The Australian's Housekeeper Bride
Page 2
‘What I meant was,’ Lee Richardson amended gravely, ‘that I’m your lift up to Southall—when the flight was delayed and it was realised we were both on it, I was deputised to drive you up.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Rhiannon raised an eyebrow at him.
‘Nothing. But we desperately need you up there, Ms Fairfax. My sister-in-law is throwing a party the night after tomorrow that could, by all accounts, be a disaster.’
Rhiannon blinked. ‘How so?’
‘She gave the caterers the wrong day. They’re booked up for the right day, a Sunday, anyway. So, it would appear, is every other decent caterer on the coast.
Of course, it may be beyond you to organise drinks and a buffet supper for thirty people at such short notice.’ He looked at her expressionlessly.
‘Providing I had access to shops, I could do it in my sleep,’ Rhiannon said gently.
Lee Richardson summed her up from head to toe. She was medium height, five feet five-to-six probably, and her figure was deliciously curvy beneath the grey suit and black blouse. Her straight, smooth fair hair was expertly cut to chin length and parted on one side. The longer side arched attractively against her face.
She had rather unusual light brown eyes emphasised by long, carefully darkened lashes.
The rest of her make-up was light and flawless, so was her skin, her lips were luscious and gleamed a frosted coral-pink.
Was it his imagination, though, or had he met her before? Something in her voice and those sparkling brown eyes seemed to strike a chord but he couldn’t place it.
More to the point, could she ever look entirely businesslike? he reflected.
Would that glossy, rather gorgeous air, those curves, always get in the way of taking her seriously?
She wasn’t what he’d expected. She definitely wasn’t the dragon-like person he’d visualised, who could impose their personality on a household that bore all the hallmarks of descending into a dysfunctional mess.
Although, Lee conceded, she had been quite cool under fire, so to speak; she might even be more interesting than his first impressions of her had indicated.
But that brought up another query. She had been staring and smiling at him in a way that experience had shown him women did when they were analysing his potential in bed and out of it.
On the other hand, her wounded vanity might work to his advantage and things were in crisis.
Following this line of thought, he said drily at last, ‘I wonder.’
‘Then I’ll prove it to you, Mr Richardson,’ Rhiannon replied with a strange little glint in her sherry-brown eyes.
A muscle moved in his cheek, as if he was trying not to smile.
‘But don’t congratulate yourself on the fact that I walked into a trap of your making,’ she advised with obvious satire.
He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘No?’
‘No,’ Rhiannon agreed. ‘Look at it like this: I feel for your sister-in-law so I’ll help out with the party. I’m just as liable to pack my bags and go home the next day, however.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Lee Richardson said. ‘Please don’t take that the wrong way, Ms Fairfax,’ he added. ‘It’s only meant to imply that I’ve changed my mind—you could be exactly what we need at Southall. Let’s go.’
Rhiannon was still simmering as the powerful four-wheel-drive vehicle Lee Richardson drove climbed the range from the coast to the hinterland.
Indeed, part of her was deeply regretting the fact that she hadn’t flung his job back in his face but it wasn’t a mystery to her why she hadn’t. She needed the money, she rather desperately these days needed every dollar she could earn…
It was dark so she couldn’t take in the countryside as she thought her painful thoughts, although it was obvious the road was steep and winding.
Unfortunately, the dark also seemed to encapsulate her and Lee Richardson in a bubble where it was impossible for her not to be conscious of him in a rather disturbing way…
His hands were lean and powerful on the wheel—what kind of havoc would they wreak on her naked body? she found herself wondering again, to her dismay.
His profile was clean-cut, his shoulders, beneath the expensive leather, were tantalisingly broad and straight and he changed gear and drove the car with the flair and authority that somehow suggested to her he would demonstrate the same flair and authority in bed…
She closed her eyes and went hot and cold as this occurred to her.
