“Francesca, sweetheart!” Quickly he pushed her head to her knees, one arm around her strongly and within moments he was rewarded by the little sounds she made as she came around fully.
“I nearly fainted.” Her voice was weak and husky.
“Don’t talk.” A few moments more and he let her head come up slowly, her long hair hanging in dripping coils. “I’m furious with myself for leaving you,” he admitted. “Thank God I came back. How do you feel?”
The first shock over, Francesca started to realise her situation. “Still a bit giddy.”
“Hell!” he said quietly. Now that she was recovering he was back to being excruciatingly aware of her nakedness, trying to keep his eyes on her beautifully shaped legs, imagining his hands stroking their satin length. Petite, she was perfectly proportioned, the most graceful nude a master such as Renoir might have painted, though there was far less of her than his usual voluptuous young models. But the red-gold hair, the extraordinary luminescent flesh, the rose tips of her breasts gave off the same erotic charge. The yellow towel had slipped almost to her waist and he pulled it back up with great delicacy, his sense of touch never more pronounced, never more sensuous, her free-flowing hair fell forward over her shoulders and down in the curve of her back, so richly coloured it lit her skin.
“Myra is coming up to the house to take a look at Richards,” he told her gently. “I think I’ll ask her to also take a look at you.”
She was trembling slightly, a mixture of emotions spiralling through her, not able to handle any of them. “I’m all right,” she protested, shaking her head a little so spray fell on him.
“I’ll get her to come all the same. It won’t hurt.” Grant stood up and walked through to the bathroom coming back with a fresh towel. “Here, let me dry your hair.”
She held the towel tight against her breasts. “I’m dripping all over the coverlet.”
“Who cares! You don’t suppose Ally is going to leave any of this intact?” he asked wryly. “Sing out if I’m hurting you.”
Hurting her? Every sexual nerve end was screaming into life.
Yet she sat quietly, the yellow bath sheet wrapped tight around her while Grant drew her hair back over her shoulder and mopped up the long ends. Then he applied the towel with a more vigorous motion until it was ready to comb. He might have been doing this all his life so efficiently he went to work drawing the wide-toothed tortoiseshell comb down the full length of the strands until the job was done.
“Have you any idea how young you look?” He forgot everything and put his mouth to her tender nape.
Her whole body began to tingle, responding irresistibly, causing her to lean in against his lean powerful frame.
“What are we doing here?” he whispered into her ear, one hand coming down to cup the delicate mound of her breast. “You should be getting dressed. I should be going for Myra.” His head dipped further, his mouth against her ear, the top of his tongue flickering over its shell-like shape. “Francesca!” He began whispering things, endearments that turned her heart over, his breath warm and clean going deeper and deeper into her, like a tunnel that reached into her soul. “You taste of fruit,” he marvelled. “A delicious white peach.”
She thought she would faint again with the pleasure of it. The ravishment.
“God, what’s the matter with me?” he whispered hoarsely something about the attitude of her body concerned him. He lifted his mouth away from her with a remarkable effort. “I’m sorry, you need care not hungry kisses.” His voice was so low and seductive before it turned brisk and businesslike. “If you hold the towel around you I’ll help you get into my shirt. That’s what I came for. Here, Francesca.” He reached for his white shirt, slid it on one slender arm, fixed it around her back, then pushed her arm into the other sleeve.
She didn’t feel able to help him and he seized her hand and kissed it. Then he went down on his haunches in front of her, beginning to do up the buttons, hazel eyes smouldering as his hands skimmed her breasts, slid along the smoothness of the fine cotton, lingered in her lap, the warmth of her, the place where he wanted to be.
“Well that’s done!” Her weakened physical condition was the only thing that saved him. He wanted her so much he could feel his own head swimming. Only then did she make eye contact.
“I love you, Grant,” she said, more sweetly he thought than any other woman would have said it before.
“Will you say that when you’re ready to say your goodbyes to me?” he asked her tenderly, his whole soul crying out for her. “I bet you never even told your father about me.”
