Guardian to the Heiress

by Margaret Way

  “That may not have been his motive at all, Uncle Maurice. I’m my father’s daughter. Grandfather’s feelings of remorse must have gone very deep. I know how much you love Beaumont. You will have plenty of time to find yourself another country retreat. I believe Mayfield is coming on the market?”

  Maurice Chancellor’s blue eyes blazed. “My dear, I couldn’t settle anywhere else other than what has been the family home. But I do want to thank you for your consideration.”

  “Perfectly all right, Uncle. It doesn’t seem appropriate today to mention I got none.”

  That was not well received.

  * * *

  She sailed through her second-year exams, her personal best. She’d put in a lot of hard work. She didn’t have any distractions, nor did she allow them. It would have been impossible for her to remain in the flat, even if there had been room with Tracey moving in. But from the very day her grandfather’s death had hit the headlines she’d known she was about to become a target. Even then she hadn’t fully realised just how bad it was to become until the memorial service given for her grandfather. Anyone who was anyone had been invited. The cathedral had been packed.

  Damon had stayed close to her. Even then he had organised security to shield her, big men in dark suits. The media had been out in force, all the channels, the newspapers, the whole nine yards. They hadn’t hesitated to chase her and poke microphones in her face. Even then she had felt besieged, hedged in on all sides. It was a kind of violation to have so many eyes on her. She’d got a taste of how difficult it must be for celebrities to cope with all the unwanted attention.

  Damon continued to come to her rescue. He released immediate funds for her to buy a harbour-side apartment that guaranteed security. He had actually taken the time to go with her while she made a choice between three apartments that offered all she wanted. She had an idea security was still around but she never caught sight of anyone. Obviously they were professionals.

  She was getting very used to Damon. Too used. He was becoming so familiar to her, changing her existence. His manner was always correct. One of the reasons she had worked so hard to get top marks for her end-of-year exams was that she wanted to impress Damon. Winning his approval had fuelled her efforts. Privately she acknowledged that. On a couple of occasions, she had even picked his brains. She’d told Professor Deakin, and he’d laughed. The professor was mightily pleased with her. Her tutors were equally pleased.

  Damon had made a point of seeing her each week. A “catch up,” he called it. Sometimes they managed coffee. Nothing like a date. Gosh, no; nothing like. She thought she could never close the gap between them. He was charming, committed, immensely helpful but clearly she was his client. His most important client, as it happened, but a line in the sand had been drawn. In any case, rifling through glossy magazines she had seen photographs of him at this or that function, always with a glamour girl on his arm.

  She couldn’t believe he could get serious about Amber Coleman. She might look terrific, but from all accounts she was a bird brain. Maybe the gossips were wrong. Maybe she was highly intellectual and hiding it. Didn’t someone clever say it benefited the wise man to appear a fool? Sounded a bit like Confucius. Women had a long history of hiding their intelligence from men. Modern woman had a chance to totally reverse that. Why not take it? Some were very slow.

  This evening was a special occasion. Damon was taking her out to a celebration dinner at arguably the best restaurant in town, and there were plenty of them to vie for top place. She had never been there. It wasn’t a restaurant that catered for potentially noisy students; they had their own haunts. She continued to see her friends. She continued to help out, reminding herself not to overdo it. Especially with Amanda, who had started to act as if now she was mega-rich she had an obligation to look after them. She hadn’t in the least minded paying for Emma’s nose job. With the tip docked and the bridge reshaped, Emma was a new woman. It was heart-warming to see Em’s self-confidence notch up several degrees. There was no reason why she couldn’t find her prince.

  She knew she couldn’t wear one of her exuberant sparkly little numbers that showed off her limbs, especially her legs. She wanted to look older, more mature. She knew she couldn’t look like his usual glamour girls, nor match their height. Not one of them was petite, but then he was so tall. He didn’t favour short girls. Hence the killer heels, fuchsia strappy sandals to match her dress. She’d had her unruly hair cut by the best, the thickness layered to frame her face. She and the hairdresser had settled on just short of shoulder-length. It was then long enough to pull back when she wanted.

