His Australian Heiress (8 page)

Brendon saw it in the way her face suddenly paled. At once he put his arm around her. “Charlie, baby, what's the matter?”

His tone was so kind, so supportive, so
natural
, her sudden turmoil began to subside. A stolen kiss would have been divine at that point. It was what she had come to realize she craved, but she didn't suppose Brendon wanted to allow the
feeling
that had sprung up between them to burst into something uncontrollable, further ripping their families apart. Even the way he called her “baby” put out the flame. He had started calling her “
Charlie, baby
” when she was about six.

“One of your little chinks opening up?” he asked quietly.

She raised her head. “If I only knew the truth! It must be the same for you, Bren. Both of our parents maligned, most likely wrongfully. Unscrupulous people can do terrible things. They can cause untold misery. Telling terrible lies in an effort to destroy reputations is little short of criminal.”

“Well, you know what they say, Charlie,” he answered. “The truth will out. It may take a long time, but it will happen. Now, stop making yourself miserable.” He gave her a brief hug that had a lot of affection in it. “We have a tree to finish.”

Patricia Mansfield chose, or was
waiting
for, that exact moment to enter the stair hall. “I thought decorating the tree was the plan?” She gave a little tinkling laugh that could never be mistaken for pleasant. It was as insinuating as it could be.

Brendon took on a highly formidable stance. “Trust me, Patricia,” he said in a tone that said,
Stay clear.
“I won't ever stand by and see Charlie hurt.”

Patricia dared a mild sneer. “Your little ewe lamb, is she?”

“Please don't insult me or Charlotte.”

Patricia Mansfield moved to the base of the staircase. “Brendon, dear, can't you take a joke? I wouldn't dream of insulting you. You mistake me.” She glanced over at the half-decorated tree, looking genuinely delighted. “I'm so glad you stuck to a silver and gold colour scheme. So elegant, all the little lights twinkling like stars. It's going to look
marvellous
when you're finished. As you have so much influence with Charlotte, I'd be enormously grateful, Brendon, if you could convince her that Simon should be admitted to the party. He's
family
.” With that, she took her first step up the stairs.

* * *

Her uncle and aunt had shown their upset and disapproval at Simon's being barred from Charlotte's party by booking into a luxury Sydney hotel for the weekend. The Macmillans, Sir Hugo, Brendon's parents, Julian and Olivia, arrived in a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce belonging to Sir Hugo. They stayed for a surprisingly pleasant hour or so, and then the waiting chauffeur drove them back to Sydney.

“We know the party is all about young people,” Sir Hugo said. “So it's good night.” He took Charlotte by her slim shoulders, leaning down to kiss her on both cheeks. “You're a fine young woman, Charlotte. Your grandfather, Lady Julia, and your parents would be very proud of you.”

It was the first time either Brendon, standing nearby, or Charlotte had ever heard Sir Hugo mention Lady Julia. “Thank you, Sir Hugo,” Charlotte said. “Thank you for everything you've done for me.”

Sir Hugo beamed down on her. “It's been an honour, my dear. You can always come to me at any time. My door will always be open.”

Charlotte had to rest content with Olivia Macmillan's cool parting kiss, something Olivia had always fought shy of. Olivia had held to her familiar reserve, but she looked regal in a long, form-fitting deep blue gown. Brendon's father, Julian, a very handsome man who had handed down his finely hewn features to his son, was far more expansive. At the last moment, he made the startling comment that she reminded him very much “of your beautiful mother, Alyssa.”

Why exactly did he say that? Inflammatory stuff, surely? Especially in front of his ice-cold wife. Brendon escorted his family to Sir Hugo's parked Rolls-Royce while Charlotte stood perfectly still for a moment, trying to understand why Julian Mansfield had chosen to speak of
Alyssa
. For that matter, that night was also the first time Sir Hugo had spoken her grandmother's name.
Julia.