Fortunately, not much later, they turned off the main road, drove down several tree-lined side-roads and came to impressive wrought-iron gates set in a high stone wall.
They opened silently at the press of a button in the car.
‘We’re here, Miss Fairfax,’ he murmured as he drove into a four-car garage.
‘You’re very quiet,’ he added as he opened his door and the overhead light came on.
‘I’m wondering what I’ve got myself into, to be honest,’ she replied.
He half smiled. ‘The nature of what you do—rescuing households from chaos—must often provide surprises.’
She regarded him steadily. ‘Yes, but if you must know my…’ She broke off. She’d been about to say ‘my latest impressions’ but she amended it to, ‘My impressions of you, Mr Richardson, are not exactly favourable.’
‘Listen, Rhiannon, you were the one who was staring and smiling at me in an unmistakable way,’ he retorted. ‘Any impressions you have of me flowed on directly from that.’
‘All right, I was staring and smiling at you but it wasn’t what you thought. It was because we’ve met before.’
He frowned and concentrated on her face then his eyes widened and he looked down at her trouser-clad legs. ‘What a pity,’ he said slowly, as his eyes came back to hers, ‘you aren’t wearing a skirt. I feel sure I would have recognised you immediately.’
She could tell that he was looking back down four years. Rhiannon flinched inwardly as she remembered with great clarity how she’d been rooted to the spot after he’d smiled at her.
‘I object to being summed up as a pair of legs,’ she said, anything to deflect his memories of the moment plus some genuine indignation.
‘You brought up the subject of your legs in that taxi.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m a different me now.’
‘That’s rather obvious,’ he commented. ‘No longer a chatty, bubbly girl perhaps.’
‘I am four years older.’
‘Is it that long ago?’
She nodded. ‘But to be perfectly honest I know why I was feeling bubbly that day—I’d just got rather a good job.’
She grimaced. ‘But I still can’t work out—’ she gestured with some humour ‘—how I got on to that tack.’
‘An instantaneous attraction?’ he suggested. ‘Despite claiming to be turned off all men.’
She studied him for a moment. His thick dark hair was straight and lay on his forehead. A little network of lines creased attractively beside his eyes when he laughed. His skin was tanned and, although he was clean-shaven, he’d probably look sensational with designer stubble; look dangerous, moody, gloriously sexy and desirable…
‘Uh—’ she reined in her thoughts with an inward frown ‘—no—yes. I mean to say I’m still turned off men, Mr Richardson. How about you? I gather you’re still “unspoken for”?’
‘You gather right,’ he said easily. ‘So what was it, then?’
She studied her hands then shrugged. ‘Just one of those things. Look,’ she swept her hair back from her face with her forefinger, not to know at all that it was the first time Lee Richardson not only saw the gesture but also found it got to him in a way he was hard put to describe, ‘may I make a request?’
His eyes narrowed and he hesitated briefly, then, ‘Go ahead.’
‘Can we put it all behind us? It was just one of those things and, if you really want me to get stuck in and sort out your home life, the best way is for us to make a fresh start.’
On the other hand, in light of what she’d been hired to do, a complicated-enough situation in its own right, he’d be mad to invite further complications.
‘All right,’ he said coolly and shrugged as he got out of the car.
Rhiannon took an unexpected breath because, as he closed his door, it was a bit like having a private door closed in her face. Why should it make her feel so curiously rebuffed?
There was a surprise waiting for them.
The house was in darkness and locked.
Lee Richardson frowned then retrieved his keys from his pocket and unlocked the heavy wooden front door. He led Rhiannon through the marble-tiled hall, switching on lights as they went, and into the kitchen.
It was a large, modern kitchen with black mottled granite counters and a commercial-size range and refrigeration—Rhiannon noted these things instinctively. There was a box pine table surrounded by six ladder-back chairs and there were some colourful pot plants.
Lee Richardson put his keys down beside a phone on one of the counters, and pressed the message button that was blinking frenziedly.
