The English Lord's Secret Son (8 page)

“What a relief it is to hear you say that.”

You breaker of hearts.

“Only exposure to you has quite clouded my better judgment.”

“Well, it hasn’t clouded mine. What I told you is true. Married men are in the no-go zone.”

“As though I believe it,” he scoffed. “You’d have married men falling over one another with insatiable desire. Look at poor old Saunders.”

“I’m not happy to hear you call my boss ‘poor old Saunders.’”

“I’ll be glad to call him ‘poor old Hugh Saunders, CEO Inter-Austral’ if you like. Give me your hand.”

“Sorry. Holding hands with you is way down my list.”

“Whatever did you see in me? No, seriously, I want to know.”

“It was like a switch was turned. On. Off. You know how it goes.”

“Catrina, that’s wicked,” he condemned her. “Seriously wicked. No one has the right to deliberately break the heart of someone who cares for them.”

She stared at him in amazement, then snapped, “Destroyed by grief, were you? How long after did you get married?”

Something was all wrong, he thought. The expression in her crystal-clear green eyes was haunted. How could that be? It was the moment to come clean and tell her he and Marina had never tied the knot. That had been his mother’s grand design. But why should he answer head-on and expose himself to even more humiliation? She would find out soon enough.

Cate waved the question off. “Hey, no need to tell me. Wedding of the year, was it?” There was a definite giddiness in her head. “Please go, Ashe.” She made an effusive gesture towards the door.

Mockery was in his glittering eyes. “See you for breakfast?”

She laid her palms against her ears. “Never!”

“How about coffee? I’ll have Lady McCready’s answer by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Coffee will be fine,” she bit off. “We’ll have it at the airport.”

She went to move past him, but as she did so his arm encircled her waist. That was the trigger. Immediately she was engulfed in fire as her flesh came into contact with his. She could feel the searing glow on her skin. She could feel the blood pumping in and out of her heart. Surely he could hear the loud beat? For a shocking moment she actually leaned against him,
compelled
to, assailed by memories so vivid they could never be erased.

At a touch, I yield.

“So the seduction scene,” he murmured, blatant cynicism in his voice. “Who planned it, you or me?” His arm tightened.

“None of it was ever planned.” She twisted her body away from him.

Something inexplicable was in her tone. It frustrated him immensely. He swung her fully into his arms, more roughly than he intended. For all he knew she could be in some way deranged. “Look, I’m not following you at all,” he cried with more than a hint of desperation. He stared into her translucent green eyes that hid so much. “Is this your on-and-off stunt? If it is,
stop
it.”

“Pray it isn’t!” Masses of her long blonde hair had fallen back. At this moment of extreme upset the very worst thing could happen. It lured her as much as frightened her.

The promise of her was too lavish for him.

The rush was headlong.

His mouth on hers. Call him a fool, but this was what he wanted. This helpless, hopeless admission of need.

It blitzed all rational thought. Her full mouth was luscious, a magnet for his. Their tongues flickered briefly, coiled in a dance of love to some hypnotising rhythm. Cate’s eyelids fluttered shut. There was no tenderness to their kiss. Rather, raw passion, a kind of anger, like a two-edged sword. What had started off as a moment of shock rapidly turned to intense physical pleasure. But even the extravagant passion of kissing couldn’t satisfy the deep hunger, the force of it that shook them. She could never mistake any other man for Ashe. No other man could arouse such feelings. No other man could be so addictive.

She was hooked. Her love-starved body wanted more and more of him.

He hauled her right up against him, his hands slipping down over her, warm and strong, The hardness of his arousal pressing urgently into her cleft. The miraculous feel of her body against his! Would he never stop wanting her? He hadn’t been able to erase the memories. She had buried herself deep in his psyche, locking him in with a golden key.

Now they were totally absorbed, the one in the other. The pleasure was ravishing. Cate’s body felt full to the brim of it. There had never been anything measured in their love-making. It had always been total. She was a one-man woman. That was the reality she had to face. Only she couldn’t allow him to see it. This could be written off as an aberration; an overwhelmingly powerful sexual attraction. No more to it than that. She had to make him understand that if she could only control the hunger.

It would be so easy to forget everything. Forget he near mortally wounded you. Forget he’s the father of your child. Forget he’s a married man. He certainly has. He expects you to lie back, invite him into your yearning body. Enjoy it.

Enjoy was a nothing word.

Once burned she was for ever marked.

The palm of his hand covered her breast. Her nipple was so painfully taut she gave an involuntary gasp as his palm brushed it. Her stomach muscles spasmed. What they were doing was scandalous.

She jerked away in a panic, pressing her hand hard against his chest. “No.”