  She didn’t have jewellery to speak of. Well, not yet. Her mother had tons, but hadn’t offered to lend her anything.

  For God’s sake, Carol, can’t you buy something for yourself?

  Her mother had barely been able to cope with her daughter’s good fortune.

  They’ll hate you more than ever, Carol. I’d definitely keep my eye on them. They could even try to have you killed.

  She hadn’t been proud of her response, but her mother’s warning had held more than a lick of personal satisfaction. “Well, you’d know all about that, Mother.” If she’d delivered that crack in person, she would probably have had to have her jaw wired.

  In the end she sought the advice of a very smart woman she knew, mother of one of her university friends, a lovely, kind lady. Together they had gone to a very fashionable boutique after hours where Carol had tried on various evening and dinner dresses suitable for her age and petite figure. She wanted something she could wear with ease. The last thing she wanted was to feel self-conscious. Finally, heads together, they had settled on a beautifully cut, unembellished fuchsia silk satin. It was one-shouldered, with wide ribbonlike detailing on the shouldered side. The dress hugged her figure, but it wasn’t too tight. She hated that look.

  “Very chic!” was the judgement.

  Clearly the boutique owner had expected her to buy more and hopefully become a future customer. She intended to, so they had not embarked on a spending spree but a collection of clothes she would need. Afterwards she had rung Sydney’s most admired florist to organise one of her prized baskets of exquisite summer blooms to be delivered to her mentor’s address.

  The neckline didn’t call for a necklace, but she definitely needed earrings. She had a pair of gold-plated drop earrings that looked like sapphires and diamonds but were actually fine cubic zirconias and dark-blue topaz. They would do. Amanda’s verdict when she had first worn them: ‘a trotting horse wouldn’t notice the difference.’

  That had to be one of Amanda’s grandmother’s sayings. Amanda often quoted her maternal grandmother’s pearls of wisdom. Her grandmother had been born in Ireland, something Amanda was very proud of.

  How quickly did life change? Since her abandonment at age five, she had wanted to feel secure. Something else that was very important to her was trust and a feeling of companionship with a man. She had never achieved that since the days of her father and grandfather. Damon Hunter ticked all the boxes. She felt he was her loyal friend, not just her legal advisor and trustee. Her feelings ran the whole gamut of emotions. He was her friend, but never lover. She caught her breath at the very thought. She even dreamed about him. Dreams that ran on and on. She didn’t fool herself. She had a mega-crush on him. Who could blame her? It was making it difficult for her usual beaux to get a look in.

  * * *

  If Carol had been at all prone to stage fright, she would have been petrified the moment they entered the restaurant. As the maître d’ showed them to their table, interest was palpable. As they passed by, diners looked up to smile; some called “hello.” Now and again a woman caught Damon’s hand to murmur a few words Carol couldn’t catch. A few heads craned to see who Damon Hunter was with. The expressions were uniformly pleasant; maybe a couple denoted envy. She was out and about with Damon Hunter, even if she was the Chancellor heiress. Carol had the idea she would never be forgiven if somehow she m
anaged to capture his romantic attention. They need not fear. This was her reward for working hard.

  “I might as well be wearing a party hat,” Carol remarked when they were seated and the drinks waiter had hurried away to find Damon’s choice of champagne.

  “You have to get used to it, Carol. You’re always going to be the centre of attention.”

  “That’s funny! I thought they were all looking at you. Especially the women. Any girlfriends among the ranks?”

  “Yes, possibly, a few,” he acknowledged with a faint smile. “You look exquisite!” That was a real slip, but he was still reeling from the shock of seeing her as she’d opened her apartment door. The impact had hit him squarely in the chest, the area of the heart. He’d already known she was ravishingly pretty, but even that fell a long way short of an adequate description. She was lovely with tremendous allure and a new level of maturity. His involuntary—God help him, passionate—reaction was, this was a young woman he could easily fall in love with; a very sexy, sensual young woman in her beautiful plum-coloured dress with her ruby hair cut much shorter to frame her small vivid face. Girl into woman.

