‘I would have died rather than kiss you!’ she pronounced, controlling her voice rigidly so that all it projected was withering scorn.
He raised his eyebrows, but said gravely, ‘Then you won’t mind if we proceed upstairs? I’m expecting a phone call.’
There was something extremely undignified in the way she scrambled out of the car—all legs, elbows, flying hair and scarlet-faced as she grappled with the compelling desire to get to Damien Moore and scratch his eyes out.
Fortunately, before she succeeded in this ambition, sanity returned. It was still an uncomfortable ride up in the lift to his apartment, though. She was still breathing a little raggedly and looking like a red-haired thunder cloud, whereas he seemed to be entirely relaxed as he leant against the lift wall and studied her casually.
‘I’ll just get my things and go,’ she said frostily as he unlocked the door.
‘No need to rush off. Wouldn’t you care to change first?’
Lee clicked her tongue and looked down at herself, annoyed.
‘All right.’
‘I’ll make us the coffee we missed out on in the meantime.’
‘I’m not staying around to drink coffee with you for hours,’ she warned. ‘I’ve got a nursery to run and I wasn’t expecting to be away this long anyway.’
‘I’ll try to keep it as brief as possible,’ he replied gravely.
Lee opened her mouth, then turned on her heel and marched away in the direction of the spare bedroom.
Once she was changed, she sat down on the end of the bed and looked around. If, she thought acidly, his last affair had ended disastrously, as his mother had briefed her, whose clothes and cosmetics were taking up space in this room? A part-time lover? A career woman who was not looking for commitment, perhaps, as opposed to a serious mistress or a serious relationship?
She bit her lip on discovering she didn’t like the thought of that one bit. Why? Because it made him the kind of man she didn’t approve of, or…? Stop there, Lee Westwood, she ordered herself. This is going to be hard enough without getting jealous over some faceless woman!
She picked up her string bag, and the carrier bag she’d packed her new clothes into, and sallied forth, determined to blot Damien Moore’s spare bedroom and its contents from her mind.
She found him in his study, a book-lined room complete with desk and all sorts of computerware. He was behind the desk, but there was a big leather armchair and on the low table in front of it there was tray set with one cup and plunger pot of coffee.
He was working at the computer as she came in, and had already poured his coffee, but he sat back and looked her over thoroughly. ‘That’s better,’ he remarked, his lips twisting.
Lee looked down at herself in her T-shirt, jeans and boots. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her green scarf was draped around her neck. She frowned. ‘What do you mean? You gave me to understand you didn’t approve of my clothes, and now you seem to be saying you didn’t approve of these!’ She raised the carrier bag to bring it to his attention, then dropped it to the floor with a plop to signify righteous indignation.
‘It’s not that I didn’t approve of them,’ he said meditatively. ‘I just…have some affection for your one-woman SWAT team model, I guess.’
Lee stared at him with her nose somewhat pinched. ‘You’re a hard man to please,’ she said, and sat down.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘Not in the least,’ she denied untruthfully. ‘So. What was it you said you’d be as brief as possible about? And I mean really brief.’ She glanced at her watch.
‘All right. Are we still going to get married, and, if so, where and when?’
‘I…’ She fiddled unconsciously with the diamond on her left hand, ‘I don’t know.’
‘Still having second thoughts, Lee?’
‘I’m just thinking—it sounds fine on paper,’ she said intensely, ‘but take your moving into Plover Park, for example. You could be bored stiff. It’s very quiet. It’s country! There are mice, possums, spiders—even snakes.’
‘I can’t claim to like them, but a snake or two has never bothered me.’
Lee poured her coffee and sighed. ‘I wish I could think of some other way to do this.’
‘There is—you could move in with me.’
She stared at him out of stunned eyes, shocked into speechlessness.
‘Then there isn’t another way, Lee,’ he said. Something in the way he said it made her feel suddenly wary. As if she was looking down the barrel of a gun, for example. And she remembered his words of the previous day about what his simplest course of action would be.
