“So far as I can see I’m her only real friend.”
“And I admire you for it, Antoinette,” Sonia responded, a brief glint in her eyes. “Family loyalty is important.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing Sally and Tara again,” Toni said, to ease the strain.
“And they you,” Sonia fibbed, remembering how both women had been very much against Cate’s choice of her chief bridesmaid. “You haven’t met Andrea. She’s due in at noon. Just in time to join us for lunch. She’s a very attractive young woman. Well educated, well travelled. She’s very taken with Byrne, but I don’t really know how he feels about her. He’s obviously in no hurry to get to the altar. Once I used to think there wasn’t a woman good enough for him. Now I can’t wait to see him married with a family. He’ll be thirty-two next birthday. Time to produce grandchildren and Castle Hill’s heir.” She loved all her children, but she worshipped her firstborn.
“And Joel?”
Sonia laughed. “I’ve lost track of Joel’s romances. He’s never serious for long, though I’m honor bound to tell you he’s very keen to see you. Especially when Byrne said you were ravishing.”
“That was nice of Byrne.”
“A plain statement of fact,” Sonia answered dryly, foreseeing her nieces’ reaction. “By the way, dear, you’ll have to try on your bridesmaid dress. I know you sent us your measurements but there might be some slight alteration necessary. We’ve matched the colours of the gowns to your colouring and the colours in the bridal sheaf Cate will be carrying. She doesn’t want a bouquet and she’s tall enough to carry off a sheaf. Sally will be wearing peony pink, Tara a lovely lilac, Andrea a leaf green to match her eyes and you violet. The fabric is duchesse silk satin, as you know, strapless as is all the rage, with little off-the-shoulder guipure boleros fitting just under the bust for the ceremony. You can take them off later if you want. The bridal sheaf colours will be picked up in the bridesmaids’ headdresses.”
“Sounds lovely.”
Sonia smiled with deep satisfaction. “Gorgeous. The little ones are to wear magnolia taffeta with a tulle underskirt and different sashes to match the bridesmaids. The same goes for the men’s vests. Cate’s gown is absolutely beautiful. She looks marvellous in it. I’ll let her show it to you herself. Now I must be off. Lots of things to do. We’ll meet up again at lunch. Then there’s polo this afternoon and our little party tonight.”
“Thank you once again for giving it for me, Sonia. It’s very kind.”
“A pleasure, my dear.” Sonia Beresford walked to the door and paused. “You know, despite your extraordinary resemblance to Zoe, you have a decided look of your father. Something about the expression and the way you turn your head. You’re not Zoe’s build, either. No, there are glimpses of Eric there.”
Maybe enough to save me, Toni thought.
CHAPTER THREE
THE canyon was long and narrow, with steep walls that blazed like wildfire. At regular intervals they had to ford a stream, shallow now but a rampaging torrent when fed by the northern monsoons. Slender ghost gums flourished on both sides of the rugged escarpment, their white limbs highlighting a brilliant blue sky. He and two of his men had been tracking “clean skins” since dawn, unbranded cattle that sought to evade the muster by hiding out in the canyon with its water and great variety of vegetation. They were gaining on the mob steadily. When they finally caught up he would return to the house. He didn’t want to be away any longer than was necessary. He had the polo match scheduled for the afternoon, which rather surprisingly was taking a back seat in his mind to the arrival of Miss Antoinette Streeton. For the first time in a long time he felt a quickening of flesh and blood. It gave him a certain ironic enjoyment. He was beginning to think the only thing he could revel in was his love for the land. His land. Castle Hill. Now, totally out of the blue, young Toni Streeton with her Parisian gloss. It was a physical thing, of course. He derived an intense pleasure from beauty in any form. No, be fair. From her radiant presence. She was so much Woman, that mysterious goddess-like creature who held men spellbound. It was all very stimulating. But it couldn’t go anywhere. More than anything he wanted to preserve his perfect wholeness, the sense of being his own master.
A kilometer along the canyon a large red kangaroo suddenly jumped from a high point on the escarpment onto the white pebbled floor, startling the horses, who reared wildly in protest at the kangaroo’s senseless antics. Samson, his aboriginal tracker, so called because of his long, luxuriant black hair and full beard, swore colourfully as he reined his horse in, then, when the animal quieted, leaned over to gently pat its side. There were more kangaroos farther down, a half dozen big reds drinking lazily at a pool coloured a lime green, but they bounded away as the riders galloped toward them. They were in clear sight of the mob now, driving them out of the canyon at a hectic rush, whips cracking harmlessly over their backs.
As they broke out onto the grasslands Beresford turned his horse away and called a final instruction. It would take a good half hour’s ride to reach the main compound. The whole exercise had taken a little longer than he had anticipated. He pulled his Akubra over his eyes and put the big gelding to the gallop, causing great clouds of emerald to rise from the graceful Willowy canopy of desert oak. Budgerigar. They scattered like so much confetti thrown at a wedding. It was a sight he saw every day of his life, yet he was still touched by the magic.
