The English Lord's Secret Son (7 page)

“Five years, I believe.” She knew she gave a betraying flush. “They commissioned an Italian architect. Lady McCready loves all things Italian. She was responsible for creating their island home. Surely you can tell me what you think so far?”

He gave an elegant shrug. “The house in the Bahamas is British West Indies style. It’s lighter, more airy, minimalistic when compared with this. I suppose this could be called a grand house. It’s lavishly decorated. Some might find it overwhelming. Changes would have to be made.”

“Many VIPs have stayed here as guests,” she pointed out stiffly, thinking he now had reservations. It wasn’t what he wanted? Good. “The McCreadys were known for their lavish hospitality. Three prime ministers have stayed here. But then you would have VIP guests of your own. Who knows, even royalty might stay a day or two?”

“Okay, you can show me upstairs now.” He ignored her last comment. They had seen the major rooms of the first floor. He had declined entering the housekeeper’s domain, the kitchen, which Cate knew had been brought up to state of the art. Perhaps he simply wasn’t interested in how kitchens worked.

They walked back into the hallway with its intricately patterned flooring featuring three types of Italian stone before taking the black wrought-iron curving staircase to the upper floor.

“Six double bedrooms all with en suites.” She spoke exactly like a Realtor showing a client over a high-end property. “How many family members have you got?” Her voice was remarkably cool when inside she felt terribly unsettled. Sexual radiance came off him in waves. She made certain she didn’t stand too close to catch them. Even then, the scent of him was in her nostrils, as powerful an aphrodisiac as it had ever been. She took a deep breath.

This has to stop.

“I don’t think you have any right to ask,” he answered in a terse, pragmatic fashion. He continued to move ahead of her, as though not caring if she followed, which she did briskly. All the bedrooms were very spacious with a series of white-shuttered French doors opening out onto a covered balcony. The master suite was the most luxurious with a huge canopied bed with white filmy bed hangings. He walked out onto the balcony and looked at the glorious view with the brilliant sun scattering diamond sparkles across the deep blue waters.

“The master suite,” Cate said quite unnecessarily when he came back inside. How could she ever cancel out her memories, the two of them in bed together, the weight of his body on hers, the power of his hands, the interlocking limbs, their mouths, their tongues...the high-burning passion of it all. The way of all flesh. She had prayed for someone to come into her life to supplant him. No one had even come close. It was a savage blow, but she had been adjusting to it. She had her son. Not everyone found their soul mate.

Had Cate only known it, Wyndham was thinking much the same thing. The excitement, the heat, the enormous pleasure he had taken even in their clashes, too little time before they had been thrown headlong into love making. She had touched his body, his heart, his mind and his soul. He had thought things would never change. How wrong could a man be? The merry dance she had led him went nowhere? To hell? Even now, God help him, he wanted to bolt the door, throw her down on the bed, make punishing love to her. She had known all about passion. About giving herself to a man. The merest contact with her had brought back the past.

Yet when he spoke his voice was coolly casual. “I think that does it. Enjoy your trip around the garden. They look splendid, by the way. Such a pity you never did get to see the full restoration of Radclyffe Hall’s gardens.”

“I did what I wanted to do,” she said, her tone tight. “I got away.”

The question was, what was she going to do now?

Just the sight of him and the years had melted away.

* * *

The buggy ride around the gardens was a pleasure. It even shifted her mind off what was going on inside the house. Davey had packed the leeward side of the island with dozens of species of native plants that required minimal watering. An astonishing array of agaves caught her eye, some with pearly marking. There were striking aloes with yellow flowers and millions of hot pink and bright yellow little succulent flowers. Davey seemed to welcome her interest in the garden he had created out of what was once a wilderness.

Wyndham didn’t need her. He was the billionaire potential buyer. It hadn’t taken her long to see Lady McCready both liked and trusted him. Lord Julian Wyndham was a very charming man. He had certainly made the old lady’s eyes twinkle. No problem with an
à deux
,
then. Amazing Lady McCready hadn’t asked him a single question about his private life. He had acted as if he didn’t have one.

* * *

When she returned to the house it was obvious the meeting had gone well. Lady McCready’s soft powdery cheeks were flushed with pleasure.
Catrina has justified my faith in her,
Lady McCready thought. She had brought her the right person to buy the island. Lord Wyndham would treat it like a second home. Now wasn’t that a wonderful outcome? She didn’t tell Catrina. Julian—he had insisted she call him Julian—had asked her to give him a little more time before they made their announcement. In return he would allow Catrina to have a contract drawn up. Rather than wanting Davey and Mary off the island, he was delighted they would stay on as caretakers.