Did the menfolk, if not Brendon's mother, have a vision of her and Brendon together? Was Aunt Patricia right? Was she too quietly trusting? Imagine Brendon, the man she trusted most in the world, being part of that agenda? Having thought that even momentarily, she was seized by a sudden attack of shame for her disloyalty. Honour was honour, and Bren was an honourable man.

* * *

By ten o'clock the party was underway. Charlotte saw with pleasure that her guests were having a wonderful time. The hired three-piece band was excellent—it had to be at the price—having no trouble handling the numerous requests. Those who took to the dance floor were enjoying themselves both sweetly and immensely. No young man feeling the effects of the best French champagne had to be curbed as he would have been if trouble was in the air. This was a night that had to be remembered as fabulous and so much fun.

Charlotte had no difficulty picking out Brendon's crow-black head, he was so tall. His thick hair, worn longer than most, was curling up at the edge of his pristine white dress shirt.

The young woman he was dancing with was Lovely Lisa. She certainly lived up to that nickname. Tonight she wore a short, strapless gown the exact shade of her beautiful sapphire earrings. They had been dancing around for ages. Charlotte should have been happier about that, but she wasn't.

The dress code for the men was black tie, evening dress for the women; consequently everyone was looking their sophisticated best. The couple beside Bren and Lisa twirled away so she could get a good look at Lovely Lisa's face.

Lisa was gazing up at Brendon, her big blue eyes drowning in adoration. Lisa wasn't only lovely to look at, she was a genuine darling. Charlotte had to blink several times. The image they presented was that of the perfect couple. Lisa was tilting her shining dark head back, laughing at something Brendon had said. She looked alight with happiness, which made Charlotte feel vaguely upset. She took a deep breath. This would never do. It took a huge effort, but she spun on her Valentino stilettos, open-toed, gold satin, embellished with crystals. The heels gave her over three inches. They were worth every penny. She knew without being told—which, of course, she was—her short glitter dress was perfect for her. Grandma's jewellery, needless to say, got more than its fair share of full-on inspections.

* * *

It was proving very difficult to get to the birthday girl, Brendon thought in frustration, and he was watching her like a hawk. She no sooner finished dancing with one of her admirers than another caught her up. All the young women at the party looked incredibly attractive in their beautiful party dresses, but Charlotte outshone them all, he decided. There wasn't much of her glittering dress, but what there was suited her to perfection. Lady Julia's jewellery couldn't have found a better home, especially the diamond daisy that fell between Charlotte's small, perfect breasts. He was a bit worried by her evening sandals. Stunning though they were, they were very high. She could twist her ankle dancing. Not that she did. She was naturally graceful. Her green eyes were sparkling like emeralds, her lovely skin flushed over her high cheekbones. A radiance was streaming from her. It was important to him that Charlie have a wonderful twenty-first birthday party, one to remember. He was about to move to her side, not prepared to take no for an answer, when the front man of the group announced a tango.

How about that! He had never been one to stay clear of the dance floor. He was sure he could put on a good enough show. He knew Charlie would. There wasn't an awkward bone in her body. God knew she had attended ballet classes for years on end. He had even been dragooned into showing up for a few incredibly boring recitals until Charlie came on. Now she lifted her golden head to announce there would be a prize, which she would present, for the best performance. A bottle of Bollinger, James Bond's favourite.

The next few minutes saw a mad rush to select the best dancing partners. No one seemed to give a toss about possible wounded feelings. In the nick of time Brendon was at Charlotte's side, watching a trio of admirers retreat to find other partners ASAP.

“Sure you can do this?” She tilted her gleaming head back to tease him.

He looked down at her. “Charlie, this is my favourite dance.”

“Since when?” She laughed.

“Do I detect mockery in your tone?” He put one arm around her. “Since the tango was announced. I can't guarantee I can pull it off as well as Colin Firth in some movie I saw, but I'll give it a go.”

“Shouldn't you have asked Lisa?” she whispered, as Lisa was making no secret of her disappointment.

He leaned down and put his mouth to her ear. “Let's just say you're the better dancer.”

