The Horseman

She ought to turn around. She had to turn around. She managed to do so, her eyes locking on his. The graceful little remark she made sounded quite natural and perfectly composed. It was important she did not let him see how much he affected her. Of course he did know.

She could weep for her own susceptibility. Especially now when she had given up thinking any man could evoke such a response. How could such things happen so fast? Nothing seemed real. Nothing was as it had been before. It was as simple and as momentous as that.

WITH THE BRIDE AND GROOM GONE, the party kicked up several more notches. Moet flowed like the water from a great fountain. Inside the house, the older guests settled into comfortable armchairs and sofas, relishing the opportunity for a good long chat away from the boisterous young ones. Youth was so wearing. Outside the music from the band was so compulsively toe tapping it had couples everywhere up and dancing: on the brightly lit terrace and in the grounds where the trees had been decked with thousands and thousands of fairy lights, around the huge pool area where they risked getting splashed. There was a lot of hilarity, a lot of flirting, abandoned kisses in the scented darkness, holding hands. Everyone clung to the magic of the day, the marvelous haze of pleasure. No one wanted it to end.

CHAPTER THREE

CECILE KNEW the moment he would come to her, though her head was turned away. She had, she realized, been waiting for him, as though she waited for him every night of her life. She had even deliberately engineered the moment she would be alone, by sending Stuart off for a cold drink she didn’t want. She could see Stuart in the distance being detained by a group of their friends, which included a slightly tipsy Sasha who was holding on to his arm as if she didn’t intend to let him get away. Her grandfather, who was enjoying himself enormously, was a good distance away from her, as well, his handsome silver head thrown back as he laughed at something one of his cronies said.

So finally, they were alone.

She hoped he couldn’t see she was trembling. She moved back into the protective shadows, realizing every defense she had consciously or unconsciously raised over the years to protect herself lay demolished.

“A pretty spectacle?” He indicated the nighttime scene with a turn of his hand. It was a dazzling kaleidoscope of brightly colored dresses, many of them full-length and sweeping the grass. The illuminated gardens were extravagant in their beauty, their intoxicating fragrance unleashed by the warm air. The great shade trees stood like beacons of light, covered all over with tiny white bulbs that pulsed like stars.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” she agreed quietly, thinking the man beside her added his own element of splendor. “Everything has gone so well. Granddad waved his magic wand and it all happened.”

“The Man with the Midas Touch!”

Something in the way he said it, a barely perceptible nuance, wasn’t quite right. She turned her head toward him. “So you’ve heard that already?”

He gave her a slight smile. “I couldn’t tell you how many times.”

“I’m very proud of my grandfather,” she said, startled he had thrown her onto the defensive when, really, he had said nothing out of place.

“And he adores you.” Was there the barest trace of mockery in that fascinating voice? She had the idea there was.

“That’s fine by me. I adore him.”

“I saw that very plainly. Would you care to dance?” he asked, not taking his eyes off her face. “I would have asked you earlier, but your fiancé has never left your side.”

Until you sent him away!

She recognized that uncompromising little voice, resisted the accusation though her stomach gave a lurch. How could she say to him she was afraid to dance with him? It was a very strange sensation having a man’s aura wrap her like a flowing cloak.

“I’m a little out of breath from the last dance,” she said in a low voice, mortified there was a throb in it.

His eyes dropped for a mere moment to the rise and fall of her breasts. “Come, Ms. Moreland. I regard that as an excuse.”

“It is an excuse.” What was the point of saying otherwise? The silent communication between them was as keen as a blade’s edge.

“You ought not refuse me,” he told her ever so gently. “I’m a visitor to your shores. I think I can say I have your grandfather’s approval. But most especially because I was the one who caused the bridal bouquet to fall right into your arms.”

“I realize that, Señor Montalvan.” She couldn’t laugh or smile.

“Please…Raul, I insist. Señor Montalvan is much too formal. I freely admit I maneuvered the bouquet because I was intrigued you weren’t making the slightest effort to catch it. Why is that?” He held out his hand. “Come, you can’t plead fatigue. You look like you could dance right through the night.”

