Where was she? She couldn’t have gone home. Guy and Alana hadn’t left yet. Alana, as tradition demanded, hadn’t yet thrown her bouquet. The honeymoon was to be spent in Europe, but the happy couple were staying overnight in a suite at one of Sydney’s luxury hotels, before flying out to Paris via Dubai the next day.
Obviously she had decided to lose herself. It didn’t make him mad, but intrigued. He continued on his way, skirting the main paths bordered by banks of azaleas and rhododendrons, a positive sea of them, pink, white, ruby-red. He traversed a small ornamental bridge that spanned a glittering dark green lily pond before heading towards what looked like a secret garden. He was enormously impressed with the way Guy kept the place. The maintenance of the gardens alone was a huge achievement. Wangaree was a country estate in the grand manner. Even Gilgarra, though a top New England property, couldn’t match it.
The fringing trees along the path kept the light a cool subdued green, even on this brilliant sunny day. His mother had kept a lovely garden, continuing to work in it even as she’d sickened. He remembered the delight she’d had in her roses. She’d adored the English roses in the walled garden. David Austin roses, he remembered, luxurious and wonderfully fragrant. Perfume had been a big priority with his mother. Her David Austin roses had done well for her. As a boy he had spent many hours helping her, doing what he had called the ‘hard yakka’, all the while drunk on perfume and contentment. He had an eye for beauty.
Cheryl, now, had no interest in gardens at all. Jewellery was her big thing. Chuck had shown a lot of spunk, demanding their father turn over to him their mother’s engagement ring—a large emerald surrounded by diamonds. Their mother had always said it should go to her firstborn’s bride. Whenever she’d said it she had always caught hold of Linc’s hand, as if she had something else lined up especially for him. He thought it would have been her pearls, a gorgeous necklet her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday. If he ever saw them around Cheryl’s neck he thought he might die.
Gradually the stone path was narrowing—he supposed to enhance its secret quality. He had to bend his head beneath a glorious shower of blossoms from a free-standing iron arch that was wreathed in a delicate violet-blue vine. It might be easy passage for most people, but not those topping six feet. He could be following entirely the wrong path, but somehow he didn’t think so. He fancied the spell that had been put on him was luring him on.
As he stepped inside the entrance to the walled garden, flanked by two huge matching urns spilling extravagant flowers, there she was: the only other one to find that enchanted glade.
He had followed in her footsteps. He didn’t know whether to be troubled or amused by the fact he was utterly besotted with some aspect of her. Maybe when he got to know her it would pass. There was that cynical voice again. She was seated on a garlanded swing that was suspended from a sturdy tree branch. Wasn’t that exactly where one might expect such a beautiful creature to be, in her beribboned short dress? The dress was exactly the same colour as the flowers of the vine that grew so profusely up the swing’s support chains, a porcelain pink.
He paused, looking towards her. ‘You couldn’t have found a more bewitching spot.’
‘Hello,’ she said simply. She didn’t seem at all surprised to see him. ‘You’re right. How did you know where to find me?’
He gave a self-mocking smile. ‘I just followed the magic petals. You did strew them for me, didn’t you?’
‘If that’s how you want to interpret it.’ Her glance held faint irony, as though she thought it wouldn’t hurt him to be taken down a peg.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, moving over the daisy-flecked green turf towards her. ‘I did find you.’
‘You were looking.’ It wasn’t a question.
No point in denying it. He ran a hand through his shock of black hair, pushing back the unruly lock that had fallen forward onto his brow. ‘I’ve been trying to get to your side for hours.’
She began to swing, very gently. ‘How could you possibly fit me in between partners? You were never short of one.’ The minute it was out of her mouth, Daniela regretted it. It sounded as if she had been keeping an eye on him. She hadn’t been. Well, maybe she had directed a few glances.
‘That thing actually works?’ he asked, his gaze on the swing, wondering if it was safe. It looked more like a marvellous decorative element in the garden than functional.