“Well, to business,” Charlotte said. “We have to give off a passionate vibe, you know. It's obligatory. Plenty of sexual energy. I'm not flustered. Are you up for it?”

“Don't worry about me,” he bid her briefly. “Worry about yourself.”

“Right.” Put on her mettle, Charlotte took a great lungful of air. She would need it.

The trio started with tremendous
brio
into arguably the best modern tango song there was: “
La Cumparsita
.” It had been a big international hit for Julio Iglesias.

Brendon put his arm around Charlotte's tiny waist, gripped her tight. Her whole body was abuzz. He could feel it like an electric charge. All around them couples were doing the same thing. This was their moment. They took it.

“Gosh, have you ever seen anything like that?” Lisa's partner, not big on sensitivity, muttered in her delicate shell of an ear. “Didn't you tell me they're
cousins
? Look more like lovers.”

Lisa didn't answer. Her lips trembled into a smile. “We can't possibly match them,” she said. Other couples around them were arriving at the same conclusion, because after a while they stopped dancing, two by two, falling back to form a semicircle around the most accomplished couple. That no other dancers had any chance at all was the general opinion.

Charlotte and Brendon had forgotten everything but the dance. Their bodies bent and dipped, their legs extended this way and that, and their faces turned closely into one another's with an agitated but controlled passion, their heads at just the right angle. They even came close to kissing at one point. It was fantastic. Charlotte played the temptress. Brendon, throbbing with passion, was the man to tame her. Real life was suspended. That was the role of the dance.

“Anyone would think they were a couple of professionals.” Lisa's companion finally became aware Lisa wasn't really enjoying the mesmerizing performance. He knew Lisa had once been madly in love with Macmillan, the handsome devil. Dance routine or not—in his view, they were showing off—there was a tremendous amount of
sex
tied in to the physical adroitness. The birthday girl looked positively delectable, he thought, the perfect object of her partner's passion. Of course, the two of them were determined to win, he thought. That's who the Mansfields and the Macmillans were. Winners in their public and private lives.

The dance finished in spectacular fashion, with Brendon's strength only increasing, holding Charlotte in a challenging arched-back position with her golden head only inches from the polished floor. There were a few gasps, as though she might crash, but no such thing happened. Charlotte looked perfectly secure. There was an instant of crackling silence, and then happy, laughing faces, ringing cheers, and loud applause that rolled in waves around the room. A few of the young men gave in to the temptation to piercingly whistle their appreciation. The impressive, very sexy performance had certainly upped the already high-voltage mood of the party.

“Okay?” Brendon asked Charlotte as he brought her gracefully to her feet.

“Brilliant!” she said, when in truth she was breathless. “All those ballet lessons finally paid off.”

* * *

The buffet table was groaning beneath the weight of sumptuous dishes, hot and cold. Waiters circled, filling and refilling crystal flutes with champagne. Some of the young men preferred ice-cold beers. Those beverages too were supplied, as well as frosty cold soft drinks and juices. Everyone, including the most diet-conscious guests, put their diets aside just this once.

Outside in the entrance hall, the great Christmas tree shimmered and glittered, the countless tiny LED lights twinkling like stars amid the green needles of the fir tree. Circling the tree were Charlotte's birthday presents, extravagantly wrapped in richly patterned papers and ribbons. Charlotte had invited the trio to the buffet. In the absence of their music-making, Christmas carols were being piped softly through the house.

The sweets table, covered in starched white linen, looked irresistible: cheesecakes decorated with kiwi fruit and all the red berries piped with whipped cream. There were baby pavlovas, trifles, variations of the always-popular tiramisu and crème brûlée tarts. There were even frozen ricotta cakes that disappeared before they could melt.

To cap it all was Charlotte's twenty-first birthday cake, a magnificent four-tiered chocolate-raspberry cake made by a lady in the village renowned for her superb birthday and wedding cakes. It was so beautifully decorated it seemed a shame to cut it.

This was, indeed, a birthday to remember. As it turned out to be, but perhaps not in the way everyone expected.