She was so acutely conscious of him she almost wished she were wearing gloves. Once again skin on skin proved so electric it was as though one or the other had thrown a switch. She had never experienced anything like it in her life. There had to be some scientific explanation. Did he feel it? She was certain he did. She felt once again the rough calluses. Why wouldn’t he have them, a cattleman and an experienced polo player? They moved out of the shadows and he pulled her near, very quiet about it, yet she had the strangest sensation her body was unfurling like a flower. Where was Stuart now? Stuart, her safety net?

She had to say something, anything. This entire sizzling scenario couldn’t be happening to her, but it was. “The party doesn’t appear to be winding down.” She was grateful her voice wasn’t shaking like her hands. Dancing was a source of innocent pleasure and relaxation. It could also be a potent form of lovemaking with a certain person.

“Even the children are still running around.” There was a note of amusement in his tone. “I wouldn’t dare guide you anywhere near the pool. It’s fun watching them splash, but I couldn’t bear to see your lovely gown marked. Not many could wear a gown the color of crystal rain unless they were beautiful and had eyes like the diamonds you wear at your throat.”

Her heart skipped many dangerous beats. “A charming compliment, but the color of my eyes is genetic. Both Daniel and I inherited our gray eyes from our grandfather.”

“Gray doesn’t say it,” he said, studying her face so intently he might have been trying to discover her whole history.

She had half hoped closer contact might lessen some of his mystique, anything so she could regain her balance, but the excitement was fierce.

They were moving in a dream, their steps melding and matching as though their bodies were no surprise to the other. Indeed she fit so perfectly into his arms she wondered if those strong arms would leave an imprint on her. It was so wonderful, so exciting, so scary, she grasped as she had never done before how attraction could overpower. And with such violent attraction came the potential to destroy lives and ruin reputations.

The band segued into a haunting romantic ballad that struck a chord deep inside her. The blood coursing through her body was full of sparkles, hot sparkles from all the electricity that raced up and down her spine. She felt a dull heavy ache in the pit of her stomach as though she was about to start her period, which she wasn’t. She knew what it was: powerful sexual desire that acted like an erotic charge. It brought on a physical change in her, like deep contractions in the womb. She, who had been brought up to be a fluent conversationalist as befitting a cultured young woman, could say nothing. Excitement was growing inside her at a tremendous rate. She couldn’t shut it off. She was in thrall, so much less of herself, much, much, more of him.

Once his cheek touched her temple as he whirled her away from another couple, also intent on each other. She felt the faint rasp of his beard on her soft skin. He was a beautiful dancer. She might have known that from the way he moved. Did they have golden pumas in Argentina? she wondered. She was taken by the image. He was beautiful as a man can be beautiful, with an undeniably exotic air, but she couldn’t see his Spanish heritage. His eyes were more a velvety brown than black. His hair so thick, and well-groomed, was a warm caramel softened by those sun-kissed streaks. If she hadn’t known he was Argentinian and heard for herself that fascinating hint of accent, she wouldn’t have known exactly where to place him. If Daniel had introduced an adventurous friend back from wandering the world, she would have accepted it readily. Suddenly there were many questions she wanted to ask him.

Not a good idea, Cecile! Her warning voice struggled to get through again. He’ll only be here for a short time. Then he goes back to where he belongs. Much wiser to keep your distance.

Too late to tell her that now. She had moved into a new, potentially dangerous dimension.

Her grandfather had taken a strong liking to him—she knew her grandfather well—which meant lots of invitations would be issued to the visitor. Her own time in Darwin was short. When her vacation with her grandfather was over, she would have to return home to Melbourne to her work. For the past four years she had achieved her ambition, practicing as a child psychologist in a large private hospital that had excellent accreditation. It was work that was important to her, a career choice perhaps influenced by her own struggle in childhood. At any rate she had another life.

But how to shut him out?

Look on it as a brief encounter, the voice in her head instructed.

One could live a lifetime in an hour.