‘You can see it does.’ She began to swing higher. ‘The garlands are a lovely idea, don’t you think? The flowers spring from these little planter boxes fixed to the base of the swing. See?’ She slowed to point them out. ‘It’s the most amazing garden. I love it. I expect fairies with wonderful sparkling wings hold midnight parties here.’
He could feel the impact of her—her beauty and mystique—in every cell of his body. ‘Do you suppose they ask mere mortals to join in? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to the wedding?’
She flew a little higher. ‘It didn’t seem to me we would meet again.’
‘Oddly, I don’t believe you.’ A good thing she was a featherweight, but he was still getting anxious. He didn’t want to see her fall.
Abruptly she slowed again. ‘Perhaps you’re too sure of yourself?’ She knew she sounded touchy, prickly, but she couldn’t seem to control it.
‘And the idea upsets you? What sort of man do you like?’ He moved, his hands reaching out for the flower-decked chains, testing them. They held very firm under pressure and he began to propel her forward.
‘I’ll recognise him if I ever find him!’ she exclaimed, sounding a little breathless.
‘Tell me. What’s a young woman like you doing here all by yourself on a swing?’
‘All by myself?’ Briefly she met his eyes. ‘I thought you were with me, pushing me?’
‘Aren’t I expected to in such a situation? Hold still for a moment,’ he cautioned, as on a downward motion a thick green tendril sprang out from the vine and hooked into her hair.
Immediately her small high-arched feet in their pretty high-heeled gilded sandals anchored her to the ground.
He freed her. A small thing, but it hit him hard. She put up a hand to smooth her hair a mere second before he drew his away.
Skin on skin. He could have been wrong, but it seemed like an effort for both of them to pull away. Was he crazy? He wanted to pull her off that swing, pull her into his arms, make love to her there and then. Such was his physical turmoil.
Perhaps something of what he was feeling got through to her, because she gave him a look that came close to a plea. ‘It’s better if we return to the reception.’
‘As you wish.’ He inclined his head. ‘Is there any particular reason you don’t want to be alone with me, Daniela?’
His use of her name affected her. He had a good voice. A voice to listen to. Voices were important to her. She slid off the seat of the swing, then stood to face him. ‘You flatter yourself, Mr Mastermann.’
‘I think not,’ he contradicted. ‘And it’s Linc. Or Carl, if you prefer.’ His mother had been the only one to call him Carl. ‘Lincoln was my mother’s maiden name. It’s something of a tradition within pastoral families to include the mother’s maiden name among the baptismal names.’
She tilted her luminous head. ‘I have heard of it, though I’ve never had the pleasure of mixing in such elevated circles. You say your friends call you Linc? I’ll call you Carl.’ She knew she was being perverse, but she felt a powerful warning to keep her feet very firmly on the ground. Linc Mastermann was a charmer, and a dangerous one. Not for a minute could she forget that. He wasn’t an easy man, either. She had already taken soundings of his depths.
‘So tell me about you?’ he was asking as they moved out of the glade. ‘All I know so far is you’re Daniela Adami. You’re home from London—your grandfather told me—where you were sous chef in a famous three Michelin star restaurant. Why did you come home, given you had such a great career going for you? Or do you pla
n to go back some time soon?’
She took her time answering. ‘I’m here to see my family. I’d been missing them so much. Italian families are like that. They crave togetherness. Besides, I haven’t had a vacation in quite some time.’
He wondered briefly, cynically, if his family were missing him. Chuck would be, but Chuck had found himself a girlfriend—Louise Martin. He couldn’t have been more pleased for them. Louise was a great girl. ‘You were born in Italy?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I’m first-generation Australian. Everyone in my family loves Australia. We feel at home here, but my parents and my grandfather like to make a trip home to Italy at least every couple of years to see relatives.’
Again he had to bend his head beneath flowery boughs, while she passed beneath them unscathed. ‘I spent a whole year in Italy after I finished university. Rome, mostly,’ he told her.
‘They do say all roads lead there.’
‘Ecco Roma!’ he exclaimed, falling back effortlessly into Italian.