* * *

The launch returned for them mid-afternoon, with the sun casting a glittery veil of light over water as blue as a precious stone. Cate was glad she didn’t suffer from motion sickness because the sea was unusually choppy, more so than on the run over to the island. She started for the shelter of the cabin not long after they boarded, her skin dewed with fine spray. She took a couple of tissues out of her tote bag, gently mopping her face. He was still out braced against the rail. She was reminded he was a good sailor. Or so he had said, though she was sure it was true. They had never got around to the trip to Cornwall they had planned, but he had shown her a photograph of the family yacht,
Calliope IV
,
long and sleek as any luxury automobile, all varnished mahogany that gleamed even in the photograph, a golden mast tall enough to reach the cloudy sky.

The rocky passage tested her. The diesel fumes were making her feel sick. She would be glad when they reached the mainland. He had asked her if she was okay before going off to speak to the launch owner. She heard the owner laugh out loud a few times, genuinely amused. Again she remembered he could be really funny, witty and entertaining. He had been spoilt rotten by his mother and his sisters, Olivia and Leonie, both older, both endowed with beauty, who adored him. She supposed his sisters—strangely enough she had got on well with them—were married as well. Probably with children. There had been plenty of young men in their lives. Part of his close-knit family who no doubt would be visitors to Isla Bella if he bought it.

So far no commitment.

The launch slid smooth and easy into dock. An exchange of handshakes with the captain before they moved off.

“Sure you’re okay?” For a minute he sounded genuinely concerned. “You’ve gone very pale.” Her satin-smooth skin had lost colour.

“I’m fine,” she said testily. “The diesel fumes were getting to me.”

“And you haven’t found your land legs.”

“Don’t you believe it.” She pulled away from his steadying arm, her body as poised and alert as a dancer’s. “We can catch a taxi back to the hotel, or we can walk.”

“Up to you.” He shrugged. “I’d like to look around. What are those beautiful trees?” he asked, looking towards an avenue of them. “The flowers look like frangipani, but the leaves don’t.”

“Evergreens,” she said. “They’re a species of frangipani. As you can see the flowers are a pure white. They grow prolifically up here. I saw a whole grove of them on the island. Davey is a wonderful gardener. He and Mary have a blissful lifestyle. I believe Lady McCready required a clause in any contract to state they remain on the island for as long as they want.”

“I believe so,” he said, not to be drawn any further.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
HE
BEDSIDE
PHONE
rang with a startling shrillness.

“Yes,” she said briefly, focusing on pulling the bath robe together. She’d barely had time to get out of the shower.

“Wyndham.” His voice was quiet, impassive. “I assume you intend to eat?”

A heart-stopping moment. She gave a tiny cough as though clearing her throat. “I thought I’d have something in my room.”

She heard his exasperated sigh. “Don’t be so damned ridiculous. I’m told there’s an excellent restaurant within walking distance, the Blue Lotus.”

“I’m in no mood for dinner. With
you
,” she added. Perched on the side of the bed she was feeling all of a sudden stricken. She should complain to God for allowing him back into her life again. How could God be so cruel?

He gave you free will.

“My dear Catrina, you’re supposed to keep me happy,” he answered smoothly. “Isn’t that what your boss told you? We need to keep him happy until he comes on board?”

“So this is blackmail?”

“Blackmail is fine with me. Saunders is your boss. He was speaking to one of his senior staff. He only had praise for you. Don’t disappoint him. I’ll call for you at seven-thirty.” He hung up.

She had two options. Not answer the door. Or get dressed. Hugh had thrown her head first into the thickets. It was a dark picture she had of herself. A sad, permanently love-struck woman. A woman whose whole mission had been to forget one man. And dismally failed.

“We’re a crazy lot, aren’t we?” She addressed the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Better believe it!
her reflection replied.

She could behave very badly, be provocative, try to seduce him. She had hinted as much to Stella, who had been appalled. But there would be some satisfaction in playing that game. Only he was a married man. And after all these years he still had enormous power to hurt her. Besides, the past had a way of repeating itself. She had asked for what she got. She had paid the price. Accepted responsibility.

Wyndham was untouchable.

* * *

When she was dressed she knew she looked good. She liked looking good. A woman needed every aid in the arsenal. On impulse she had packed a resort-style maxi dress by a well-known Australian designer famous for her kaftans and resort wear. The floral-printed silk was beautiful, a luscious collection of tropical blooms. The light green tracery of leaves picked up the colour of her eyes. She left her hair long and loose when her intentions had been to pull it back.

Maybe you’re just losing it?

Fair enough! A woman was allowed to lose it now and then.

* * *

They had a table facing the promenade and the beach beyond. He looked absurdly handsome, absurdly sexy, so tall and lean with his dark hair and intensely blue eyes. He had even picked up a tan. It gave her an involuntary shock of pleasure just looking at him. What she needed was vigilant self-management. He was wearing a teal-coloured open-necked linen shirt with tiny pearly white buttons, the long sleeves turned back, navy jeans. He looked great. The young waitress thought so too. Not even close to hiding it. When he gave her his heart-lurching smile, colour flamed into her cheeks. No question—a great smile was a fantastic weapon.