“So quiet?” he murmured. She had removed her lovely headdress, revealing a waterfall of raven hair that flowed straight and glossy down her back to her shoulder blades. From a central parting, the sides were secured behind her ears by two glittering leaf-shaped diamond clasps. It was a classic style that greatly appealed to him.

“I’m not usually.” She allowed herself one roving glance across his face. His mouth was beautifully cut, firm but sensual. She wanted to reach out and touch it very gently with her finger, trace its outline. “You understand,” she murmured, “weddings are very moving occasions.”

“This one in particular,” he agreed, drawing her, unprotesting, closer.

Thousands of twinkling lights from the trees poured over them. There was a cry from a night bird somewhere close by. Two perfectly pitched notes, in a descending cadence.

It was repeated.

God! She could hardly bear it! Her heart was thudding so hard it had to be moving the bodice of her gown.

The ache in her stomach wasn’t fading—it was growing. It tormented her she could feel this hungry for sex. It was no romantic longing and so relatively harmless. She wished for sex with a perfect stranger. The very thought threatened her ordered life and disassociated her from her engagement. She could have been one of her own patients: an adolescent whose hormones raged out of control.

“One doesn’t always see such a true love match,” he remarked after a long pause. “It’s commonplace in Argentina and many parts of the world for material considerations to be put first. Fiona explained to me how your cousin came to be restored to his family. It’s an extraordinary story, though many families have dark secrets and tragic histories. Still…incredible to think it took all this time before his identity came to light. Your cousin deserves his great happiness.”

“He does. Blood is very binding,” she agreed in a low voice.

“No matter the separation.” Again there was a certain nuance that caused her to look up at him.

“You sound as though you know all about the trials of separation.”

“What gave you that idea?” He stared down into her eyes.

“You do know though, don’t you?”

He was silent a moment. “You’re obviously a woman of admirable perception. Separations happen all the time. Some perhaps in a way that others do not. Some separations bring misery and trauma, others make us, as they say, fonder. You and your cousin are very much alike. Anyone seeing the two of you together would assume you were sister and brother. You don’t have a brother of your own?”

She shook her head with deep regret. “I’m an only child. I would have liked a brother, preferably brothers and sisters, but my mother had difficulty having me, so no more family! It was wonderful when Daniel came into our lives, and now Sandra. We’ve become good friends. And you, señor, you have siblings?”

“Didn’t I beg you to call me Raul?” His tone dropped low into his chest. It was almost a deep purr. “After all, I intend to call you Cecile.”

He pronounced it in the French fashion. It sounded… lovely. Like being stroked. Featherlike strokes all over her face and up and down her body. He was using his voice like the finest of instruments. One could fall in love with such a voice, she thought shakily, even if the owner were plain.

That night bird called again. Was it serenading them? The scent of gardenias was heavy in the air, their waxy white flowers dazzling in the dark. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of each other, however.”

“You say it like it cannot be,” he challenged. “Your distinguished grandfather has already invited me to a dinner party he’s giving Wednesday of this coming week. Perhaps you are wrong. I might be often on your doorstep. I understand you are staying with your grandfather for a month? There is much you could show me if you would only be so kind to a stranger to your country.”

Kind? Kindness wasn’t what he wanted from her, of that she was sure. Though he mesmerized her with his charm, the idea that he might have an agenda of his own wouldn’t have shocked her. He could even be exploiting her. Such attempts had been made before, but she had easily staved them off. “I’m sure there are many others who would be delighted to play that role,” she said with a slight air of irony.

He didn’t appear to notice.

“But you’ll have some time on your hands, Cecile. I could at least be some company, as your fiancé has to return to Melbourne.”

She stopped dancing, aware of her burning cheeks. “My grandfather told you that?”

“He did when he issued his invitation.”

A curious thing—he kept hold of her hand. “He also told me your fiancé is a lawyer with a prestigious Melbourne firm.”

“He is,” she said, defeated and unnerved by the thought that Stuart didn’t mean as much to her as he should. How, if she loved Stuart, could she put herself into Raul Montalvan’s hands? “He should make full partner in a year or so.”