‘Then I’ll leave it up to you to arrange the wedding—just no church,’ she said quietly.
‘All right. It’ll probably take about two weeks to organise, and I’d really appreciate it if you could come up here for it. I’m going to be absolutely flat to the boards getting all my ends tied up so I can get away.’
She grimaced inwardly and it occurred to her to wonder how she would break this news to her grandparents. Perhaps it would be best to just do it and leave the explanations until after the fact. She said slowly, ‘Yes, I will.’ She looked around. ‘Don’t blame me if you find yourself hating Plover Park, though.’ She stood up and picked up her things.
He surprised her. He said, ‘I’m actually looking forward to it. I need a break.’ He gestured at the computer, then folded his hands behind his head.
‘Do you have any special dietary requirements?’ she asked.
‘Nope—uh—well—’ he eyed her comically ‘—I don’t eat like a rabbit.’
‘So I noticed, so long as someone else cooks for you,’ she returned with some asperity.
‘Oh, I can cook,’ he drawled. ‘I just don’t have the time, normally. But I won’t be a burden to you in that department if that’s what’s worrying you. Cutting into your valuable time by demanding you prepare meals for me like a good little wife, for example,’ he said wickedly.
‘Then I’ll see you when I see you,’ she replied, with as much disdain as she was capable of, and started to stalk out of the room.
‘I hesitate to destroy your exit, Lee—’ he got up leisurely ‘—but you can’t get out of the garage without my key. I’ll come down with you.’
She closed her eyes frustratedly.
He grinned and came over to take her hand. ‘I guess you’re having one of those days.’
‘I guess I am,’ she answered sadly.
‘Never mind. Things can only improve.’
She looked up at him and straightened her shoulders, but they slumped almost immediately.
‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘you’re going home to your beloved nursery.’
‘Of course!’ But it came out gruffly, and to her horror she had to blink away a tear or two. ‘Sorry.’ She pulled out a hanky and blew her nose. ‘I think I’ve had too many shocks in too short a period. I never cry normally.’ She tucked the hanky back into her jeans pocket. ‘OK. Lead on MacDuff!’
But he didn’t immediately lead her down to the garage. He put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on the top of her head for a moment. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said quietly, ‘I won’t let Cosmo hurt you.’ Then he kissed her on the lips.
Lee stood stock still in the circle of his arms and accepted his kiss. She didn’t exactly respond, but that was only because it ended before she could do anything other than find herself flooded—mentally and physically—with an incredible sense of longing to stay put in Damien Moore’s arms. To stay put in his apartment and experience to the full the kind of magic being his lover would bring…
But he released her and said whimsically, ‘Let’s go, José. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.’
It turned out to be an even longer drive, as Lee took a wrong turning and had some difficulty in finding an on-ramp to the Pacific Motorway.
Concentrate! she commanded herself. You’re carrying on like a starstruck kid and it w
on’t do! It’s not as if he’s feeling like jelly inside and all shook up…
Several days later she received a note from Damien, confirming the wedding date. Attached to the note was a cutting from the Sunday Mail society column: a picture of her in Damien’s arms at Ella Patroni’s Gilligan’s Island party. It was a flattering picture. Her black dress looked both sexy and chic, she looked long-legged, sexy and chic—the only problem was she also looked besotted as she gazed up at her tall partner. In fact, the caption said it all… The Secret Fiancée—but obviously in love!
She ground her teeth. In his note, Damien made no mention of the cutting or the caption. Did he, she wondered, put it down to great acting? A hollow little feeling inside her told her that Damien Moore was far too clever and experienced with women to buy that completely. But what to do about it?
She discovered she had no idea.
Two weeks after the party, she returned to his apartment for her wedding.
She had no idea what to expect, although she had taken some care with her appearance. Another new dress—simple but stylish, and green to match her eyes—worn with ivory shoes. Her hair was up, his aunt’s diamond was on her finger. But there was a surprise waiting for her. A small bouquet of exquisite Cooktown orchids—provided by her husband-to-be, who looked breathtakingly handsome in a fawn suit and a dark brown shirt—and Ella and Hank Patroni.
