Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor: Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor

Nearer the mansion, his eyes were enchanted by the sight of the box-edged rose gardens he remembered. The roses, his mother’s favourite plant, reigned without attendants. No other plants or under-plantings shared the beds. He approved of that. The rose, after all, was the Queen of Flowers. Now, in early summer, they were in exquisite bloom, each bed devoted to a particular colour—all the pinks from pale to deep, the whites, the yellows and oranges, a hundred iridescent shades of red, crimson, scarlet, ruby, carmine furthest away. The whole aura was one of peace and tranquillity.

He knew Kathryn Rylance had taken great personal interest in the garden. It was she who had worked closely with the head gardener at that time, a transplanted Englishman by the name of Joshua Morris. Josh was a man with a great love and knowledge of roses. It had been his job to enlarge the rose gardens. To no one’s surprise, Josh had resigned almost immediately after the news of Kathryn Rylance’s death had broken. He was said to have been devastated.

The gardens remained as Kathryn’s memorial.

Garrick’s fatigue had vanished. Nevertheless, he was acutely aware he was on edge. He wasn’t sure whether Zara was staying at the house or not. He knew she had a city apartment. But, with the wedding so close, it was possible she would be staying at the mansion. God knew it could accommodate an army. He understood Zara and Miranda had grown close. But then Zara had enormous charm at her disposal.

Corin had confided he was in two minds about keeping the property. Memories, of course. But, even with any amount of money at his disposal, he would be hard pressed to find a more valuable or better sited property with a superb view of the river to the rear. The estate was a major asset. It had to be worth many millions and state-of-the-art security would already have been put in place by Dalton. It was all up to Corin. Quite possibly, Miranda wouldn’t care to live in the house, although she had only met Leila Rylance, the last chatelaine, briefly. Miranda would be in for a lot of exposure as Corin’s wife. In the ordinary course of events, medical students didn’t get to marry billionaires. From what he had seen of Miranda, he was sure she could hold her own.

He knew, even before the door opened, it would be Zara. That warning tightness in his chest. The first of the shock waves?

Kathryn Rylance had passed on her exquisite features to her daughter. Zara looked up at him with a tremulous smile—no doubt uncertain of his reaction—but her wonderful eyes were already working their spell like some medieval witch. “Hello, Garrick.”

Just the sight of her! Did she know how it hurt? A thousand electrifying volts of recognition. The accompanying sense of futility for ever having loved someone beyond reach. Would he never get over the tortured angst he had carried around as a young man?

You’re carrying a torch you can’t put down, let alone put out, you fool.

He was older, wiser. His heartache had morphed into steely resolve. He didn’t fully realise it but he was radiating sexual antagonism. “Zara, I wondered if you’d be here.”

She flushed at his cutting tone. “I don’t expect a hug.”

“I’m not a big hugger any more, Zara,” he offered very dryly, when his heart was beating like a bass drum. “You cured me of that. Am I allowed to come in?’

“Of course.” Her flush deepened, like the pink bloom on a rose. She stood back, a willowy young woman with an entrancingly slender silhouette. Her gleaming dark hair was caught back in some elaborate knot, emphasizing her swan’s neck and the set of her pretty ears. She was dressed in a white sleeveless blouse with gauzy ruffles down the front and narrow-legged black pants. Tall as she was, above average in height, she still wore high heeled slingbacks on her feet. A simple enough outfit albeit of the finest quality. Zara enhanced everything she wore.

“Corin’s been delayed,” she told him, clearly showing her nerves. She had to look up at him. He, like Corin, was inches over six feet. “Miri is with him. Just a quick drink with friends. They’ll be home for dinner, which is at seven.”

“I remember,” he said, slightly relaxing the tension in his voice.

“Shall I show you to your room?”

She gave him another shaky smile. She sounded very gentle, very anxious to please. “Where are the staff?” he asked briskly, as if he would much prefer one of them to do the job.

“They’re about. I wanted to greet you myself.”

“Really?” He raised a black brow. “I suppose we do have to sort out how best to handle the next couple of days.’

His expression must have been harsh because she said, “You still hate me?” Her own expression was one of deep regret.