By the time he reached the main compound he was pretty much played out. A nice cold shower would revive him. He felt hot and disheveled, his face and denim shirt sheened with fine red dust and splotches of muddy water he had picked up in the chase. At the stables he threw the reins to one of the boys who came running, swept off his Akubra and wiped the sweat from his brow. He could enter the house from the rear, using the utility room that formed part of the kitchen complex to wash the worst of the dust from his face and hands.
Inside the house he heard the voice of their longtime housekeeper, Bridie, who reigned supreme over the household staff. As usual she was giving instructions to her helpers, young aboriginal girls from the mission who chose to live and work on the station to be close to their roots. It worked very well. The girls were as cheerful as they were efficient, and they took the load off Bridie, who was now in her sixties.
He laughed when he saw his face in the mirror above the washbasin. He looked like a bush ranger, a dangerous man on the run. His hair, released from the wide-brimmed hat, sprang into a mad tousle of crow-black waves he never could iron out, the grime accentuating the peculiar glitter of his eyes. Hell, even he thought they were strange eyes. The eyes of a fanatic, a visionary? He was no saint. A quick wash restored him to something like normality. He flung the used towel into a basket and strode out of the room, through the lobby, past the wall of pantries and the large refrigerated room to the staircase that would take him to his suite of rooms in the east wing.
One hand on the newel, his foot on the first stair, a ribbon of sound stopped him. Light humming, interspersed with a few sweet melodious notes. A woman’s voice. It was coming from the old ballroom, a vast room in the centre of the house accessed from the entrance hall. The last time it had been used was for Cate’s twenty-first birthday. Now it would be the scene for her wedding ceremony, with the overflow of guests spilling into the library that adjoined it.
His next movement was completely involuntary. Another thing that astounded him. He found himself treading softly down the passageway, keeping to the Persian runner to muffle the sound of his riding boots. He reached the open double doorway of the ballroom and glanced inside.
A young woman danced alone to a slow melody, her eyes half closed, her arms positioned as though she was in the arms of an imaginary partner. One she was in love with. Her expression was dreamy, her mouth curved in a blissful soft smile. She was wearing a summery white dress, extraordinarily incandescent in that dark-panelled room with the incoming light pouring through the soaring casements. The skirt of her dress, clinging lightly to her hips, flare
d as she moved. The long silver gilt hair moved, too, fanning out in a way that made him want to catch hold of it, bury his face in it, run his fingers through the silky scented length.
Lord, what was wrong with him? He was no callow boy, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was almost as though he had been rendered powerless. He could only stand and stare, watching her enchanted performance. She was as beautiful as a painting, moving into a ray of light that clung to her like some heavenly nimbus. Her footsteps on the golden polished floor with its handsome border were almost soundless. She might have been a lovely apparition, an angel come to visit.
He felt the odd conflict stir in him again. Being powerless didn’t suit him. Besides, it was the last thing he needed or wanted.
He brought his hands together in a slow burst of applause. “Maybe tonight we can find you a partner?” Even to his own ears his voice sounded mocking.
She stopped immediately, turning to face him. No trace of embarrassment. “Byrne, you startled me.” The violet eyes sparkled with stars.
“You were that far away?” Again he was compelled to move closer, though he felt moody and disturbed.
“I haven’t danced like that for ages!” She gave a breathless laugh. “Wherever we’ve been it has always been so crowded. Are you thinking of having dancing here tonight?”
“Why not?” he responded, his eyes on her lovely face. “We might as well get as much use out of the room as we can. You know the reception will be held in the old stone stables complex?”
“So Kerry told me. You’ve had it specially renovated.”
He nodded. “It has historic significance for us and a great deal more atmosphere than the main hall. In fact, I have to say it warrants all the money that has been spent on it. Cate will be sure to want to show you over it. Probably tomorrow. There’s so much going on today.” Abruptly he awoke to the fact he must still look like a wild man. “You’ll have to excuse how I look,” he said wryly. “I’ve been clearing out clean skins most of the morning. I was on my way to take a shower when I heard you.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“The siren call.” His tone was dry but his eyes were intense.
“Is that how you think of it?”
“Let’s say once you hear it you’ve no choice but to follow.”
“I hope that means you’re going to dance with me tonight?”
“I’m a terrible dancer.” His lean, powerful body had a touch of tension.
“You couldn’t be. Not the way you move. Why don’t you let me be the judge?” Impishly she put up her arms, but her heart was turning over in excitement.
“In that white dress?” His silvery glance skimmed her body, yet it was enough to make her blood sizzle.
“I’m not suggesting we get too close.” She tried to make it sound light.
“Provocative little thing, aren’t you?”
“I’m not that little.” She looked at his tall figure. “Come on, Byrne. Be brave. There’s no one around.”