They accompanied them to the register office and acted as witnesses, then took them back to the penthouse where a sumptuous lunch had been set up. And somehow Ella contrived to ignore all the peculiarities of this wedding—including Damien’s mother’s absence—and turn it into a festive occasion.
Ella did say that big weddings were absolutely exhausting for those who had to organise them and she was sure this was a better way to go, and she did take Lee aside and assure her that Evelyn Moore would come round eventually, not to worry, giving Lee to understand that this was how Damien had explained this low-key affair to her.
But Lee had been struck by a tinge of guilt, and for a mad moment was tempted to explain the true nature of her marriage to Damien Moore. She didn’t, however. Then, after the lunch, she and Damien were alone in his apartment.
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
Lee turned to him. She’d been studying the view of the river. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘And thank you for the flowers and for allowing Ella to organise a lunch. But I felt a bit sneaky.’
He grimaced, formed a fist and touched it lightly to the point of her jaw. ‘This may be a business transaction, Lee, but we don’t need to adopt a hole-and-corner approach. I don’t think I told you how attractive you look, by the way, Mrs Moore.’
Lee trembled to think of herself as Mrs Damien Moore. And she remembered how, at the critical moment in the register office, just before he’d slid a gold wedding band on to her finger, Damien had kissed her lightly and said beneath his breath, ‘Don’t worry, it’s going to be OK.’
And perhaps, from the understanding of things she had given him, he really believed that. How different a matter would it be if he could see into her heart?
She said, ‘Thanks,’ and tried to look humorous. ‘Two new dresses in two weeks!’
He grinned. ‘At least I’m having a beneficial effect on the state of your wardrobe! What would you like to do now?’
She breathed a little uncertainly. ‘I think…I’ll go home.’
‘You don’t have to, Lee.’ He frowned.
‘Damien—’ she swallowed ‘—Plover Park is the place I feel happiest—happier than I’ve been for a long time.’ She twirled her rings. ‘That’s why I did this. So, if you wouldn’t mind, I will go home. When will you come down?’
He hesitated briefly. ‘I’m going to need another week to organise myself up here.’
‘Well, I’ll see you then. Thanks again for doing all this so nicely.’
‘Lee…’ He paused and looked in two minds for a moment, then, ‘It was a pleasure. Drive carefully, Mrs Moore.’
A week later, Plover Park looked its best.
With her grandparents’ help the house had been spring-cleaned, the gardens glowed and the nursery was spick and span.
There was no doubt it was a desirable property. Its tree-studded paddocks rolled gently down to a creek. Some stately Murray Grey cows and five playful calves roamed the paddocks, and shared the creek with a variety of birdlife—including, at this time, a family of ducks. The creek meandered in secretive loops and bends between giant camphor laurels and was often studded with water lilies.
The house, which she and Damien had inherited jointly, had come to them furnished, and Cyril Delaney’s taste had been impeccable. It would be fair to say that Lee loved both the house and its furniture.
The house was of sandstone bricks, its main rooms surrounding a brick fireplace that soared beneath wooden cathedral ceilings to a chimney set in a little tower above the sage green roof. The vast lounge and dining room on one side of the fireplace looked across an open flagged terrace towards the creek. The kitchen, on the other side, overlooked a covered veranda, a colourful garden, guarded by a huge box pine, and the orchard. The bedrooms were in two wings at an angle to the central area.
The inside walls were unpainted brick and the furniture was solid but elegant, yet minimalist. All the rooms had lovely views—even the main bedroom’s en-suite bathroom, where you could lie in the bath and watch the birds and the cows. There was not only plenty of wild birdlife at Plover Park, but Lee had also acquired four chickens and a rooster, and three guinea fowl which she treated as pets.