He didn’t have to consider his response. It was automatic. “Don’t kid yourself, Zara.”

Don’t let those big dark eyes drag you in.

“If you ever haunted my dreams, those days are long past.”

“You still haunt mine,” she said very simply.

Great God! The cheek of her! His answer was so stinging it made her flinch. “You always were good at putting on a show. But surely you’re not over Hartmann already?”

She visibly recovered her poise, her tone unwavering. “You’re talking utter nonsense, Garrick. I was never involved with Konrad Hartmann. There was no relationship as such. A few dinner dates. A couple of concerts.”

“I guess I can accept that.” He shrugged. “Goddesses don’t fall in love with mere mortals. But you had a sexual relationship?”

“Hardly any of your business,” she said with considerable reserve.

“Of course you did.”

He glanced away from her beautiful face into the sumptuous formal living room. It had been redecorated since he had last seen it. Now its palette was gold, turquoise and citrine-yellow, with the walls painted a shade of terracotta impossible for him to describe. This grand room had once been walled in with a graceful curving arch that matched the arch on the other side. Now both huge reception rooms were open to the entrance hall.

It was a real coup! In fact it was stunning. The entrance hall remained floored in traditional black and white marble tiles but, as he lifted his head, he saw the new white coffered ceiling. In place of the arches, four Corinthian columns soared to left and right, acting as a splendid colonnade.

So who had inspired the magic? Some high-priced designer with impeccable taste? Miranda? Very possibly, Zara. It looked like her—the refinement—he decided. Zara always did have tremendous style.

She was standing a short distance away, appearing lost in her own thoughts. “I can’t talk about Konrad Hartmann,” she was saying. “I was the victim there.”

He lowered his coal-black head, his expression highly sceptical. “His beautiful Australian mistress?”

“Believe that, you’ll believe anything!” She spoke tautly. “I was sorry to hear your engagement to Sally Forbes broke up. I do remember her. She was a very attractive girl. And very suitable.”

He shrugged. “Well, she’s happily married to Nick Draper now. Remember him?”

“I remember your other friend, Nash, better.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” He laughed, a dry and bitter sound. “Nash fell in love with you as well. One way or the other, you left lasting impressions. Corin must have spent a fortune redecorating the place.”

“You like it?”

“Someone has superb taste,” he said, lowering his dazzling blue gaze to hers. “Was it Miranda? I would have thought she was too preoccupied with her studies. I greatly admire her ambition, by the way.”

“As do we all.” She spoke tenderly, as if Miranda were a much loved sister. “Miri and I decided on things together. Of course we had a very talented professional team in as well. We didn’t want any reminders of—” She stopped short, biting her lower lip. It was fuller than the sensitive upper lip. She had a beautiful mouth. Once he could have kissed it all day. All night. Pretty well did.

“Go on,” he urged in a clipped tone, thinking he might never have any real protection against this woman. “You didn’t get on with your stepmother, did you? I suppose it’s understandable. You couldn’t bear another woman to take over from your mother, let alone steal your father’s attention away from you.”

She put her hand to her throat as though such a charge caused her great pain. “What would you know about it, Garrick?”

“I don’t pretend I know a great deal,” he confessed. “After all, we’ve lived over a thousand miles apart for nearly all of our lives. But I do recall your telling me any number of times how Leila had come between you and your father. Not that we spent much time talking, or indeed talking about anyone else but ourselves and our plans for a future together,” he tacked on with marked bitterness.

“She did more than that,” Zara pointed out, keeping her face as expressionless as she could. “But one isn’t supposed to speak ill of the dead. Suffice to say, it was Miranda more than anyone who wanted big changes.”

“What? Wasn’t what was already in place good enough?” he asked in genuine surprise. “No one could say poor tragic Leila lacked style.”

Zara half turned away, showing him her lovely profile. “Let’s get off the subject, shall we? It’s really not your concern.”

“Of course it isn’t,” he agreed suavely. “But, tell me, what exactly is my concern?” He picked up his suitcase. “I’m Corin’s best man.”

“Corin thinks the world of you.” She began to lead the way to the double height divided staircase that swirled upward to left and right at the end of the entrance hall.

