “I’m sorry.” She was conscious of the full rush of excitement with his arms around her. She had come to Kooralya never dreaming in a million years this could happen. “I feel the same as you do, Royce. I’m terribly worried about Marigold and Jimmy.”

  “As well you might be,” he said, curtly.

  “Why are you so cruel?” she implored. “This is a party. A wedding reception.”

  “And you look like spring. As exquisite as the roses on your brow. They’re starting to open up. Such a delicate, delicious perfume! Tell me, do all witches have emerald green eyes?”

  “What colour are Charlene’s?” she asked.

  “A heavenly blue.”

  “You haven’t done too badly then, have you? I hope you’ve considered the possibility Charlene might think you’re flirting with me.”

  “Never mind the flirting,” he said. “I’m deadly serious.”