It was true. It never seemed to be the right time when she rang home. Her letters contained a lot of news: people, places, families, her own family the Kinrosses, and their neighbours the Camerons. But unless her father was excellent at reading between the lines he would have little idea she had fallen madly in love with Grant Cameron. Why didn’t she tell him? Was she a coward? She only knew her father had always been there for her when her mother wasn’t. She dreaded the thought of hurting him, a beloved parent, shattering his dreams.
“Somebody ought to tell him, Francesca,” Grant warned. “Tell him straight, you owe him that. If you can’t. I can. Then you’ll really know what to expect.”
Her delicate fingers touched his face, tracing the cleft in his chin. “How would you tell him?” Was he offering a magical solution?
He made a little sardonic grimace. “What do you think, flower face, I’d hop on a plane.”
“Just like that?” His decision seemed to galvanise her.
“Why not?” Your father doesn’t bother me. He bothers you. He even bothers Fee who doesn’t give a damn about anyone. I suppose that’s what comes of being a belted earl.” Grant stood up determinedly. “Now I’m going to get Myra to take a look at you. Why don’t you lie down while I’m gone.”
“I’ll take the daybed near the door.” Francesca made an attempt to stand up, Grant assisting her until she was upright. Her feet were aching, she realised without surprise. But what about her neck and her back? How had she hurt herself? The answer was obvious, struggling with Glenn, first to get him off the ground then mounted on Gypsy. Strangely she hadn’t felt much of anything at the time. She was going to have to suffer for it now. But she had no intention of complaining. It wasn’t her way and she had brought a lot of it on herself. She should have left Glenn to go for help. Even as she thought it she knew she would do the same thing all over again. Ally always told her she was a softie.
She looked utterly adorable in his shirt. It was miles too big for her, but for all that or maybe because of it she looked as innocent as a child. Yet incredibly sexy. The flame-coloured mane he had combed back from her face and over her shoulders was drying in the late-afternoon sun. It radiated light, the perfect foil for the creaminess of her skin. She touched every part of him, the sight of her an actual hand squeezing his heart.
He took her chin between his fingers, tilting her face to him, staring into those starry eyes with a very serious expression. A total acceptance of his role. “I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my whole life,” he told her, his voice harsh with emotion, but reverent. “I’ve dreamed about you. Night after night after night. I want you in my bed. I want to take your precious gift of virginity. And it is a gift, Francesca. I want to be the only man in your life. Ever.”
The whole room seemed to be filled with the fabulous colours of the sunset. Tears came from a deep place inside of her. “And I’m yours to keep. To have and to hold.”
Triumph blazed in his eyes. His arms closed around her so strongly they almost lifted her from the floor. He found her upturned mouth, a smile of utter bliss at its corners, her tongue feverish to mate with his. The kiss went on forever. “Do you love me?” she whispered frantically, twisting away from him for a few seconds. “Say it. Say it.”
“Say it? I’ll show you.” His whole body was reverberating with passion. There was no alternative left in the world for
them but marriage. And God how he wanted it. He would do anything for her. Fly to England. Seek out her father. Speak to him. Ask for his approval. He owed him that courtesy. With Francesca by his side he could build something of great value. She needn’t jettison her old life altogether. He would always allow her to visit her father, her homeland, her friends. Hell he’d find time to go with her. She was the only woman who would make his life right and he was drunk on her love.
Fee calling in to see how her daughter was, found her and Grant locked in a kiss so passionate she felt no one had the right to intrude on such intimacy. But disturb them she must, discovering in herself a great rush of regrets. Although she had known Francesca and Grant were in love she’d had no real inkling of the depth of their feelings.
What she was witnessing was something irrevocable. Something that would work. A cataclysm of desire the likes of which she had never thought her lovely young daughter capable. Francesca was so young, so inexperienced, sheltered all her life. Now it seemed Grant Cameron had taught her all about her own sensuality. This wasn’t the holiday affair she had feared. Francesca’s loyalty lay with Grant Cameron when Fee genuinely believed it lay elsewhere.