It was a long message that came through and the caller, a man, sounded agitated.
‘Lee, Matt here, Mary’s done a bit of a bunk. I think she was really gutted about getting the caterers mixed up and she’s gone home to her mother. All she’ll say is she’s quite sure you and the super-housekeeper or whatever she is will be able to organise things much better than she could so she’ll leave it all up to you both. I don’t fly in from Perth until Sunday afternoon but I’ll pick her up from her Mum’s then and bring her up…’
There was a pause then Matt Richardson continued, ‘Don’t be too hard on her, bro, she is pregnant and maybe that’s panicking her too. And I know you can handle the blasted party, somehow. Bye. Oh, by the way, the numbers may have grown.’ Click.
Lee Richardson swore softly.
‘Oh, dear,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Perhaps she’s left a guest list?’
‘Entirely too sane and sensible for Mary to think of that,’ he said grimly then shrugged. ‘So. Would you like a drink?’
Rhiannon pulled out a chair and sank into it. ‘A glass of wine wouldn’t go amiss if you’ve got one.’
‘I have a whole cellarful but there should be some chilled in the fridge.’
There was and he poured a glass for her. He mixed himself a Scotch and water.
He said, as he sat down opposite her, ‘Has this ever happened to you before, Ms Fairfax?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘No. But it’s not insurmountable. Pregnancy can produce some curious mood swings,’ she murmured almost to herself—then added swiftly, ‘I believe she’s also an actress?’
He stared at her rather penetratingly before saying, ‘Yes.’ He sat back and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘What I’d really like to do is call the whole thing off.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea? Mightn’t it reinforce your obvious disapproval of your sister-in-law?’
A rapier-like blue gaze came her way then Lee Richardson smiled reluctantly. ‘Is it that apparent?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I see why you’re good at this kind of thing. Cool and logical. Funnily enough,’ he looked amused, ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for such a cool, logical girl four years ago.’
Rhiannon moved a little uncomfortably.
‘On the other hand I did find you charming,’ he said. ‘And forthright.’
‘I don’t suppose you’re ever going to let me live that down,’ she said tartly then looked more uncomfortable. ‘Not that any “ever” is going to be involved.’ She took a sip of wine and added, ‘Just the duration of the job.’
He squared his shoulders and studied her comprehensively until she broke out into goose-pimples at the way that dark blue gaze slid over her upper body. Then he drawled, ‘Do you really think so?’
Rhiannon’s nose took on a slightly pinched look. ‘I know so!’ She drained her glass and said coolly, ‘Are you doing the party or not?’
He considered. ‘Yes.’
‘Then would you mind if I had a look around, just to assess the facilities?’
‘Be my guest, but I’ll show you to your bedroom first.’
Rhiannon woke the next morning at five o’clock, as the sun was just climbing over the horizon, and took a few minutes to collect her thoughts.
Southall itself was beautiful, even from the impressions she’d got in the dark last night.
The house had sandstone walls beneath a vast shingle roof. Fluted columns supported the veranda roof, some of them smothered with flowering creepers—heavenly scented white jasmine at the moment.
Wooden shutters graced the windows and the paved courtyard off the main entrance had a gargoyle fountain and a fabulous display of pink camellias in terracotta tubs.
The main rooms were high-ceilinged and perfectly proportioned. Sealed timber floors were scattered with priceless Persian and Chinese rugs. The furniture was a mixture of heirloom and antique, walnut, mahogany, silky oak, and the sheer luxury of modern cushioning in couches and chairs covered in topaz velvet or white brocade.
The lamps, and there were many of them, had a bouquet of deep silk shades in just about every lovely zinnia colour.
The dining-room table seated sixteen and had an exquisite floral inlay.
Behind the scenes, she’d found a large linen press with some of the fine heirloom stuff encrusted with lace appliqués. There were six dinner services to choose from, one of them a very old Spode willow-pattern service that took her back to her childhood—her parents had had one and she’d loved counting the birds and all the other features. There was a vast Community Plate cutlery set in its own cabinet.