She paused to look up at him. He was so very much taller she had to tilt her head back. ‘Your accent is good.’
‘I must have a good ear,’ he said. ‘At least that’s what I was told. For someone born in Australia, you still retain a trace of your accent.’
‘I know.’ Just the merest flash of a smile. He all but missed it. ‘We’re bilingual as a family. Actually, I speak French as well. It’s been a big help to me in my line of work.’
‘As a chef?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m surprised you don’t speak fifteen languages.’ He made an attempt to get a bigger smile from her. Longer. ‘Sing, paint, play the piano, maybe even the harp? What you don’t look like is you eat much of your own cooking!’ he mocked gently. ‘You’re what? One hundred and two, one hundred and four pounds?’ His downbent gaze lightly skimmed her petite figure.
He loved her dress, just a slip of a thing that left her golden arms and lovely legs bare. Low oval neck, short skirt—simplicity itself. Only what it was made of turned it into a work of art.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she asked, turning her great dark eyes on him almost with censure.
‘Actually, I was looking at your dress. What is it made of? Beribboned lace?’
She kept walking, twirling a perfumed pink blossom in her hand. ‘If you must know it’s embroidered crocheted cotton by a top designer.’
‘Okay, I’m impressed.’ He laughed in his throat.
‘Thank you.’ She coloured just a tiny bit. ‘I bought it in London. It wasn’t cheap.’
‘Worth every penny, I’d say,’ he said dryly. ‘You should never take it off. So, how long is the vacation going to be?’ How much time did he have? God, was he mad? This woman was drawing him deeper and deeper beneath her spell.
‘I’m in no hurry to go back,’ she said.
She couldn’t tell him she feared to go back. She had told no one. Not even her family. Gerald Templeton, the only son of a very wealthy and influential upper-class family, a man about town in swinging London, had in a short period of time become obsessively attracted to her—to the extent he had turned into a stalker when she’d told him she no longer wanted to see him. It wasn’t beyond him to follow her to Australia if he could track her down. All it took was a plane ticket.
He saw the shadow that crossed her face. ‘Sounds like this vacation is more like an escape?’ He was following a gut feeling. Chuck always did say he was good at interpreting vibes. Besides, one could learn crucial things through instinct and gut feelings.
She said nothing. She reached out to pick another flower, twirling it beneath her small straight nose. ‘You told me you were interested in the Callaghan place—Briar’s Ridge?’ She changed the subject.
He nodded. ‘Very much so. I have Alana’s okay; now I have to get her brother’s. I only met Kieran today, and we haven’t had time to talk. I heard he’s become a real someone in the art world, and I know Alex is involved. Guy and I went to the same school, where he was sort of like my mentor. Anyway, he kept me in check.’
‘You were a bad boy?’ She looked up into his undeniably handsome, charismatic face.
He gave a twisted smile, deepening those dimples. ‘In some ways, yes.’
‘I have observed your dark side,’ she commented, pausing to admire a stone cupid. Someone had placed a mixed bouquet of flowers in the cupid’s lap. A romantic touch.
‘Now, how the heck did you manage to do that?’ he asked wryly.
‘A woman’s instinct,’ she said, turning to allow her eyes to roam his face.
‘Maybe you would have made a good psychologist, had you followed that path.’
‘Maybe I would. Do…do you have a girlfriend? Someone you care about?’
‘Is this simple curiosity, Daniela?’ His silvery green gaze, made even more startling against his darkly tanned skin, openly mocked her.
She walked on, picking up pace. ‘All right, don’t tell me.’
He caught her up easily. ‘Like most guys, I’ve had plenty of girlfriends, but no one in particular. Tell me about the guy in London. The one you’re on the run from.’
She felt a violent thrill of shock. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘It would explain why you’re so wary.’ He spoke tautly, angry at the very thought some guy might have been hassling her.
‘You’re way off the mark.’ She wasn’t going to tell him he had scored a bullseye.