She heard herself agreeing to an entrée, a tartare of ocean trout garnished with salmon roe, for the mains, steamed Reef Red Emperor served in a banana leaf with a papaya, chilli and coconut salsa. All local products, the seafood caught that very day, the hovering waitress assured them. Cate sat back allowing him to choose a crisp New Zealand sauvignon
blanc to go with the meal. The whole thing felt like an exquisite piece of theatre. Two people hostile to each other but maintaining an urbane façade.

The restaurant was a far cry from the elegance of C’est Bon. It was unpretentious, but very clean and attractive, above all welcoming. They were fortunate to get a table because the large open room was near full. She heard a mix of languages from the enthusiastic diners at the other tables: Japanese, Chinese, German and Italian and, she thought, Taiwanese. The colour blue set the tone. Unusual blue lighting, blue and white candy-striped tablecloths, comfortable white painted chairs. A lovely creamy conch-shell centre table held an exquisite blue water lily positioned atop its emerald-green pad.

He glanced up at the lighting over the small bar with real interest. “They did a study fairly recently on colour and the effect it has on us. One of our leading London architects designed the experimental blue lighting in a new restaurant. Far more usual to see red, but the blue worked wonders apparently. Diners came
alive
at around ten p.m. It was as though their body clocks had been reset. They stayed much later into the evening too. Drank more. Never tried it myself.”

She had to make a contribution. “They tried much the same experiment with the colour red. Professional footballers were given either a red or a blue jersey to wear in a game. Those wearing the red jerseys not only felt more confident of a win—their own explanation—they did win.”

“Well, the theory can be demonstrated tonight,” he suggested, the curve of his mouth frankly mocking.

“I can promise you it won’t be a late night for me,” she answered repressively.

“Why so anxious to get rid of me?” he asked with mock humour. “Surely I’m someone from the old days? A one-time boyfriend? I mean, it wasn’t as though you were fixated on me.”

She turned her blonde head away, exposing a sculpted jaw line and throat. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“What was the plan? Two-timing someone at home?” A hardness had entered his voice.

“A variety of reasons,” she said.

“All tainted.”

“Nothing could have been further from my mind. Can we keep the focus on the present,” she said firmly.

“By all means. Why can’t you say my name?”

He was exerting far too much pressure. “I don’t trust myself to.”

“Meaning?
”
Baffled, he stared into her eyes, not knowing what the hell she was talking about.

Why can’t you keep your mouth shut?
the voice inside her head cut in.

“It was good to walk away from you, Ashe. Good to walk away from your family, England.”

“When my family liked you so much?” Anger hit him. “You just pulled the plug on all of us?”

His sisters had really liked her. She had liked them. They had treated her like a friend, respected her and her opinions. Briefly they had touched her life. His mother? Another story. Memories of Alicia would stay with her for ever. She would always feel that backlash of rejection. It was a wonder Marina had been considered good enough for her son. “Surely it can’t be of any importance any more,” she said, with no emotion in her voice.

Provoked, he suddenly caught her hand across the table, his fingers very tight on hers. “You claimed you
loved
me.”

Denial was impossible. “Oh, for God’s sake!”

Betray nothing.

Only he wouldn’t let her fingers go. That mystical clasp of their hands! She had to suck in her breath. She was no better at controlling her responses now than she had been years ago.

“You inherited your Gothic pile, the title, Marina, the Earl’s daughter, Radclyffe Hall. Wasn’t that enough?”

“Not Gothic at all as you very well know,” he returned shortly. “What the hell are you hiding, Catrina?” His black brows drew together, making him look extraordinarily formidable.

“And I suppose you’re so up front?” she retaliated, still keeping her voice low. “We’ve been thrown into this situation. I’m not enjoying it any more than you.”

“Brave words, but what’s the reality?” he challenged. “Your hand is trembling.”

“That’s because you’ve got my fingers wedged tight.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Look,” she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory manner. “Don’t let’s have a spat in public. We’ll finish up, then walk back to the hotel.” It was much too dangerous to stay within his orbit. “I gather I might become privy to an announcement some time tomorrow so we can head back. No doubt you’ve told Lady McCready all about yourself and your illustrious family. You can’t help looking and acting very grand. Lady McCready would like that. A mega-hero.”

“Please, no fake admiration. It’s just a waste of time. I have no doubt of your powers, Catrina, and I’m speaking from experience, but it appears all you can offer a man is delusion.”

“Takes one to know one.”

He had been busy finding his credit card but his dark head shot up. “What did you say?”