Waterford and Stuart crystal glassware abounded. There was enough silverware, including rare pieces like fish forks—from the days when it had been considered a crime to touch fish with steel knives—to keep a butler occupied solely with polishing it.
She’d been allotted a charming bedroom. It had blue and white dotted wallpaper, a double bed beneath a white silk quilt and French Colonial furniture on a powder-blue carpet. She had her own en suite bathroom.
But—she hitched her pillows up a bit—there was a slightly neglected air overall.
Not so surprising, perhaps, with all the dusting and polishing that was required and after some years without a mistress, only a master, in charge of the house.
She sat up with a sudden frown. Lee Richardson.
No wonder she’d got that impression four years ago that there was more to him than being at home in a boardroom! He not only controlled a vast cattle empire, but he’d also been brought up on cattle stations.
No wonder he was quick-thinking, resourceful and physically powerful.
And, yes, still a compellingly attractive man who’d haunted her dreams for a while but only in a fantasy way, surely? When you’d been dumped by a fiancé upon discovery that you didn’t stand to inherit a fortune, when you’d lost the most precious thing you thought you could ever have, the scars were too deep even to think of falling in love again, weren’t they?
She grimaced. They certainly had been over the past few years. Apart from a small hiatus when a man she’d shared a taxi with had invaded her imagination, she’d lived like a nun, she’d thought like a nun in so much as no other man had made any impression on her.
Then again, maybe she’d just been too busy, too tied down with responsibilities to live any other kind of life. Which led her to wonder if the scars she’d carried had healed more than she’d realised…
Was that why Lee Richardson had walked back into her life and reawakened some awkward memories rather successfully? Or was it the way he looked at her…?
She swallowed uncomfortably and pleated the co
verlet with slender ringless fingers. Then she reminded herself that she was here on a job and no man, however he might embody that sort of aloof, irresistible glamour, was going to stand in her way of doing it.
So she would revert to that nun-like status smartly!
She got up and showered. She pulled a pair of jeans on, a navy blouse and a sky-blue sleeveless quilted jacket—easy to shed when the cool of a morning on the hinterland escarpment warmed up.
There was no one in the kitchen, no sign of life in the house, so she made herself a mug of tea and took it outside to have a look at the gardens.
What met her eyes as she came round the back of the house, or the side the main rooms looked out onto, took her breath away.
Smooth green lawn, a rose garden to die for, a sparkling, grotto-like swimming pool with a shingle-roofed pool house with fluted columns to match the main house, then the ground fell away and the view hit you.
Unobstructed views all the way to the blue Pacific Ocean, rimmed, but looking small and insubstantial in the distance, by the towers of Surfers’ Paradise and the Gold Coast. She could even see three hot-air balloons that she appeared to be looking down on.
She was drinking it all in when a voice behind her said, ‘Morning, ma’am.’
She turned to see a man in overalls, boots and an old baseball cap carrying a set of baskets and a set of secateurs. He introduced himself as the head gardener, Cliff Reinhardt.
Rhiannon introduced herself and complimented him on his roses. He immediately offered her some for the house as well as some fresh vegetables, and gave her a tour of the garden.
Half an hour later Rhiannon not only had a basket of fresh fruit and vegetables—strawberries, cucumbers, a variety of lettuce, the most mouthwatering-looking tomatoes, asparagus, aubergines and more—but she also had enough roses to fill several large vases.
The garden was Cliff’s pride and joy and rightly so. It was three acres, although the whole property took up fifteen, of sweeping lawns, huge gum trees, secret walkways and shady nooks. There was a delightful loggia smothered in port-wine magnolia. There were beds of agapanthus, lavender, daisies and gardenias as well as native plants renowned for attracting birds like grevilleas, melaleucas and kangaroo paw. The hedge-enclosed herb and vegetable garden was a work of art.