  Only, falling in love with her was a danger to be avoided at all costs. He hadn’t even dared to kiss her on the cheek. He couldn’t afford to indulge in anything like that. It could turn out to be the thin edge of the wedge. But her arm just above the elbow as he had taken it as they’d moved off was so smooth to his touch. She had beautiful skin. Beautiful skin all over her body, he just knew. If for a moment he had allowed himself to be pierced by an unnerving desire, he was over it. Well...almost over it, back in control. The very last thing he wanted was to bring trouble down on Carol Chancellor’s young head.

  Damon sat back, his eyes hooded. If he were honest, he would admit he didn’t really know what was happening in his life any more.

  He had already told her she looked beautiful the moment he had arrived to pick her up. She wasn’t expecting exquisite. Carol took a deep breath, aware of the heat in her cheeks. “I’m glad you think so. Do I look older?”

  Damon couldn’t help laughing. “Was that your intention?”

  “You may have noticed I’m not wearing one of my sparkly little numbers,” she leaned forward to confide. “I wanted to appear more elegant.” For you.

  “You have my verdict.” There was a faintly sardonic twist to his handsome mouth.

  She studied him with her bluer-than-blue eyes. “What do they say, amorous intrigue is the spice of life? Do you agree?”

  “You’re saying this is an amorous occasion?” He quirked a brow.

  He looked so attractive she felt her heart give a great lunge. “Don’t be silly, Damon. You’re embarrassing me. I’m talking about your lady friends. We can talk about them, can’t we? I happen to know you’ve checked out my list of on-and-off boyfriends.”

  “Now, how would you know that?” His gaze sharpened.

  “Gotcha!”

  “Okay.” He held out his palms. “My job is to protect you, Carol. Protect you and your interests. I have to keep one move ahead of the game. You’re well and truly in the limelight. But you know you have a management team in place.”

  “So how long is this management team going to be in place?” She made an attempt at lightness when just being with him engendered such excitement.

  The expression on his face was serious. “As long as it takes. Now, this is a celebratory dinner. You’ve done us all proud. What are you going to have? The seafood is always superb.”

  “I know. They sing paeans of praise for the chef. Thank you for thinking of me, Damon. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  His brilliant dark gaze held hers. “We are, Carol.” Momentarily he allowed himself to barely touch her small pretty hand lying on the table. Was it an excuse? Sensation stunned him, catching him under the ribs. It set off a surge of adrenaline that ran like shivery pins and needles up and down his arm.

  “That’s all I need to know.” Carol, too, felt the impact. For half a second she felt her heart actually flutter. She had never thought of herself as needy, yet it was thrilling to know she had Damon on her side; Damon to stand at her shoulder. He had done that from their very first meeting. She might be a client but she had the unstoppable feeling she was a little bit important to him.

  The champagne arrived. He raised his glass to her. “Congratulations, Carol.”

  After that, they both fell into their comfort zone. If she wanted so much more, at least she had the sense to know it was out of the question. Damon was kind, he was thoughtful, he was way out of her league. She almost wished herself five or six years older. But that was her nature: she always did rush at things. She had rushed into a huge crush. One could wait all one’s life for such a crush.

  It was easy enough to savour the beautiful food and wine. Carol stuck to two glasses of champagne as her limit. She thought Damon would approve. At any rate, he didn’t attempt to press any more on her. They talked about many things—always something fresh to discuss. He told her how he had been hell-bent on a legal career. He talked about his mother. Clearly they shared a close, loving relationship. Damon had travelled widely, sometimes to very distant places like the North Pole.

  “I went with a university friend, Zac Murray. We both wanted to have the experience of seeing the Northern Lights, the aurora borealis.”

  “And did you? I’d read it’s not always possible, depending on the weather.”