“You see yourself as the perfect wife to a man of law?”

“What’s behind that question, Raul?” She withdrew her trembling hand and walked on.

“Ah. So I’ve made you a little angry.” He caught her up easily, bending his head as if to search her expression.

“You would know if I were angry.”

He only smiled. “Fire and ice. However, I don’t think your eyes could sparkle any more dangerously than they do now. I apologize if I’ve somehow given offense. I never meant to. You asked if I had siblings. I have. A younger brother, Francisco, and a sister, Ramona, who is so beautiful she turns heads. But then you would know all about that.” The resonance of his voice deepened. “So tell me, do you feel rewarded working with children who are in much mental pain? Your grandfather told me you were a child psychologist. I’d very much like to hear why you chose such a profession. It seems to me to reveal a deeply maternal streak, does it not?”

In her high heels she stumbled slightly over an exposed tree root and he swiftly steadied her. “Thank you,” she murmured, fathoms deep in awareness.

“So?” he prompted with what sounded like real interest.

She made an effort. “I do love children. I want children of my own. My guiding star is to help ease the pain. It’s greatly rewarding to be able to steer badly hurting young people through very real and sometimes just perceived crises in their lives.”

He nodded agreement. “There are so many areas of conflict to contend with, especially during adolescence.”

“Children are far less secure these days than ever before. Marriages break up, and the fallout can be very damaging. Some children tend to blame a particular parent for the breakup of the marriage. Usually the mothers. Daddy’s gone and Mummy drove him away. This can lead to profound upset for the parent who has to bear the blame. Then again, I find a lot of the time that problems originate with the parents’ behavior. They have one another and kept the children at arm’s length. That can make change very difficult. Other parents persist in keeping up a front. They disguise, disown or actively lie about the part they play in these conflicts. Children are so helpless. They suffer loneliness, excessive stress and acute depression just as we do. I have a little ten-year-old patient at the moment, a girl called Ellie. I’m trying very hard to help. In fact, she’s been constantly on my mind while I’m here on holiday. Ellie has a good many behavioral problems that are getting her deeper and deeper into trouble both at home and school. In some ways she’s a contradiction. I’m prepared to back my initial impression she’s highly intelligent, yet she’s earned the reputation for not being very bright, even with her parents.”

“Good people?” he questioned, frowning slightly.

“Good, caring people at their wits’ end,” Cecile confirmed. “So far I haven’t been able to make a breakthrough, either, though it’s early days.”

“Then I wish you every success with young Ellie,” he said, sounding earnest. “Perhaps she’s grieving about something she can’t or won’t talk about? The innocent grieve. It is so very interesting, your choice of a profession. Surely you wouldn’t have known suffering or conflict in your privileged life? A princess, Joel Moreland’s granddaughter?”

She felt a moment of unease. “Is that your exact interest in me, Señor Montalvan? I’m Joel Moreland’s granddaughter? I have to tell you I’m long used to it, consequently forewarned. I saw how you were secretly studying me while I was standing on the balcony.”

“Perhaps I was only thinking how beautiful you were,” he answered, smoothly turning her into his arms again. “As serene as the swans that glide across your lake.”

She had little option but to continue dancing. “Somehow I don’t think that was it. The look wasn’t at all an admiring glance or even friendly.”

“What was it, then?” he asked, his wide shoulders blocking the light.

She wished she could see his expression more clearly. “Extremely disconcerting.”

“Perhaps that was only an illusion. I was simply admiring a woman exquisite in her beauty and outward appearance of serenity.”

She couldn’t fail to pick up on the outward. “You think something entirely different goes on inside me?”

“Would it be so strange if I did? I, too, am a student of psychology. No one could say it’s a simple life any more than we are simple beings. The inner person and the outer person can be significantly different.”

“Of course. It’s no easy thing to become a well-integrated adult. We all continue to harbor the fears and anxieties we had as children, but we’ve had to learn how to master them or seek help. I see young patients in terrible self-destructive rages because they’ve had to live through years of conflict and unhappiness. I see a great deal worse, physical and sexual abuse sometimes where one least suspects.”

