A Wife At Kimbara

Something Rebecca already knew. “Stewart didn’t ring you?” she interrupted gently.

“No,” Fee answered rather grimly, then remained silent for a time.

Sensitive to her pain Rebecca changed the subject. “I have to say I’ll be relieved when the match ends,” she confessed with a wry laugh—Brod’s team had scored another goal. “I can’t really enjoy it with my heart in my throat.”

“You’re a tender little thing.” Fee moved to pat her hand. “Though at this level I agree it’s pretty lethal and Stewart and Brod are going at it hammer and tongs. Half-time coming up. Ten minutes usually. Stewart is bound to want to know if you’re enjoying yourself. If I were you, my dear, I’d tell him you’re finding it all terribly exciting.”

“But I am.” Rebecca twisted to smile at Fee, marvelling as ever at her glamorous appearance. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Ah, look at Brod,” Fee broke in gleefully. “Isn’t he luv-er-ly,” she cried, Eliza Doolittle style. He was indeed. On the other side of the field Broderick Kinross was stripping off his polo shirt to exchange it for another. His jet-black hair, thick and waving, gleamed in the sunlight with a matt of dark hair spreading across his darkly tanned chest then narrowing down to his close fitting jodhpurs.

He was an incredibly handsome man. So much so Rebecca felt a sudden uprush of desire that alarmed her. Not that he was flaunting his splendid body or paying any attention to the heated glances of the female spectators enjoying the spectacle from around the field. He was too busy sharing a joke with his friend, Rafe Cameron.

Rebecca wished for a moment she had a camera. She’d like to photograph these two magnificent young men together. Of a height, wonderfully fit, perfect foils. Brod for all his brilliant blue eyes was dark, deeply tanned by the sun whereas his friend had a thick mane of pure gold hair that was quite stunning. The other brother, Grant, busy chatting up a pretty girl, shared the family fairness, but his hair was more tawny with a touch of red. Both she had remarked when introduced had hazel-gold flecked eyes.

“Quite something aren’t they?” Fee hooted, following Rebecca’s gaze. “A pride of lions only Brod is the panther among them.”

“They’re all very handsome,” Rebecca agreed. “I’m surprised they’re not all married.”

Fee shook her beautifully coiffured head. As dark as Rebecca’s until her fifties she was now close to blond. “But surely you know?”

“Know what?” Rebecca stared directly at her. More revelations?

“I thought Stewart might have mentioned it,” Fee said. He certainly spent enough time chatting to Rebecca. “At one time we all hoped Rafe and Alison would tie the knot. They were very much in love but somehow Alison got cold feet. Product of a broken home perhaps. She ran off to Sydney much as I ran off to London, though I left no great love behind.

“As we know she’s become highly successful. So life goes on. Wild horses wouldn’t get it out of him but I believe Rafe was devastated. At any rate he won’t allow Alison back into his life.

“As for Brod. He’s a hot favourite. Always has been. But Brod will make darn sure he picks the right woman. Grant is a couple of years younger than both of them. He’s been working terribly hard establishing his helicopter business. All three are big catches for the girls.”

“I’ll bet!” Rebecca smiled. “Stewart did tell me a little about Alison’s broken romance.”

“So are you interested?” Fee pulled herself up to capture Rebecca’s luminous gaze.

“My career is important to me, Fee,” Rebecca answered lightly.

“A woman can’t do without love in her life.”

“So I’m learning from your biography,” Rebecca quipped instantly.

“Cheeky.” Fee smacked at Rebecca’s slender arm playfully. “Don’t leave it too late, darling. That’s all.” She spread a beringed hand. “Here comes Stewart. He doesn’t look quite as enthusiastic as he did at the start of the match.”

“Brod didn’t exactly give him any quarter,” Rebecca pointed out dryly.

“Each man for himself on the polo field, my chick,” Fee drawled in her distinctive voice, which still had so much sex appeal in it. “How’s it going, Stewie?” she called a little tauntingly, entirely on her nephew’s side.

Stewart Kinross studied his sister rather stonily for a moment then said with slight indignance. “We’re doing fairly well. Anything can happen in the second half.” He switched his glance to Rebecca, dressed like Fee in a silk shirt and narrow cut linen pants only her outfit was pristine white whereas Fee was a kaleidoscope of colours and patterns with a lot of glitter he didn’t find attractive. “You’re loving it aren’t you, Rebecca.” He smiled at her, a remarkably handsome, mature man.

