The Secret Heiress

by Bethany Campbell

  He felt her muscles stiffen under his touch. “Where there’s gambling, there’s crime.”

  “Now,” he said, bringing his face nearer to hers, “for years there’ve been rumors that Jacko Bullock has ties to organized crime.”

  “Rumors again,” she said, her expression tense. “Is Jacko supposed to be a big spider? Or a little spider?”

  “Nobody seems to know,” he said, gripping her arm more firmly. “Maybe he’s a very small spider who’s well connected. If he’s president of the ITRF, he’s in a position to help many, many spiders. Who would help him in return.”

  “All right,” she said, tilting her jaw. “Help him what?”

  “First, help him get what he wants. First, the presidency. That’s obvious—if he has those connections. Right?”

  “I suppose. But, Andrew, this is still just speculation.”

  “It may be. I don’t know how much the government knows or how hard it’s looking. But what if another thing he wants is the Hunter Valley? The combination would make him one of the most powerful men in the racing world.”

  For the first time she looked almost as if she might believe him. “And he could make things happen to people here?”

  “Perhaps. Or his friends could. Look at it again, Marie. Sam’s gone. Louisa’s in serious trouble, and Tyler’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth. Hunter Valley could be changing hands.”

  “And what about you?” she asked. “As president?”

  He smiled a humorless smile. “I could lose. Fairly or unfairly. But I’ve got to try to win.”

  “If you believe in all these webs and all these spiders—some are poisonous, I take it?”

  He nodded. “Deadly.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?” she challenged.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “And for my family. Look at what’s happened to Tyler.”

  He saw fear dull her eyes, as if a cloud passed over them. “What if they—hurt you?”

  “That’s not what worries me most,” he said.

  She searched his face. “Then what does?”

  “You,” he said. “Losing you.”

  He heard the sharp intake of her breath. “I don’t understand.”

  “If any of this is right—and I think it may be—I don’t want you drawn into it. That’s why I had to see you face-to-face. To tell you that. You may be right, for now. About keeping our distance. But I don’t want to lose you.”

  Her mouth trembled and she looked at him in bewilderment. “Why? Why say such a thing?”

  “Because I feel that I need you. I need something in…your spirit. Remember how in Scone you told me to loosen up when I spoke. You said, ‘Maybe you should pretend you’re talking to just one person.’”

  She nodded, smiling faintly at the memory.

  “It works,” he said. “I’m doing much better. And the one person I pretend I’m talking to is you.”

  Her smiled turned to disbelief. “Me? But why?”

  “Like I said. Your spirit. Your character. Your courage.”

  He moved his glass aside, as well as the love-spell Danish. He took her glass and placed it beside his own. He drew her to him and kissed her. He kissed her the way he’d never kissed any other woman.

  She’d known this was going to happen. They both had known. It had shivered in the air like electricity building itself into a blaze of lightning. She could have stopped it from happening. But she hadn’t wanted to stop it.

  For the first time in her life, she felt almost helpless with desire, filled with the need to have his mouth upon hers, to be close to his body, as close as possible. This was the forbidden delight that she’d never wanted to experience, never wanted to admit was real.

  His mouth moved expertly against hers. Too expertly? His hands cradled her face firmly yet tenderly. But was that touch too practiced? Part of her wanted to analyze what he was doing and how he was doing it and why.

  Another, newly discovered part of her wanted not to think at all, only to feel and desire and to desire more still. His body was strong and hard against hers. He smelled of spicy aftershave.

  His lips were warm, strong and supple. They opened slightly, inviting her to follow suit. She did. He tasted like lemonade and richness.

  His hands moved from her face to her shoulders, drawing her nearer, so that her breasts grazed the solidity of his chest. Her hands rose shyly and rested on his shoulders, and she felt the subtle movement of his muscles beneath her fingertips.

  His arms folded around her, pulling her so close that her upper body pressed against his, and his kiss grew deeper, and she raised her face and strained to make it deeper still.

  The tip of his tongue traced her upper lip, then her lower, then thrust gently into her mouth, and she found hers ready to greet him. She felt herself wanting to open like a flower to him, open slowly but completely.

  When his hand settled over one tingling breast, it felt wonderful, but too wonderful.

  Alas, how easily things go wrong!

  A sigh too much, or a kiss too long…

  She jolted back to reality, struggling to find her usual self-control. She tried to jerk away from him, although his arms still held her fast.

  “No,” she said breathlessly. “No. This is going no farther. It shouldn’t have gone this far.”

  She put her hands against his chest and pushed until he reluctantly let her go. She didn’t want to meet his eyes.

  But he challenged her. “Look at me. Marie? Come on. Look at me.”

  Around them, the dry leaves rattled like a whisper of percussion, a light but irresistible rhythm. Defiantly she lifted her head and met his dark gaze. A brown-black lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, and his expression was intense.

  He caressed her face. “You’re complicated.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” she said. “And I can’t let myself get tangled up in something like this. I—I don’t want to be like my mother. She had an illegitimate baby—me—and she was born to an unwed mother herself. I promised myself long ago I’d never join that club. Women who—who—”

  He felt a wrenching, gut-deep sympathy for her. “I never asked you for that. For sex. I moved too fast. I’m sorry. But I’ll prove I mean what I say about you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back down and squared her jaw. Her back was rigid with tension. “How?”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to clear Louisa.”