While Fee stood rigid, unable to move, Grant and Francesca finally became aware of her presence. They didn’t spring apart. They didn’t act in the least guilty. They broke apart slowly. Francesca shook her long hair back from her face and Grant gave his white mocking smile.
“Fee, you’ve made an art form of exits and entrances.”
If she’d been thirty years younger Fee would have blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude but I thought at least Francesca you’d be lying down. And what on earth have you got on?” She peered at her daughter’s petite figure, astonishment on her face.
“Goodness, Mamma, can’t you see?” Francesca came forward for inspection, the most beautiful smile blooming on her face. “It’s a man’s shirt. Grant’s.”
“And it looks very fetching,” Grant remarked, reaching for Francesca’s hand, a unity of two. “Actually, Fee, we made a mistake leaving Francesca. She all but fainted under the shower.”
Fee who couldn’t even remember all her lovers’ names looked and sounded aghast. “And you rescued her?”
“Thank God I was on the spot,” Grant answered very seriously. “I returned with the shirt and heard Francesca’s moans.”
If it hadn’t been her own daughter, Fee would have come out with something possibly caustic, instead she rushed to Francesca’s side. “Is this true, darling? You’re such a delicate creature.”
“Even Ally might have fainted after a trek like that,” Grant offered dryly.
“I don’t think so, dear,” Fee said. “Ally wouldn’t have been fool enough to take pity on the man.”
“Lucky Ally to get your approval, Mamma,” Francesca said with a gentle touch of censure.
“Oh, you know what I mean!” Fee cried. “Don’t be miffed at me, darling. You’re such a tender-hearted little thing.”
A wry smile spread across Grant’s face. “And there is the shining fact, she makes no fuss. None of us have heard a word of complaint from her. Francesca may be tender-hearted and I love her for it, but she knows how to handle herself. Tell you what. You two have a talk. I’ll go fetch Myra. Francesca is looking a vision at the moment but we can’t overlook the fact she did go into a faint.”
“For a girl who nearly passed out you’re looking the vision Grant said,” Fee commented, looking into her daughter’s eyes. “You’ve come to an important decision, haven’t you?”
“I knew right from the beginning,” Francesca answered simply. “Grant had certain fears for me. As you did, Mamma, and probably still have. But ours won’t be a marriage between two very different people. A marriage between two cultures, two different lands. Grant and I are soul mates. We agree on mostly everything. All the important things anyway. Now he’s finally realised I will be able to adapt to his world. Something I’ve known for years. I’ve loved my mother’s country since I was ten. It speaks to me, too.”
Fee thought for a long time. “I should have seen that, darling,” she said, “but as usual I was too self-engrossed.”
“I know in my heart, Mamma, this is right. Grant and I will aid each other. He trusts me. He respects me. He knows I can help him. That’s the way of a real marriage.”
Fee touched her daughter’s cheek with love and un-characteristic humility. “Do you realise how lucky you are, darling? It’s taken me half a lifetime to find my other half. David loves me just the way I am. Your father desperately wanted me to change. Still he mattered a great deal to me at one time.”
“He loved you, Mamma,” Francesca pointed out gently, ever loyal to her father.
“They all did, darling,” Fee argued, juggling all her memories, “if I say so myself I was very hotly desired.”
“So am I.” Francesca gave her enchanting smile, moving over to the daybed near the French doors and sinking back on it. “I want Father to give me away. I want to go forward to my new life with my hand on my father’s arm.”
“Of course, darling,” Fee agreed. “But you must tell him about Grant without delay. Once he sees how happy you are I’m sure there will be no anger, no pressure.” Fee sincerely hoped not, finding solace in the knowledge the earl doted on his daughter. Besides, stacked up against Jimmy Waddington, Grant would emerge the overwhelming winner.