“I’m a little worried for you, Stewart,” Rebecca admitted truthfully. “It’s a dangerous game.”

As a response it was a disaster. “I like to think I keep up, my dear,” he answered, looking a bit huffed.

“Oh, Stewart, you do know what I mean,” Rebecca protested softly.

He looked deep into her eyes seeing God knows what. “That’s fine then, my dear. It’s Brod who’s putting himself at risk. Maybe you could tell him to his face.” He looked back towards the field. “Though I must have done something right…I taught him all he knows. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Ah well.” He glanced back to smile at Rebecca. “I must be off. Time’s up.”

Rebecca realised she shouldn’t say, “Take care.” Instead she gave a little encouraging wave while Fee, enjoying every moment, bit back a laugh. “Darling, were you really suggesting Stewie is over the hill?”

A soft little cushion was to hand. Rebecca used it.

“Hey, hey.” Fee leaned forward and caught it. “Stewie doesn’t like to think he’s settling into the twilight zone. For that matter neither do I.”

In the end Brod’s team won and Rebecca watched as a tall, good-looking blonde in skin-tight jeans and a blue T-shirt that showed off her shapely breasts, went up to him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with much relish.

“Liz Carrol,” Fee said with a grin. “She likes him. Can’t you tell? Then again, why hide it?”

“Is she his girlfriend?” Rebecca found herself asking, though she hadn’t intended to.

“What do you think? Brod sees a few others but most of the time he’s just too darned busy. He’s got a big job—for life. When he picks a wife he’d better pick well.”

Eventually it was Rebecca’s turn to congratulate the winning team, standing before the captain wondering why she felt so terribly perturbed by a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? What kind of look was it? Whatever it was it acted like a magnet.

“Fee told me you were a little anxious at the action,” he said leaning back against a rail, looking down at her. Oh, yes, she was beautiful.

Rebecca nodded unapologetically. “Today was my first experience of polo. I have to admit some of it scared me. I thought Stewart would be thrown from his horse at one stage during the first half.”

“You were concerned.”

She stared up at him, revealing nothing. “Why not?”

He shrugged and flung an arm up to rest on the rail. “He’s been thrown before and survived. We all have. I’m curious to know, what do you think of my father?”

“I’m sure I’m not supposed to say I hate him,” she said coolly. “I think he’s many things. As are you.”

“Include yourself in that, Miss Hunt,” he answered sardonically, studying the way her dark satiny hair curved around her face. What did she do? Polish it with a silk scarf? “Even Fee knows remarkably little about you.”

“Have you asked?” she challenged, her rain coloured eyes widening.

“Indeed I have.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d be interested in me.”

Yet she bit her lovely full lower lip. “I’m sure you have many a dramatic revelation to divulge,” he drawled. “I’m just blunt enough to point out you’re turning my father’s head. It’s not often I see him take such glowing pleasure in a young woman’s company.”

“I think you’re exaggerating.” Perhaps she, too, would have made an actress.

He laughed. “Then why is that magnolia skin stained with colour?”

“It could be your lack of discretion,” she countered.

“Actually I’m trying to be frank. You’ve only been on Kimbara a short time yet you’ve made a considerable impact on my father and Fee.”

“Obviously not you.” She was still managing to speak with perfect calm even if she couldn’t control the fire in her blood.

A taut smile crossed his striking face. “I’m not as susceptible as Dad or as trusting as Fee.”

“Goodness you ought to set yourself up in the detective business.” She kept her voice low in case anyone was watching. They were.

“Come on, all I’m suggesting is you tell me a little more about yourself.”

“You won’t find my face in a rogue’s gallery if that’s what you’re thinking.” She stared back at him.

“How about an art gallery?” he suggested. “Your style of looks is incredibly romantic. In fact they ought to name a flower after you.”

“No artist has offered to paint me so far,” she told him. “What exactly is it you suspect me of, Mr. Kinross?”

Her face was still flushed, her eyes as lustrous as silver. “You’re angry with me and quite rightly.” He dropped his hand off the rail and stood straight. Another foot and their bodies would be brushing.

“I think so.”