  She shook her head, as if he spoke only nonsense. “All you’ve got is a theory, and a fancy comparison about spiders. But with no proof to back it up.”

  He edged nearer again. “You need proof?” he said in a low voice. “I’ll get it. Tyler and Dan Whittleson hired a private detective. I’m not from here, so maybe that’s why I wasn’t asked to chip in. But I can hire a detective myself. I can hire the best.”

  She turned to face him. “Why? To buy Louisa’s favor for you in the election?”

  “No. To help her. Because, like I said, I saw my own family go through the same thing. But not just for her. For you.”

  “But why?” she asked again. She tossed her head so that her golden bangs stirred and glinted in the dappled light. “I don’t understand.”

  “Because you’re not like most of the women I meet. You’re not like any of them. And I think I figured it out. You need to be courted. The old-fashioned way. I don’t mean roses and chocolates, I mean getting to know each other.

  “I want to know you better. Much better. And I’m going to have to prove I care for you. So—though I’d like to see you at least once in a while—we’ll keep this platonic for a while. Because I think you’re a woman worth waiting for. So, will you let me get to know you?”

  She went pale and wide-eyed. “And—and for that you’ll try to save Louisa.”

  “For that,” he nodded. “And for the principle at stake. My father raised me to stand up for principles.”

  She seemed to diminish a little, like a flowe
r starting to fold in on itself. “I’m afraid,” she said. “Afraid of getting tangled up in something like this with you.”

  He gave her a perplexed smile. “Something like this is only human. I was drawn to you the first time I saw you in Darwin. And then you turned up here, and I felt it again. And you felt something, too. Can you deny it?”

  “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  He put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her again until his groin tightened and his forehead seemed to be spinning out of place.

  She drew back more quickly this time. “I should get back to Fairchild Acres.”

  “Keeping my distance from you is going to be hard. Ungodly hard.”

  Unable to think of a reply, she began to load her backpack up again. “Keep the Danishes,” she murmured self-consciously. “Feed them to the birds or something.”

  Quickly, she rose, and he, too, stood. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Then she spun away and fled, fleet as a little deer, leaving him alone in the Hermit’s Cave, clenching and unclenching his fists. He put his hand to his chest and fingered the painted charm inside his shirt.

  At The Secret Heiress that evening, Reynard bought Marie supper. “You spend your life cooking for other people. Let somebody else cook for you for a change. Mrs. Tidwell’s no Colette, but she makes decent tucker. Try the lamb chops.”

  Marie smiled her gratitude, but then looked at him quizzically. “You never told me where you were last night. I tried to call you.”

  “I was at the Crook Scale,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the other pub. “Met an old mate who just moved up this way. Got into a card game, and then went partying, I guess you’d say. All work and no play, that sort of thing, y’know.”

  She didn’t know, and Reynard was being maddeningly vague. She’d come to realize that he was often vague about his comings and goings. She was about to pry a little more, but instead, he became the questioner.

  “Why’d you call?” he asked, his eyes innocent. “Something bothering you?”

  “Well, there’s lots to be bothered about. Louisa’s in the hospital, and Dylan Hastings is hovering over her like a vulture. She’s in a rotten mood, which won’t help her recovery.”

  “You’ve got a point. Plenty to be bothered about.” But then he brightened. “And here comes Mrs. Tidwell. Mrs. Tidwell, I swear that blue is your color. Indeed, it is.”

  Mrs. Tidwell smiled girlishly. “Reynard, you’re a total rascal.”

  He smiled up at her. “That I am, love. That I am.”

  The woman took their orders and left. She returned in a moment and brought their drinks. Reynard quaffed deeply.

  He wiped his mouth and then stared affectionately into Marie’s eyes. “You saw Andrew today again?”

  “What?” She recoiled in surprise.

  “He borrowed the cook’s truck,” Reynard said, as if he read her mind. “I didn’t ask why, but I wondered. And soon I knew.”

  She was speechless and her face heated with a blush.

  “I was driving to pick up some lumber,” he said casually. “Just happened to take that road that bends where the old girl’s property meets the late Sam’s. Saw that truck parked in the grove. And way back, where I could hardly see it, your bike.”

  She tried to look righteous. “I met him because he said maybe he could help Louisa.”

  “For this you had to disappear into the woods?”

  “I didn’t want to be seen with him,” she retorted. “D’Angelo doesn’t want any of us talking with the Prestons. He’s right, and I don’t intend to—make a practice of it.”

  Reynard leaned across the table. “You’d be better off intending never to do it again. But my curiosity is tweaked. Did he really know any way to help the old girl?”

  Marie, conflicted, wasn’t sure if she should answer. But she said, “Nothing concrete.

  “Just a theory that Tyler’s fire might be more than just a simple arson. That it might be part of a bigger plot. One involving some kind of land grab in Hunter Valley.”