“I’m just going with the flow, Ashe.” Her green eyes beneath their naturally dark brows were enigmatic.

Sexual attraction was hell, he thought. No way to get rid of it. “Know what I think? You’re still playing tricks,” he returned with a lick of contempt. “You started out that way as a girl. You’ve kept going.”

She was rattled, but managed coolly, “The short answer is, not with a married man. That’s a no-go zone.”

“
Is
it? What about the man who fathered your child? I have to say I feel sorry for the guy. Did you even tell him you were pregnant?”

Her control almost slipped. “That’s the tricky part,” she said, tossing a long lock of her hair over her shoulder. “Write me off, Ashe.”

Just like you wrote me.

* * *

On the way back to the hotel he had to rescue her again. She had stepped off the pavement precipitously; a second later a car window was wound down and a young male voice bawled at her, “Yoo-hoo, blondie, are you trying to get yourself killed? You can get in if you like.”

Heads swivelled everywhere. Wyndham grabbed hold of her and smartly waved the young driver on. She was staggering now under the rush of adrenaline, dry-mouthed with fright. She had stepped off the pavement looking right but not left, the reason being
he
was to her left. She had made it clear she hadn’t wanted him to take her arm. The bad news was, she was such a mass of leaping nerves she hadn’t been paying sufficient attention to the road or indeed anything much. The traffic was by no means heavy. Couples were strolling arm in arm enjoying the balmy breeze but the beetle-
sized vehicle approaching the corner would have come close to collecting her only for Wyndham.

A dead silence lasted for several seconds. “As the kid said, are you trying to get yourself killed?” he snapped. He sounded deeply angry.

“Hey, don’t get excited. Nothing happened.”

He didn’t buy that. “Come on.” His retort was sharp. “Your heart is hammering.”

He would know. His arm was pressed over it. “Well, you see the problem, don’t you? You’re manhandling me.”

“You
need
manhandling,” he said, abruptly releasing her.

She said nothing. She was so shocked she was able to maintain a spurious air of total calm. They set off again, but this time he kept a light hold on her arm. She didn’t protest. Her brain wasn’t working yet.

* * *

Back at the hotel he walked along the empty corridor, stopping first at her door. His room was further down.

This is your chance to self-destruct.

“Goodnight,” she said rapidly, her agitation evident. What she had here was a major departure from her rational, ordered life.

“What on earth’s the problem?” He stared down into her overwrought face. The first time he had seen vulnerability from the Frost Queen. Oddly enough it hurt him.

“Okay, I feel a bit shaky,” she admitted. “If you hadn’t pulled me back I could have been injured.” It was Jules she was thinking about. She had to stay safe and well for her son.

“
Would
have been,” he corrected. “You’re pale enough to pass out.” Indeed her creamy skin had lost colour. “You want a slug of something. Come to that, I need one too.” He felt like a man standing on a cliff with his feet halfway over. She wasn’t worth loving. She never had been. But by God she was more of a threat than ever. She still possessed her powerful sexual allure in spades. He didn’t
need
her love any more. But he was mad to take her to bed. The surest way to move on. Taking her to bed was a strategy of sorts. Finally get her out of his system.

He took the entry card out of her nerveless hand, opening the door, waiting a moment for her to precede him. She had such grace in her movements. Her lovely subtle perfume was in his nostrils. He even knew it. Chanel. He was the one who had actually introduced her to Chanel, buying her perfume along with a dozen and more Christmas presents all packaged up beautifully, the card bearing her name. Those were the days when he was just Julian Ashton Carlisle with no idea a peerage was waiting for him. That honour should have been for his beloved father, a hero in many people’s eyes, not just his family’s.

“Ashe, this is—” She broke off, unable to find the right words.

“Madness?” he asked. The black humour of it overtook him and he began to laugh.

“Leave now.” She was in near despair.

“It would be a very good idea, but let’s have a drink first. Settle the nerves.” Settle the feelings that threatened to become overwhelming. He went to where the drinks were kept.

“I’ll go splash water on my face,” she announced.

“Might as well,” he said, as laconic as any Aussie.

She returned after about five minutes, feeling a bit closer to normal.

He on the other hand looked as though he had zipped back into top gear. “You look better,” he said casually. She looked exquisite. But she had lost the ultra-control he had seen from her. “Recovered?”

“I didn’t actually fall apart, did I?” she shot back.

“You could have fooled me.” He passed her a glass containing a small measure of whisky.

“Cheers,” she said idiotically and drank it down, shuddering a little as the fiery spirits kicked in. Her capacity for controlling herself was stretched so far it was about to snap. “Thank you for tonight. But time to go,” she said with determination, before she was drawn even further into the whirlpool.

“I know that. I know if I were in my right mind I’d have steered clear of you.”