“The feeling is mutual,” he said. His eyes were on her delicate shoulders and straight back. “It’s you who seriously messed up. By the way—” he paused, wanting to know the answer “—Corin doesn’t know about us, does he? Or the dubious us we were.”

She didn’t stop, knowing he was baiting her. “No need to bring your suitcase,” she said. “Someone will bring it up.”

“Just answer the question,” he returned curtly.

Now she turned to face him, feeling racked with emotion. His height and strength, the grace and vibrant life. If only one could wish for one’s time over again! Had she known it, her eyes, huge and haunting, dominated a magnolia-pale face.

She was the most desirable woman in the world, despite the way she had treated him, Garrick thought, struggling against a rush of fever and remembered passion.

She messed you up once. Don’t let her do it again.

“You didn’t read my letters, did you?” she asked sadly, one slender hand holding on to the gleaming brass handrail, as if for support.

Anger was driving him now. He made a grab for it. Got it under control.

Don’t let her see she’s getting to you.

“What was the point? You were never coming back to me. You made that abundantly clear. You were just spreading your wings. Taking advantage of all I felt for you.”

“I was scared of my father,” she said, superb actress that she was, managing to still look upset and frightened. “He called. I jumped.”

Garrick fired up, his voice like a whiplash “Oh, rubbish! Your father gave you everything! You wanted for nothing.” He knew he was betraying far too much emotion.

“Only in some ways,” she said. Garrick didn’t even know the half of it. “Ever since I was a little girl—even when our mother was alive—my father was such a controlling man. He controlled her.” Tears pooled in her beautiful dark eyes. Resolutely, she blinked them back. “I never had the courage to challenge him. That shames me now. I should have been braver. But my father scared strong men witless. You might consider that. Tough business people, not just servants or the like. Only Corin could stand up to him. I had to pay the price for so closely resembling my mother. Corin was the heir. I was the daughter. A nothing person. Daughters were nothing. But he would never forfeit control. You didn’t really know my father, Garrick, any more than you knew Leila. You remember her as a charming, super-glamorous woman, warm and friendly. The reality was very different.”

“I thought you weren’t going to speak ill of the dead,” he reminded her harshly. “And you weren’t a handful, I suppose?” he challenged. She was standing on the first step. They were almost eye to eye. He could have reached out and pulled her into his arms. “Your father confided he was greatly disturbed and disappointed in the way you did everything in your power to make life extremely unpleasant for your stepmother. Leila, according to him, and her, incidentally—though she said little against you—tried over and over to please you, to establish a connection, but you weren’t having any. As I say, it was understandable, but don’t lay all the blame on Leila, who isn’t here to speak for herself.”

“Well, it appears she has you,” she retorted sharply, visibly stung. “You feel my father and Leila were more trustworthy than me?”

“God, yes!” he freely admitted. “Why would they lie? They appeared most sincere. I know there was a lot of conflict.” He frowned. “We all more or less knew that. Bringing a beautiful, much younger wife into the family was bound to have repercussions.”

“It did that.” She turned away, as though realizing it would do no good whatever trying to enlist his sympathy. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about it. You’ve obviously made up your mind. You don’t seem to appreciate that you were blessed, Garrick. Both of us might have been born into wealth and privilege but you grew up with wonderful parents. To most people, being the Rylance heiress meant everything was within my grasp. That wasn’t so. Being wealthy carries its own burdens. You know that. One can buy relationships. People want to know you, be seen with you. But one can never buy love. It’s not for sale, when love is everything in life.”

He gave vent to a theatrical groan. “Oh, please! I had love for you, Zara. Do you dimly remember that? You didn’t want it. I knew at the time I wanted you more than you wanted me, but that was okay. What you gave me filled my life with radiance. Hope for a glowing future. In reality, there was no hope. What you actually did was expose me to a lot of wasteful unhappiness. You weren’t worth it. I detest devious, dishonest behaviour above everything.”

Colour swept her face in a rosy tide. “Then your memories are distorted. I wasn’t playing any game, Garrick.”

He found himself gritting his teeth. “Please do shut up, Zara,” he said. “We have a history of heartache, but we can’t turn this weekend into a battlefield now, can we? What’s past is past.”