On the day she expected Damien Moore to move in, she had a long chat with her guinea fowl…
‘Now listen here, Roly, Hermione and Lydia,’ she said as she scattered breadcrumbs for them, ‘I think I’ve told you that if I’d known how noisy guinea fowl can be I may have thought twice about buying you. Mind you, I don’t mind your company and your shouting—well, most of the time—but we’re having a visitor and he may not be as agreeable to being woken up at the crack of dawn as I am. That goes for you too, Henry,’ she added sternly to the rooster. ‘And it goes for the whole lot of you in the matter of leaving your calling cards on the verandas!’
‘Lee,’ her grandmother chided, ‘if you didn’t feed them around the house you mightn’t have the problem!’
They were having their morning tea break. Lee went back to the veranda table, pausing to admire a scarlet poinsettia in full bloom, and sat down with a grin. ‘I know. I’m mad! But I like them.’ She patted the head of her devoted golden retriever, Peach, who had lived with her grandparents while she’d been in Brisbane, and he laid his muzzle in her lap.
Mary Mercer looked at her granddaughter affectionately, but then her expression clouded. ‘Darling, you know your grandfather and I couldn’t be more grateful for what you’ve done, but I’m worried about this turn of events.’
Lee tried to look unconcerned. ‘Damien’s OK, Nan.’
‘Perhaps. But…I’m just not really comfortable with you having to marry him to rescue us—’
‘I know,’ Lee interrupted ruefully. ‘But you had no say in the matter,’ she pointed out. ‘I did it first and told you later.’
‘So you did.’ Mary looked pensive. ‘If ever there was a chip off the old block, you’re it. Your mother also used to rush in where angels feared to tread. Come to that—’ she shrugged ‘—your grandfather is the same.’
‘Thanks,’ Lee said wryly. ‘But, Nan, it’s done—so please don’t worry about it.’
‘I’m not so much worried about the fact of it at the moment, but I sense some inner turmoil for you,’ Mary said slowly. ‘Did you do just what Cyril Delaney may have intended to happen, darling?’ she asked gently.
Lee’s eyes flew to her grandmother’s. She might have inherited her mother and grandfather’s impetuosity, but she’d inherited her grandmother’s eye colour. And she could see in those now faded green eyes that her grandmother’s intuition where she was c
oncerned was alive and working well…
She looked away with a sigh. ‘I don’t know what I really think of Damien Moore,’ she said gruffly. ‘I did…I did once think I was in love with him. I have no idea how Cyril may have divined that, or even if he did, but, yes, I’m in some difficulty over Damien.’
‘Could it be that he’s in some difficulty over you?’
Lee blinked. ‘He’s never given me the slightest indication that he could be in love with me.’
‘He married you,’ Mary said quietly.
Lee shrugged. ‘Until this raised its ugly head he had no intention of marrying me.’
‘Men can be cynical—especially men who may have had a lot of women running after them,’ Mary offered.
‘Men—especially men like Damien—are a serious threat to womanhood,’ Lee replied with a spark of humour. ‘Nan, it’s probably just that. You get those irresistible men, like a virus, then one day you wake up to find it’s all out of your system!’
‘I hope so, dear—oh, there you are, Bill!’ she said as Lee’s grandfather strode round the corner of the house. ‘Come and have your tea!’
Bill Mercer ruffled Lee’s hair in passing and sat down. At the same time a metallic blue Porsche drove past the box pine and pulled up.
‘Damn fine car!’ her grandfather pronounced. ‘I wonder if he’ll let me look under the bonnet?’
Lee and Mary exchanged wry glances, because cars tended to supersede all else for Bill Mercer.
‘I’m seriously impressed.’
They were sitting on the terrace, just Lee and Damien. Mary and Bill had gone home to their house in the nearby village.
‘Thanks.’ Lee replied. There was a CD of romantic classics playing softly in the background and her guinea fowl and chickens were fossicking around on the smooth green lawn beyond the terrace. The sky was a deep blue above them, the shadows of the trees were lengthening across the paddocks, and the warm clear air had that special radiance lent to it by a setting sun.
Lee had a glass of wine; Damien was drinking a beer. Dinner—a pasta marinara for which Damien had brought all the ingredients with him and had concocted himself—was under control. The table on the terrace was set.
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