  “Hmm. Interesting,” was all Reynard said. He changed the subject. “I hear that the old girl’s great-niece and -nephew are staying on. Odd that they should grow fond of her so fast.”

  “Rennie, don’t be cynical. Megan seems truly concerned about Louisa. Patrick, I’m not so sure. But she’s one of their last links to their mother.”

  “And,” he added smoothly, “she’s one of your last links to your mother. When the old girl’s better, you’ll need to make your move. So those two don’t muscle you out of your rights.”

  “I don’t know that I have any rights,” Marie objected.

  He drew on his cigarette and exhaled. Through the shifting smoke, he regarded her with his lazy-lidded gaze. “Don’t worry, love,” he murmured. “You may soon. Trust your Uncle Rennie.”

  Chapter Ten

  Marie drew back and stared at him in disbelief. “What do you mean?” she demanded.

  Rennie shrugged. “I mean trust my instincts. Be optimistic, that’s all. You’ve come to believe it yourself, haven’t you? That the old girl is Colette’s mother? And your grandmother?”

  “I—I almost believe it,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I’d ever act on it. But how can you say I could prove it?”

  He cocked his head and took another sip from his schooner. “My sister didn’t have a great deal of education. But she was bright. The DNA, love. The DNA will prove it, I’m sure.”

  “It won’t reach that stage,” Marie said firmly. “She certainly wouldn’t want tests. And I don’t, either. I’m sick of this mess. Let Louisa leave her money to the relatives she knows. I’ll stay around until she’s well. Then I’m going back to Darwin.”

  “What if she doesn’t get well?” Reynard said. “I mean, just suppose she died? Wouldn’t you stand up for your share of the estate? Wouldn’t you take it to court?”

  “No. I haven’t got the stomach for it. It’s too mercenary. Besides, it would cost a fortune to go to court. I haven’t got the money—or the inclination.”

  He shrugged. “A sharp lawyer might do it for a percentage of your settlement.”

  “No. I mean it.”

  He acted as if he didn’t hear her, but looked up and beamed. “Ah, here’s the estimable Mrs. Tidwell with our supper. You’re a delivering angel. I see you’ve got a new bartender. I hope he won’t take my place in your affections, duck.”

  “You’re a caution, Rennie,” the woman said, with a coy smile.

  When the woman left, Marie stared at Reynard tucking into his lamb chops. She thought, Rennie, sometimes I don’t feel like I really know you. Who are you? What are you? What are you trying to make me into? And why?

  The next day Marie realized she couldn’t leave Hunter Valley as soon as she’d wanted.

  The hospital would hold Louisa longer than originally thought; Dr. Burgess wanted to keep her under observation. She was so nervous and irritable that he insisted on strictly monitoring her medications and testing her. But rumors buzzed that she was being held by the hospital to keep Hastings from taking her into custody.

  Louisa hated the hospital; she annoyed the nurses and was blatantly rude to Burgess. She welcomed only the visitors who came from Fairchild Acres, and she impulsively declared it was not that ignorant jackass Dr. Burgess who’d saved her life, but Marie and her edible food and tolerable beverages.

  In the meantime, Detective Dylan Hastings, hanging on to the case like a pit bull, wanted a bedside hearing for Louisa as soon as possible. The thought sickened Marie.

  That night, at precisely nine o’clock, Marie’s phone rang. She answered and blinked hard when she heard Andrew’s voice.

  “Marie? I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I’ve had a real break. One of the big equine societies in Brisbane is renting me a private plane for the rest of the campaign, for almost nothing. And a pilot. A guy nam
ed Ollie Millwhit. This is going to make traveling a lot easier—and less expensive.”

  “A private plane?” she echoed, realizing that talking to him made her tremulous.

  “Yeah. A little jet. Darci says it’ll be a huge help. She helped arrange it. Her dad used to be president of the ITRF.”

  A private jet, she thought, and once again the differences in their backgrounds seemed like a chasm gaping between them, vast and unbridgeable.

  But she said, “I’m glad. That’s wonderful.”

  “It is,” he said. “And isn’t. Darci’s booking me into more appearances, arranging more rallies. So I’ll be gone more.”

  Perhaps that was good, she thought, but it didn’t make her feel good. He’d be far away, and she remembered him being near, very near. Yesterday came flashing back to her, the strength of his arms around her, and hardness of his chest against her breasts. The warmth of his lips and tongue, the scent and taste of him had made desire flicker through her mind and body, cascading sparks of fireworks.

  With a sigh he said, “I can’t see you. But I’d like to call you every night. Even if we can’t see each other, we can get to know each other better. Tell me about yourself. I know your mother’s gone, and Rennie said she was extraordinary. A great cook and a woman of enormous sweetness, that’s what he said.”

  “She was.” Marie thought, She was illegitimate, too—just like me. Rennie is, too. Are you sure you want to know me? You’re a blue-blooded Preston. I belong to the Bastard Nation. You work with the rich and the powerful. I work in a kitchen. Should we even be this involved?

  “I called a detective in Sydney today,” he said. “I gave him the basic information. I’ll be in Sydney in a couple of days if all goes well, see him in person. He’s interested. He’s already got people sniffing around like hound dogs.”

  “Andrew?”