“But from where I’m standing I think you might be trying to steal my father’s heart.”

She felt so affronted she tossed her silky mane in the air. “Part of it might be because you’re screwed up.”

He stared back at her for a moment then threw back his handsome head and gave a genuine peal of laughter. A warm seductive sound. “I’m not hearing this,” he groaned. “You think I’m screwed up.”

“It must be a very heavy load to carry,” she said without sympathy.

He laughed again, white teeth dazzling against dark copper skin. “Actually you might be right.”

“We’ve all got our hang-ups to disengage,” she pointed out with clinical cool.

“I can hardly wait to hears yours.”

“You’re not going to hear them, Mr. Kinross.”

“Pleez,” he mocked. “If we’re going to have these conversations you’d better call me Brod.”

It was a mystery to her she was keeping her cool. “Thank you for that. I’d love it if you called me Rebecca. All I’m asking, Brod, is you give me the benefit of the doubt before starting to label me ‘adventuress.’ From what I’ve seen, your father is perfectly charming to women in general.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” he answered, his voice dangerously gentle. “Charming, yes. Possessive, no.”

“Is that how you read it?” She kept the worry out of her tone.

“Most women can’t resist being the object of desire.”

She felt as if they were engaged in some ritual dance, circling, circling. “That’s something I know nothing about.” She’d been determined to play it cool but her simmering temper was making her eyes sparkle.

“Quite impossible, Rebecca.” His lips curved. “If you put on your dowdiest dress and cut off that waterfall of hair, men would still want you.”

She had the disturbing sensation he had reached out and touched her, run his fingers over her skin. “I don’t think you’ve reckoned on whether I want them,” she answered, too sharply, as her heart did a double take.

His blue eyes filled with amused mockery. “Now where is this leading us?”

“Probably nowhere.” She managed a shrug. “The whole conversation was your idea.”

“Only because I’m trying to learn as much about you as I can.” He realised he was getting an undeniable charge out of what amounted to their confrontation. It was like being exposed to live wires.

“I’m thoroughly aware of that,” Rebecca said, “but I do hope you’re not going to start checking on me. I might have to mention it to your father.”

Ah, an admission of power. Why had he ever had one minute’s doubt? His eyes narrowed, lean body tensing. “I’ll be damned, a threat.”

She shook her head. “No threat at all. I’m not going to allow you to spoil things for me, that’s all.”

“I can do that by checking you out?”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Her voice went very quiet. “I’m here in one capacity only. To write your aunt’s biography. Both of us want it done. It’s a pity you’ve made up your mind I’ve more on the agenda. It’s almost like you’re waging war.”

“Isn’t it,” he agreed.

“Perhaps you’ve got nothing to win.” She threw out the challenge, suddenly wanting to hurt him as he was hurting her.

“Well we can’t say the same for you then.”

The sapphire eyes gleamed.

Both of them were so involved in the cut and thrust, neither noticed Stewart Kinross approach until he was only a few yards away. “I was trying to make out what you two were talking about?” He smiled, though it never quite reached his eyes.

“Why don’t I let Rebecca tell you,” Brod drawled.

“Clearly it was something serious,” his father said. “Everybody else seems to be laughing and relaxed.”

“Brod was taking me through the technicalities of the match.” Rebecca was worried her voice might tremble but it didn’t. It sounded very normal. “I’m hoping to understand the game better.”

“But, my dear, I could have explained all that,” Stewart Kinross assured her warmly. “Sure it wasn’t something more interesting?”

Rebecca twisted round to look at Brod. “Nothing except a few words about my work.”

“I’m sure it will be so good you’ll have people dying to read it,” Brod said suavely. “Ah well, I’d better circulate. Some of my friends I haven’t seen for a long time.”

This caused Stewart to frown. “You can see them anytime you want to, Brod.”

“I guess I’m too damned busy, Dad. Especially since you promoted me. See you later, Rebecca.” He lifted a hand, moving off before his father could say another word.

Stewart Kinross’s skin reddened. “I must apologise for my son, Rebecca,” he rasped.

“Whatever for?” She was anxious not to become involved.

“His manner,” Stewart replied. “It worries me sometimes. I’ve had to deal with a lot of rivalry from Brod.”

“I suppose it’s not that unusual,” Rebecca tried to soothe. “powerful father, powerful son. It must make for clashes from time to time.”