“As it happens, Grant wants to fly home to see Father,” Francesca was saying, sounding as though her own resolve had firmed considerably. “He wants to speak to Father himself. I’m not afraid they won’t get on. In many ways Father and I are very much alike.”
“You do show your lineage,” Fee agreed. “Little bits of us both you carry around with you.”
“And I’m going with him,” Francesca said. “There are many things I want to explain to Father. Many things to thank him for. As for Father and Grant! I think they’ll find plenty to talk about,” Francesca said prophetically. “There’s nothing to stop him coming to see us from time to time.”
“My darling, count on it,” Fee said. “Especially when you have your first baby.”
Both women laughed, a wonderful companionable sound.
When had her daughter turned from a charming child into a woman ready to take on the biggest challenge in life, Fee thought. Quite obviously when I wasn’t looking.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TEN days later with the outback location shots completed and Francesca’s small part in the film over, Ngaire, Glenn and the crew, returned to Sydney taking Fee and David with them. Fee still had some scenes, shot in and around Sydney, to go and she needed to prepare for the big party she was throwing to launch her biography. That was set for the end of the month.
“Thank you for saving my life, Francesca,” Glenn exaggerated suavely on departure, taking her hand and pressing a lingering warm kiss on it. “I can’t wait to see you again at Fee’s party. You were absolutely perfect as Lucinda. The best we could have hoped for.”
Ngaire agreed with a hug and a kiss. “Let’s face it, darling, you could have a career if you wanted it.”
Not when I have a better one in mind, Francesca thought, keeping her own big news for the time quiet.
Grant watching Richards turn on the charm had the satisfaction of knowing by the next time Richards saw Francesca she would be very much engaged. He had the ring in his pocket. It had only arrived the day before. And it was breathtaking! Fit for a princess. He’d faxed the family jeweller over a week ago, listing his requirements. 18ct white gold set with a finest quality diamond. Maybe 1.5 or 1.6cts—he left it to them—thinking a 2ct central stone would be too big for Francesca’s small, elegant hand. The central diamond was to be flanked by something different. Rare pink diamonds? Perhaps pear-shaped? He drew a sketch of what he wanted, the cost coming in as a secondary consideration. His gift to her had to be just right. The ring was to be exquisite. As flowerlike as Francesca herself.
The jeweller
lost no time at all sending a return fax with two detailed sketches featuring a classic central stone, one oval, one round, flanked by the finest quality Argyle pink diamonds. In the second sketch the pink diamonds were pave set. He knew immediately which one he wanted. It all but fitted his own design except for the oval-shaped central stone, which looked better than his own idea of a round cut, the flanking pink diamonds set like leaves. He felt charged to the hilt, desperate to slide it on her finger.
“Rebecca has asked me to stay to lunch,” he told her as they watched the charter flight lift into the peacock-blue sky. “After that I have to get back to Opal to supervise a maintenance check.” He lowered his head, his eyes beneath the wide brim of his akubra, glittering like gemstones. “What if we take a quick run out to Myora? I want to show you something.”
She looked at him with pleasure. “That will be lovely! I’ve been meaning and meaning to show you my sketchbooks but with all the rush of the filming there hasn’t been much time. Fee kept them hard at it. She wanted it all over before the book launch. And you haven’t really answered the question. Are you coming?”
“I insist on coming,” he said dryly. “What with Richards still acting loverlike. Who said he could press kisses into your hand?”
“Didn’t mean a thing,” she teased.
“I hope so, I’m amazed by his cheek.”
Ten minutes out on their cross-country drive they stopped to watch a pair of roaming emus, one of the world’s largest birds, conducting a comic mating dance. The male was acting up so crazily, kicking up its long legs, crossing them, lifting itself off the ground, Francesca couldn’t stop laughing. The female on the other hand was displaying a considerable hauteur that could have passed as indifference, stalking about the male or preening her mass of feathers, the assumed indifference as it turned out far from the case.
The English Bride Page 15