‘Am I? You’re a beautiful woman. A lot of beautiful women feed on their own self-regard. At least that’s been my experience. You’re not like that. You don’t see your beauty as something special, more a danger. Am I right?’
What else had he learned about her? ‘Maybe I’m beautiful only by your set of criteria?’ she suggested evasively.
‘Nonsense,’ he clipped off. ‘You’d warrant a double take anywhere. Unfortunately it’s in some men’s nature to hunt beautiful women.’
She stood looking up at him, trying to hide her emotions. ‘Why are you speaking to me like this? You don’t know anything about me.’
‘You don’t know anything about me,’ he countered. ‘Yet you said I have a dark side. I assure you, hunting beautiful women is not my style. So you can relax. I had a mother I adored. I would hate to throw a scare into any woman.’
She believed him. He would never do so deliberately. ‘You said had?’ She changed the subject again. ‘Your mother is dead?’
‘Breast cancer.’ His tone, considering how he felt, was extraordinarily level—even matter-of-fact.
It didn’t fool her. ‘And after she died you didn’t know how you were going to go on with life?’ she suggested gently. ‘You must have been a boy?’
There was definitely something between the two of them now. ‘Are you deliberately turning the tables, Daniela? I was twelve, my brother Charles eighteen months older. Sad, sad times for both of us.’
She kept her eyes on him, fascinated and disturbed by his dark good looks and magnetic presence. ‘And your father? Was he able to offer much love and support? He, too, must have been devastated.’
‘Oh, he was!’ He could hear the cutting cynicism in his own voice. ‘He remarried barely two years later.’
‘A younger woman?’ She felt his world of anger, pain and bitter resentment.
‘Young women are nectar to older men,’ he said with a twisted smile, ‘but my dad’s second wife, Valerie, was in the same age group. She’d been a long-time acquaintance of both my parents. Cheryl, on the other hand, is around Chuck’s age.’
‘I see,’ she said quietly. ‘It sounds like Cheryl is the wrong kind of woman?’ The raven loop of hair had fallen forward on his tanned forehead again. She saw it annoyed him, but she thought it very dashing.
‘It sounds like your womanly instincts are far too acute,’ he drawled. ‘Are you going to dance with me?’
She shook her head and walked on. Guests were spread out across the magni
ficent grounds, all laughing and talking, thoroughly enjoying their beautiful surroundings and the magic of the day. ‘No.’
‘Isn’t that a bit harsh?’
‘Maybe,’ she said calmly. ‘But I have serious reservations about becoming too friendly with you, Carl Mastermann.’
That didn’t surprise him. He had concerns himself. ‘Well, at least you don’t fool around. You get right to the point. Is it because I have a dark side?’
Now she did smile at him. The first real smile he had received. It was so beautiful it took his breath away. ‘Because you also have a light side,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s even brilliant on occasions. You’re a mixture of both.’
‘And this makes it impossible for us to be friends?’
‘Is that what this is? Friendship that is passing between us?’ she asked with a gentle air of melancholy.
‘Maybe not.’ Both of them seemed caught in a whirlpool. ‘But if I’m a mix, so are you.’
‘No, no!’ She shook her blond hair so the heavier side fell forward to hide her profile. ‘I have always been a very happy person, much cared for by a loving family.’
‘Only someone came along to change all that?’
It was a troubling challenge. He saw too much. ‘Let’s drop it, shall we?’
‘Certainly,’ he assented, ‘as it clearly bothers you. Just one condition. You break your newly established set of rules and dance with me. It need only be one time.’
In an instant he knew she was going to consent.
CHAPTER THREE
THE day after the buying of Briar’s Ridge was settled—Kieran had been delighted by Linc’s offer, and because he had a substantial deposit and the bank on side, it took no time at all—Linc drove into town. Not a single night had he slept properly since his friend’s wedding. If he wasn’t lying awake thinking about Daniela, how they had danced together, the way she had let him hold her, she insinuated herself into his dreams. He even felt her in his bed. He woke with her fragrance on his skin.
Bride at Briar's Ridge Page 3