“No? Catrina, you crazy woman, you were loving it. We both want it.” His tone was ragged with intimacy.

“I’m too full of pride.” Her whole body was shuddering, trying to cope with the assault on her senses.

The past was as yesterday.

He felt driven beyond endurance. “Pride, really?” His hands shot out of their own accord, clenching her shoulders. “What does a treacherous woman like you have to do with pride?” His blue eyes flashed lightning.

She had to force herself to speak. That he could say that! “Go!” She was gripped by a helpless rage. “Go.” Before the whole fragile edifice of her self-control collapsed in a cloud of dust.

She sounded as though he intended to harm her. “Just how sane are you?”

“I’m not sane at all.”
Not around
you
.
The love of my life. The enemy. How I hate you for it.

There was a harsh mocking edge to his voice. “You’re a remarkable woman, Catrina, but critical little bits and pieces have been left out of your genetic code,” he said, preparing to leave.

“Not to the extent of yours,” she shot back, his opponent. “Goodnight, Ashe, or should I say Lord Wyndham? I remembered you’re a married man even if you didn’t.”

Everything she was saying was hitting him blindside. Fancy
her
taking the high moral ground. He nearly told her then he had never married, only damn her! She was the one who had betrayed him yet she was acting the part of a victim. It didn’t make sense. He could hear his mother’s voice:

Julian, my darling, the poor girl needed help. Lots of help. She was just using you. Using us. She’ll probably spend her time when she gets back home amusing her friends with what was no more to her than an adventure.

His mother had talked and talked until he was drained of all emotion. His mother had never thought his love for Catrina was a fairy story. His sisters had not been so severe, but they too had been shocked and confused.

I had thought you two were madly in love.
That from Olivia, shaking her head.
You were the one, Ashe, who was building the dream. I’m so, so sorry.

She wasn’t cut out to be your wife, Julian darling,
his mother had lamented.
Perhaps she was frightened of taking on a new way of life? Eighteen is just a baby after all.

And that was the last he ever heard from her. A pretty destructive “baby”.

Cate shut the door on him, promising herself...promising herself...that would never happen again. The urge had been on them to make love, satisfy a physical hunger. That was all it was.

Shame for her own weakness hung over her.

CHAPTER SIX

O
N
THE
FOLLOWING
Monday afternoon he drove the car put at his disposal to the house where she lived. He parked in the leafy tree-lined street looking upwards. The house looked pretty impressive from the outside. Built on the side of a hill, it would have a stunning view of the blue marina he had passed along the way. Not that marinas weren’t scattered all around the harbour. This was an island continent. People loved their boats. Loved their sailing. He knew the famous Sydney Hobart Yacht Race had become an icon of Australian sport attracting yachts from all around the world as well as a huge international media coverage. So there was sailing, swimming and of course the cricket.

He was a mite surprised at how beautiful Sydney was, how dynamic, very cosmopolitan. It was a world-class city with a harbour that was a splendid asset. Then there was the climate! Day after day of glorious sunshine, beautiful and balmy breezes off the harbour. Catrina had always made jokes about their English “never ending” rain but he had sometimes thought she secretly enjoyed it. Or a certain amount of it anyway. She had certainly enjoyed the snow. She had never seen snow in her entire life or the wonderland it created. So many times over the years he had kept coming back to their walks in the snow.

* * *

Fresh snow had fallen during the night. He had prayed for it. The months of October and November had been unusually warm, but in these days before Christmas the snow had set in. A Godsend! They badly wanted to be alone together. He was amazed at the strength of the bond that had grown so swiftly between them. It was as though they had known and loved one another in another life. Was that possible? Millions of people believed in reincarnation. What he did know was, she was everything...everything...he wanted in a woman: beautiful, glowing, clever, full of curiosity with such a broad range of interests. He knew she was ambitious. She had plans. He knew she was the sort of girl who would have and he approved of that. Only he needed to be a part of her plans. She already was with him. In the deepest caverns of his heart he knew she was the answer to his dream.

He helped her into her warm topcoat, then for extra measure wound a cashmere scarf around her neck. She wore an emerald cap on her head that accentuated the colour of her eyes. He had found a soft pair of gloves for her hands. They were ridiculously big.

“You love looking after me, don’t you?” She looked up at him, flipping her thick blonde braid over the collar.

“I want to look after you all our lives.” There didn’t seem to be any other kind of answer.

“Terrific!” At eighteen she might have been fearful of such an early declaration. No, she embraced it, holding up her face for his kiss. Her face was so radiant he thought he had never seen anything so glorious in his life. “You’ll make a wonderful husband, a wonderful father,” she told him as soon as her mouth was free. They were too close to the house. They found it restricting with so many eyes on them.