“None of them, I assure you, initiated by me,” Stewart protested. “Brod takes after my father. He was combative by nature.”

“And generally regarded as a great man?” Rebecca murmured gently just to let him know she had read up extensively on Sir Andrew Kinross and liked what she had learned.

“Yes, there’s that,” Stewart agreed a little grudgingly. “He positively doted on Fee. Denied her nothing that’s why she’s so terribly spoiled. But he expected a great deal of me. Anyway, enough of that. What I really wanted to know is did you enjoy the day? I organised the whole thing for you.”

“I realise that, Stewart. It’s something I’ll always remember.” Rebecca tasted a certain bitterness on her tongue. Remember? But for wrong reasons. Most of the time her eyes had been glued to Broderick Kinross’s dashing figure. She could still feel the rush of adrenaline through her body.

“You know, sometimes I get the feeling I’ve known you forever,” Stewart Kinross announced, resting a hand on her shoulder and staring down into her eyes. “Don’t you get that feeling, too?”

What on earth do I say? Rebecca thought, suffused with embarrassment. Whatever I say he seems to misinterpret it. She allowed her long thick lashes to feather down onto her cheeks. “Maybe we’re kindred spirits, Stewart,” she said. “Fee says the same thing.”

It was far from being the response Stewart Kinross wanted, but he knew damned well he would never give up. Many good years remained of his life. Maybe Rebecca was a little young. It didn’t strike him as too young. In their conversations she sounded remarkably mature, in control. Besides, as his wife she would be well compensated. He was definitely a very rich man and if that had to do increasingly more with Brod’s managerial skills he wasn’t about to admit it.

Meanwhile half-way across the field Brod, the centre of an admiring circle, continued to observe this disturbing tableau. They could have been father and daughter, he thought with the cold wings of anger. Only he could read his father’s body language from a mile. Her dark head so thick and glossy reached just about to his father’s heart as it would his. Her face was uptilted. She looked very slender and delicate in her outfit, boyish except for the swell of her breasts. His father’s hand had come up to rest on one of her fine-boned shoulders. He was staring down into her eyes. God, the utter impossibility of it but it was happening. His father had fallen in love. The thought shocked him profoundly. He turned away abruptly, grateful that his friend, Rafe, was approaching with a cold can of beer. A black fairy story this.

Rebecca stood before the mirror holding two dresses in front of her in turn. One was lotus-pink, the other a beaded silk chiffon in a dusky green. Both were expensive, hanging from shoe-string straps and coming just past the knee rather like the tea dresses of the early 1930s when women looked like hot-house blooms. It was the sort of look she liked and one that suited her petite figure. Fee had told her much earlier their guests liked to dress up so now she studied her reflection trying to decide which dress looked best. She was glad she’d packed them, though again Fee had advised her at the outset to bring a couple of pretty evening dresses.

“Stewart likes to entertain whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

Hence the polo weekend. And all for her. Only a couple of weeks ago it would have given her the greatest pleasure. Now the fact that Stewart Kinross had somehow become infatuated with her raised a lot of anxieties. Not the least of them Broderick Kinross’s attitude.

Knowing his father better than anyone else he had immediately divined the exact quality of Stewart’s interest. She would bet every penny she had Brod believed she had gone along with the situation. Even encouraged it.

Becoming involved with a much older man was one thing. Becoming involved with a very rich older man was another. It happened all the time and society accepted powerful influential men could get anything they wanted. Lots of money, it seemed, made a deep impression on everyone.

Stewart Kinross, if he suddenly remarried, could even father another family, increasing the number of heirs to the family fortune. It all left Rebecca feeling freezing cold. Life had been terrible when she had had a man in her life. She’d been so young and she had had no idea what jealousy and obsession meant. But she had learned. How she had learned!

Rebecca stared at her haunted eyes in the mirror. She was standing absolutely still, holding the lovely dusky green dress in front of her like a shield. She told herself she didn’t care what Broderick Kinross thought. His suspicions understandable maybe were absolutely groundless. From her first day at Kimbara she had considered Stewart Kinross to be an exceptionally charming and generous man. Now she saw that might not be the case. The only thing that was becoming increasingly clear was he was smitten. She had seen that look of possession in a man’s eyes before. She didn’t want to see it again.

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