Her gaze turned inward. “What did the American author, Faulkner say? The past is never dead; it’s not even past. You and Julianne suffered no family traumas like Corin and I did. You had a wonderful mother and father. Your father is the loveliest man—I’m hoping to see him. He invited me to Coorango.”

That piece of information came like a king hit “What?” He couldn’t control the fierceness of his tone. He went after her, taking hold of her arm. And there it was again. The zap of electricity that raised the short hairs on his nape. His eyes blazed, bluer than the finest back-lit sapphires. “Dad couldn’t have done that without telling me.”

“He’s still master of Coorango, isn’t he?” she challenged, her whole body trembling in his grasp. “Your mother would like to see me too,” she swept on. “Helen and I always did get on. She loved my mother. She told me so.”

That, at least, was true. For an instant he felt as though his structured life was imploding. “And when is this supposed to be happening?” he rapped, releasing her as though her touch burned him. Which, indeed, it did.

She spread the long pale fingers of her hands. “I think they thought—please be calm, Garrick—” she begged,”—I could fly back with you.”

“You can’t be serious.” He spoke flatly. “Neither of them said a word of this to me.” Shock was enveloping him. His parents told him everything. There were no secrets. They had been invited to the wedding as a matter of course. Only his father wasn’t anywhere near well enough for the long journey and his mother wouldn’t leave her adored husband. Perversely, he now realised some part of him wanted Zara to come, amply demonstrating his stupidity where she was concerned.

“So there’s a story behind this, is there?” he accused her. “You asked could you come. My parents wouldn’t refuse you. No doubt Coorango is as far away as you can get. I suppose people are still talking about your involvement with Hartmann.”

She moved swiftly away from him to the first landing. A portrait of a very elegant auburn-haired woman in a pink silk gown, late nineteenth century, hung on the wall directly behind her, a stunning backdrop. “A section of the media did their best to destroy me. Mud sticks. I have to live with it. But no one who knows me or loves me doubts my word. Konrad’s vast business dealings were under suspicion for a long time. We all knew that. But it took a lengthy, painstaking undercover operation to reveal the truth.”

“Look, I don’t want to hear about your conman ex-lover. Let’s go upstairs,” he said dismissively, picking up his suitcase again.

“Of course.”

They didn’t speak until she stopped outside a bedroom door a distance down the wide corridor, hung with more valuable giltframed paintings. Antique chairs and tall Chinese porcelain vases atop carved mahogany stands were set at intervals.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here.” She opened the door, gesturing with a graceful movement of her arm that he should go in.

“Nice,” he muttered. It was way better than nice. The bedroom was large—and he was used to large—with a lofty ceiling opening onto the massive plant-filled rear terrace. There was a wrought iron setting where one could get a great view over the rear garden, the swimming pool area and, of course, the deep river. Inside, classic, sophisticated custom furnishings; king-size bed, colour scheme elegantly subdued—cream, bronze, ivory. “The most harmonious bedroom any male guest could ask for,” he said without looking at her. He was so close to her his muscles were tensed like steel springs.

“There’s an en suite, of course.”

“Of course!” he echoed with sarcasm.

She gave him a long searching look. “You’ve become very hard, haven’t you, Garrick?” she said, studying his superbly lean figure. Hardened or not, he was more devastatingly handsome than ever. The heat in his brilliantly blue eyes made her feel consumed. “You’ve quite lost your smile.” He had such a beautiful dazzling smile, like sunshine breaking out.

“Only with you, Zara,” he shot back with easy mockery.

“Your voice is deeper too,” she continued. “You sound more and more like your father. Once I used to think Rick will be like that, with all your father’s gravitas and wisdom. His wonderful sense of humour and his understanding of human nature, our strengths and our weaknesses. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“I’ll never be my father,” he said. “But I try my best. I never knew you, Zara,” he countered. “I fell for you when we were kids, out-landish as that may seem. I thought you were as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. I was so wrong. Anyway, it’s all ancient history now. A man can only afford to make a fool of himself once.”

“Did you not love Sally at all?” she asked with a serious questioning look.