“That shows what an excellent judge of character you are,” he joked. Their emotions were so deep, so overwhelming, their falling so passionately in love had transformed their lives. They hadn’t had sex. They had come close. But not yet. It was enough for now for the two of them to be together. He knew he was going to make love to her the way he wanted. He knew he wouldn’t be able to help it. All her responses incited him. He knew her flame of desire would fire up to meet his.

Snowflakes fell through the chilly air, landing on their heads and shoulders.

“Angel dust strewn from the heavens,” she cried, lifting her lovely face. “God’s gift to the world.”

“The grounds look even better in midwinter,” he told her. “The contrast between dark and snow-white is surreal.”

“Like stepping into a dream.” She was laughing, hugging him like this was such an adventure. She talked about the way Turner had painted the most sublime and romantic Alpine snowscapes. She told him it had actually snowed in Bethlehem the Christmas before. She told him she could roller skate. She was sure she could perform as well on ice. There was so much they wanted to do together. They had plenty of time. He would make sure of that, although he had to return to Oxford to complete a joint honours degree in Law and Economics. The family retained an apartment in London. He would find somewhere else. Somewhere suitable for just him and Catrina.

To doubt they would always be together was to doubt that destiny had brought them to this moment in time.

* * *

At least he had been destined not to die before seeing her again, he thought grimly. Such were the glories and tribulations of life. Breakdowns in relationships brought a lot of stress into lives. People
did
die, some chose to die, of a broken heart. He had responsibilities and his own brand of pride. What he felt now was a deepening need to address the events of the past. So much of it didn’t make sense. Or was he only seeing clearly now. As he sat there staring up at the house where she lived memories began tugging at him again. They were so poignant they caught at his heart. She had snared him that very first day; ended by sabotaging his life.

* * *

“How many acres to the estate?” she asked, looking around her. The sheen of excitement, almost rapture, had brought a flush of colour to her cheeks.

It was a lovely face, perfectly symmetrical, the eyes a crystalline green, the creamy skin flawless, the mouth with a luscious fullness. She really was a beautiful woman. “Approx two hundred,” he said, pretending offhandedness when he was amazed to find things were actually getting pretty heavy. For that matter he had felt a bolt of pleasure the instant his eyes had fallen on her spirited, challenging face. Now she was staring up at the hall as if at a vision, something from a fairy tale. One would have thought she’d travelled halfway around the world just to see it. He couldn’t quite grasp the extent of her interest. It seemed a shade extreme.

“How splendid!” she breathed. “Go on, how many rooms?” She had looked to him for the answer.

He obliged. “The reception hall, four reception rooms, I’m not sure how many bedrooms, certainly a dozen. Quite a few bathrooms. No en suites. Housekeeper’s accommodation, stables, coach house, tennis court. There’s a lake with white swans, a stone bridge over it. Thinking of buying it, are you?” he asked very blandly. It was a defence mechanism. A lot of emotions were stirring in him. He had to slap them down fast. She was reeling him in much too easily for his liking. They’d only just met!

“How do you know I’m not an heiress?” she retorted, sounding amused.

He gave her another appraising glance. She looked back. They went on looking at each other. For much too long. He would have to take care not to run off the road. Or he could sneak glances at her when she was looking the other way. “Heiresses usually travel in their own private limousines,” he said crisply.

“Easier to travel incognito,”she replied airily. “Do we take the main driveway to the house or do we have to go around the back, the tradesmen entrance?”

“Why not make it an exhilarating experience for you?” he suggested. “How come the English accent, by the way? That’s a bit of a puzzle unless your parents are English and migrated.”

“For a better life,” she said shortly.

For a moment he had thought she was on the verge of saying more but stifled it. “Or they never worked a day in their lives? That’s an English public-school accent with a trace of Oz thrown in.”

She weighed up what he said with a frown. “You obviously have remarkable powers of deduction.”

“Too close for comfort maybe?” he shot off.

“Don’t be absurd.” There was an edge to her voice. She tossed back her golden head. “My...mother is English.”

It was clear she wasn’t going to say anything more.

Woman of mystery. She looked exactly the part. It was a great pity his best girl, Marina, didn’t look or act a bit more like her. He shouldn’t really be comparing the two. Marina certainly didn’t lack a very attractive appearance. She was a good friend
—
he had known her from childhood
—
a lovely person, but she didn’t have what Catrina had. More was the pity. Marina was an earl’s daughter, but extraordinarily enough she lacked the cool arrogance of this Australian beauty. Neither did Marina have the sweeping confidence in herself. Their positions could have been reversed. It suddenly struck him it
was
possible to become obsessed by a woman. He had never understood it before. He’d never had a lot of sympathy for men who allowed it to happen. Now a young goddess with exceptional powers had crossed his path. He was already wondering what it would be like to kiss her. He knew, somehow, he would. He definitely didn’t want her to disappear.