“That must be extremely upsetting?”

“It is.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ve seen children sent back to the care of the very people who’ve abused them and I’ve been helpless! Some of it I’ll never get out of my mind. It’s ghastly stuff. That’s one of the reasons I needed this holiday with Granddad. It’s not easy what I do and I can’t always stand aloof. In childhood we all assemble the building blocks that go into making the adult.”

“So when the building blocks are in extremely short supply and the conflicts never resolve themselves, one is left scarred and without an inner haven to shelter.”

“Exactly.” It was obvious he was following her words closely. “The violent pattern most frequently repeats itself.”

He sighed, his breath warm and sweet. “It’s difficult to disassociate oneself from intense traumas in childhood. Didn’t William Faulkner once say something about the past not being over or even past?”

“I’m not going to disagree with the great man.”

“Me, neither. So you see we do have much to talk about, Cecile, if only our mutual interest in the development or the destruction of the human psyche. The great human values of love and honor coexist with hate and evil. Now, I must surrender you to your fiancé. He’s heading very purposefully in this direction. I don’t know that I would care to see my beautiful fiancée in another man’s arms, either.”

CHAPTER FOUR

STUART TOOK HIS LEAVE at noon the following day. Exactly one minute after Cecile drove her grandfather’s Bentley through the front gates of Morelands, the argument broke out just as she knew it would, when there was no one around to overhear.

“Damn it all, I wish you were coming back with me!” Stuart exclaimed, his handsome face marred by an angry expression.

“You don’t begrudge me my vacation, surely?” She winced. Even with her sunglasses on the sunlight was much too bright.

“I simply want you with me.”

“I know.” Stuart had been simmering ever since he’d joined her and Raul Montalvan the previous night, leaving her with the sensation she was caught in the eye of a storm. Even when they met up at breakfast, she’d sensed the continuation of his mood, but as a guest in her grandfather’s house he could scarcely vent feelings of outrage or jealousy. She was very much aware he’d had to make a huge effort in the final hours of the party. The celebrations had continued unabated until after two in the morning. When they’d left the mansion, the grounds were thronged with the staff of the firm that supplied the huge marquees and the tables and chairs, among other things.

Cecile tried to remain calm. Inside she knew she was approaching her own crisis point in life. It was a real struggle to hide it; harder yet to fight back.

“I just hate the idea of your being away from me,” Stuart said tersely, equally off balance.

“Goodness, it’s only a month!” She tried a soothing, sideways glance. “We’ll be speaking to each other every day.”

“Count on it.” He stared moodily out the window. “That bloody Raul made a hit with your grandfather.”

“That’s not very nice, is it, bloody Raul.”

“I know it isn’t, but I can’t help it. He’s too suave, too charming by half.”

“That’s his Latin blood,” she offered by way of explanation. “You’re not going to blame him for being charming?”

Stuart had the grace to look embarrassed. “I just wish he hadn’t turned up. He’s the sort of guy that stirs everything up.”

God help her, hadn’t Stuart put his finger right on it? “You are in an odd mood, Stuart. No sleep?”

“Not when you wouldn’t join me,” he said, sounding painfully rebuffed.

“Not with a house full of relatives, Stuart. I told you that wasn’t likely to happen.”

He gave an angry snort. “Sometimes I think you don’t give a damn if you sleep with me or not.”

Her heart was beating painfully fast. She hadn’t asked for any of this. It had just happened. Anyone could become madly infatuated. It was what one did about it that counted. “That’s not true, Stuart.” Even to her own ears her response didn’t sound terribly convincing, yet she enjoyed their lovemaking. Stuart was a considerate lover, able to give satisfaction and not lacking finesse. “Do we really have to ruin a beautiful day with all this? I promised to marry you, didn’t I?”

“But, Ceci—” Stuart twisted in the passenger seat to stare at her “—you won’t set the date. You’ve no idea how insecure that makes me feel. Hell, it’s like Justine says. We should be married and expecting our first child by now. You told me you loved children. I’m no longer sure.”