His blue eyes raked her. “Do you really want to know?”

“Very much. I only ever wanted your happiness, Garrick.”

He gave her a glower that would have outdone Jane Austen’s Mr Darcy. He had developed a real talent for it. Sadly, the glower was intensely sexy.

“Zara, give me a break,” he groaned. “You cared nothing for me. You were just wallowing in a young man’s worship. Sally was a breath of fresh air after you. It was mutual, our breaking up.”

Her great eyes flashed prior knowledge. “Not what I heard.”

Someone was bound to have told her. “Sally deserved a different kind of partner,” he said. “I admit I have grown…harder. Sally needed someone who would suit her better—Nick. So put me in the picture. For a woman who was expected to marry early and brilliantly, you’re damned near on the shelf. What happened to all the guys before Hartmann?” His expression could have stripped her to the bone.

“No one measured up to you!”

He was so angry he spun about and caught her by the shoulders, shocking himself with the violence of his reaction. He wanted to pick her up bodily. He wanted to…damn…damn…damn…

“Don’t do this, Zara,” he warned. “I’m not sure what lies at the centre of this new campaign—if that’s what it is—but, I have to tell you, you disgust me.”

She stared back at him with absolute calm. That was a major point in Zara’s favour. She could keep her calm. “Feels good, does it, shaking me?”

Instantly he dropped his hands. God, around Zara he needed a keeper. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You’d do well not to provoke me. Which you’re doing deliberately.” He could feel the heat running along his arms to his shoulders, down the length of his body. The slightest physical contact and he was on the verge of losing it. He wanted to pull her back into his arms. Kiss her senseless…

For God’s sake, remember all you’ve learned.

Not easy when his emotions were in chaos. Another shock to absorb. For the first time in a long time he had come alive in a way he hadn’t experienced since she had left him. The powerful sexuality that was in him, so long dormant, was frantic to break free. Now the big question was—just how long was he going to be able to hold out? Weddings were very special occasions. Weddings did things to people. They filled the air with magic. He would have to spend the entire time smothering his instincts to death.

She had slipped one hand to her shoulder, massaging it gently.

Shame overwhelmed him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he apologised again, not fully aware how daunting his physical presence was—a stunningly fit male, well over six feet, emanating a fierce anger.

“I think you did,” she said, but in a low accepting voice. “It’s going to be very difficult these next few days if we can’t appear to be friends.”

He couldn’t help it. He threw back his head and hooted, the sound mocking and derisive. “Friends?”

“Maybe not—” she wavered in the face of his contempt “—but we’re both adults. Surely we can play the part?”

He shrugged a languid shoulder. “I don’t see why not. You’re a superb actress, and the last thing I want to do is upset Corin and his lovely bride. What I don’t see is why you want to come back with me to Coorango? I’ve made it quite clear what I think of you.”

Her midnight-dark eyes were pinned to his face. “I haven’t seen your parents for some time. They like me. They want to see me even if you don’t. I admit I’d like to get out of town for a while. Your father and mother understand that. You’ll be out and about the station for most of the time. I know how hard you work. I can only say I’ll do my best to keep out of your way. I could be a help to your mother, with Jules in Washington, expecting a baby.” Julianne Rylance had married a young career diplomat some years back. His current posting, an upgrading, was in Washington.

“I have to think about this,” he said. It came from the depths of his being. Take her back to Coorango? Kill or cure? His whole attitude was forced, that was the worst part. A defence mechanism; a way of controlling his emotions. “I like my life the way it is,” he told her, not bothering to keep the anger away. “I don’t want you back in it. Leave me alone, Zara. Whatever was between us, it’s long over.”

The “friendship”, curiously enough, lasted right through a delicious dinner and well after. They retired with coffee to the rear terrace, where the river breeze was circulating, shaking out all the myriad scents of the garden. The sky was ablaze with brilliantly blossoming stars. The exterior lights lit the grounds—the huge sapphire pool and the landscaped gardens with their spectacular banks of densely blue hydrangeas, a flower his mother loved but could not grow on Coorango. Even at the rear of the house the air was infused with the fragrance of the roses that mingled with the familiar scent of Zara he was drawing in.