Which was exactly what she did. How wicked was that?

* * *

He was just about to restart the car, when a silver car looking slightly the worse for wear pulled up at the foot of the incline. A moment later a good-looking, stylishly dressed woman in her late forties-early fifties stepped gracefully out of the back seat followed by a boy around seven, wearing a school uniform. He was a very handsome boy with a shock of thick blond hair that shone in the sun. He was dragging what looked like a too-heavy schoolbag behind him. Another boy seated in the passenger seat wound down his window to throw his friend his school hat.

“See you tomorrow, Jules,” he called breezily. “Goodbye, Mrs Hamilton.” This time the tone was very respectful.

For a moment he felt his brain seize up.
Jules? Mrs Hamilton?
“God, oh, God,” he muttered. “No, it can’t be.” There was a roaring in his ears; pain in his body as though a car had collected him, throwing him against a brick wall. He was having what was loosely termed an
epiphany
.

Jules?
His friend Bill Gascoyne often called him Jules, rather than the preferred Ashe. But he couldn’t possibly consider what was before him. Not for a moment. Yet he found himself straining to see the faces of the woman and the boy as they started up the incline. How he needed his binoculars! The driver of the car who had decided against driving up the slope took off with a wave. He knew exactly where the pair was going. To the elegant sandstone house with the delicately ornate cast-iron lace balustrades, decorative posts and valances.

Catrina’s home.

The slim, dark-haired woman had to be her mother. The boy was Catrina’s son. She had said he was five. A lie. His sister Olivia and her husband, Bram, had a six-year-old boy, Peter. This boy was taller and more developed. He had to be going on seven. He couldn’t shake a profoundly disturbing thought. Was it possible this fair-headed boy was his own son? The thought nearly made his head cave in. Even Catrina wouldn’t have done such a cruel, cruel thing. His eyes still hadn’t left the pair, woman and boy. The boy had his head uplifted, talking in an animated fashion to his grandmother. Probably giving her the news of the day. Clearly they were devoted to each other. There was something about the woman that suggested perhaps he had met her before? Not possible. Yet he felt a very strong reaction inside.

He sat there a little longer. What to do? He was more shaken than he could have imagined. Even the first sight of Catrina hadn’t done this. He knew he was never going to get an invitation to the house. He had to act. Put an end to this. Catrina wouldn’t be home for some hours yet. He would go to the house, introduce himself. He needed to see the boy’s face. For that matter he needed to see the woman’s face. She reminded him of someone. He didn’t know who. He could come up with some excuse for calling in on them. A courtesy call to all appearances when inside he was ferociously intent. Had he known it, his blue eyes were blazing. The boy had obviously inherited Catrina’s glorious blonde hair. He wanted to believe the boy’s eyes would be a crystalline green or even dark. The woman had dark hair. He had a clear sense her eyes would be dark as well.

He got out of the car, locked it with the button on his key. His expression was grim. He was intent on the task ahead. It could be a big mistake he was making. On the other hand it could prove to be a mind-blowing revelation.

He crossed the road, struggling for control.

The woman opened the door, a look of enquiry on her face. “Can I help you?” As she looked up at the tall, arrestingly handsome man at her door her expression splintered and her body began to shake slightly.

* * *

Stella’s brain had turned to mush. She lost all track of time. Here before her in the flesh was a Carlisle. No doubting it. The Carlisle sapphire-blue, thickly lashed eyes. The height, the military-type bearing, the outstanding good looks. She remembered his late father, Geoffrey, had that thin aristocratic nose, the fine carriage, the set of the shoulders. An Englishman. Geoffrey had married that dreadful girl, Alicia Scott-Lennox, who had thought herself more royal than royalty itself. God knew why! She had hidden her worst side from Geoffrey. One had to wonder for how long?

“I think you can,” the stranger who was never a stranger responded, unable to keep the shock and outrage out of his tone. Wyndham was stunned to see that the woman before him, the woman who had disappeared from all family life for more than a quarter century, was Stella Radclyffe. It was her sister, Annabel, who had remained. Annabel, the flighty one, the acknowledged beauty who had married a man old enough to be her father. Money, of course.

Well, the game was over now.

“You know who I am?” The tension in his tall, lean body revealed the extent of his shock. Indeed shock radiated off him.

Stella, too, was making a tremendous effort to pull herself together. “You’re Lord Wyndham, of course,” she said, with open hostility. “You became my father’s heir.” Here was the man who had not only broken Cate’s heart, but had now returned to disrupt their happy lives.