  His dark eyes lit up. “We were fortunate to be there in the intense phase of the solar cycle. We lay on our backs for an hour or more, staring up at a phenomenal display. It got too cold to stay. The aurora appeared in curtainlike structures, the most marvellous fluorescent green, very bright. I have seen the aurora australis in the South Island of New Zealand when I was on holidays some years back. It had red and blue lights. Not a lot of people know the Northern Lights and the Southern Lights have almost identical features.”

  “In the Middle Ages the aurora was believed to be a sign from God,” Carol remembered. She was an avid reader, unlike her friends, who had enough with their text books and the internet.

  One side of his firm mouth lifted slightly. “Difficult to deny the existence of a divine being when confronted by the marvels of nature.”

  “A religious experience?

  “I’m going to say a spiritual one, Carol,” he said calmly.

  He was focusing on her face. Was he really seeing her or just a pretty girl? “Maybe that’s how God reveals himself,” Carol suggested.

  “Okay,” he smiled. “I’ll go along with that.”

  * * *

  They finished the entrée of the day, blue swimmer crab with strips of smoked eggplant. It was superb, as was the steamed red emperor served in a banana leaf with papaya chilli and coconut salsa. Australian chefs were among the best in the world, she decided. Australian fresh produce was amazing. They were working their way through what they would have for dessert when a tall, very glamorous brunette rose from her seat across the room and began to wind her way towards them, stopping here and there for short two- or three-way conversations.

  Carol revved into life. “How do you feel about introducing me to your girlfriend?” she asked mischievously.

  He looked up, his expression half amused, half sardonic. “Which one?”

  “The one coming this way. A real glamour girl. Some angst, I’d say, though it’s not all that visible. Why is that?”

  “I don’t have a clue.” Nevertheless he rose suavely to his feet as Amber Coleman arrived at their table. “Good evening, Amber.”

  “Good evening, darling.” She followed up by raising her bare arms to him in a public show of closeness, then she kissed him on both cheeks. She was wearing a short strapless gown in tomato red that set off her brunette colouring beautifully. “Thought I spotted you out of the corner of my eye. And this is young Carol Chancellor?” She turned to give Carol a dazzling smile. At the same time, she made a swift judgement on Carol’s appearance, make-up, hairdo
, and dress, even taking a peep at Carol’s stilettos.

  Carol returned smile for smile. “How nice to meet you, Ms Coleman. I have a birthday in August. I’ll be twenty-one.”

  “A marvellous age!” Amber enthused. “And this is a fabulous dinner date.” She spoke archly. It didn’t fool Carol for a minute. Amber Coleman was furious.

  “Yes, and it’s nearly over.” Carol gave a deep sigh of regret. “I have to be in bed by nine.” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, Damon, we won’t be home on time.”

  For a split second Amber Coleman’s fixed smile faded, but she quickly re-found her habitual poise. “Just wanted to say hello. You’re coming to the Burtons’ tomorrow night, Damon?” She shifted her golden-brown gaze back to him.

  A line appeared between his black brows. “I don’t know that I got an invitation, Amber.”

  “You did, darling,” she said. “Oh, well...” Another glance flicked over Carol. “I suppose you’re very busy.”

  “He is, too. I worry about him,” Carol piped up with concern. “But you mustn’t blame me, Ms Coleman. Damon has plenty of other important clients.”

  “Now that was naughty,” Damon said after Amber just short of flounced away.

  “Kids are allowed to be naughty. I am naughty, make no mistake. I’m on my best behaviour with you, Damon. I can’t promise it will last. I was a naughty kid. It happens when family abandons you.”

  “You had your mother.”

  That earned him an enigmatic smile. “So I did. Tell me, are you going to the Burtons’ knees-up?” She widened her eyes. “Did you hear what Ms Coleman said? You were invited.”

  Damon knew she was trying to rattle his cage. He concentrated his attention on the menu. “I’m debating the six little macaroons of different flavours or the Turkish-coffee petits pots?”

  She was instantly diverted. “Why not both, then we can share? Macaroons sound easy but they’re actually quite difficult to get perfect.” She spoke seriously.