“And I’m pleased about that.” He reached for her with something like extreme grace, clasping her willowy waist. A touch so light, yet it might have been a flame. He hadn’t intended to do anything, sharply conscious of her shining appearance, only her body seemed to flow to him. There was heat, pleasure, an undermining rush of desire that made him feel immensely wary.
This is wrong, he thought. All wrong. He wouldn’t be drawn into her spun silver web. Neither would he complicate her young life.
Her hand was on his shoulder, and though he tried to ease away they were moving with an exquisite spontaneous rhythm, her sweet, tuneful voice a soft ribbon of sound. It delighted him, gratifying some deep need.
“Isn’t it romantic...” She half sang, half hummed the theme song from Audrey Hepburn’s famous movie Sabrina, only the lightness she planned didn’t quite come off. There was a thread of real emotion in her voice, betraying the fact she, too, was shaken with a pleasure she had never known.
Dancing with Byrne Beresford was the realisation of a dream. A zone of enchantment. She was mindless of her expensive dress. She wanted him to draw her closer, but just when it seemed he was about to throw off his restraint, his arms fell away abruptly, leaving her feeling almost rebuffed.
“I got a real kick out of that, Antoinette,” he drawled.
She didn’t need radar to detect the sexual animosity. “I’m convinced we could have done better.” She tried to speak lightly, but he was all taut, suppressed energy.
“There are a few factors to be considered, Antoinette.”
“Such as?” she asked innocently, looking at the same time extraordinarily desirable.
“I’m very much aware of your age and the fact you’re about to join the family,” he told her.
“How does that affect our dancing together?” She was flushed and excited.
“You should see your face. It’s glowing.”
She put an involuntary hand to her cheek. It burned. “I thought you liked my face.”
“It should be on a coin.” His tone was sardonic. “There’s no use whatever trying to captivate me, Antoinette, so don’t go putting your heart and soul into it.”
She was surprised by her quiet rejoinder. “I would think captivating you would prove a very difficult business.” She knew it sounded a little tart.
“You could handle it.” He shrugged.
All of a sudden, heat suffused every pore of her skin. “You wouldn’t consider placing bets, would you?” She watched his handsome mouth quirk.
“I never gamble when I can’t guarantee the results.”
“Then you’re not a bit of fun, are you?” She looked at him through her long, curling lashes. At that moment pure Zoe.
“Scared, too.” He smiled. Her sexuality, radiant as it was, had an. innocent, tremulous quality he found very sweet.
“Of me?” She couldn’t stop her voice rising.
“A beautiful woman makes cowards of us all,” he drawled.
“Oh, go take your shower.” Exasperated, she turned away.
“The hell of it is, I need it.” He laughed, amusement in his sparkling eyes. “I have to be careful, so careful, around you.”
By noon most of the guests had arrived. Some flew in, some made the overland trek. In such a vast country most people thought nothing of a drive involving hundreds of miles of travel. The whole idea was getting there, and Castle Hill was famous for its polo parties. All the guests would be returning for the wedding, expected to be a clear winner in wedding-of-the-year stakes. Both young people were very popular, with many friends. The Beresfords numbered among the rich and legendary, the homestead was out of this world and therefore the big event was looked forward to with great anticipation. It was a chance, too, for the women to dress up, and they put their hearts, not to speak of their money, into planning their wardrobes.
They all met for lunch in the informal dining room set up for a buffet—ham, chicken, turkey, a side of smoked salmon with a variety of salads and something hot in covered dishes. It all looked delicious, Toni thought, her eyes skimming across the-refectory table to the series of open French doors. Family and guests were assembled there or spilling onto the colonnaded terrace, immersed in conversation, which seemed to break off abruptly as she entered the room.
The return of the infamous Zoe Streeton’s daughter, she thought, finding it painful when the plain truth of the matter was she couldn’t have looked more lovely or more herself.
Joel made that perfectly clear, beating everyone to get to her. “An angel, as I live and breathe! Toni, how marvellous to see you again.” He looked at her with smiling pleasure, blue eyes bright. At twenty-four Joel was almost as tall as his brother, but where Byrne had a powerful fully developed physique, Joel was lanky but with the Beresford good shoulders.
“It’s lovely to see you, Joel.” On a wave of warmth, Toni presented her cheek and Joel made the most of it, his lips lingering on her creamy skin, savouring it.
/> “I think you can take it, Toni, you’ve come up to Joel’s expectations.” Byrne joined them, looking at his brother with wry amusement.
Joel couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You’re so much like your mother,” he said, his eyes very bright.
“Antoinette has her own identity,” Byrne told him smoothly. “We’re not going to let you monopolize her, either.” He took Toni’s arm with assured grace. “Come and meet the others, Toni. Most you’ll know or remember.”
The Beresford cousins, the watchful expression in their eyes at variance with the bright smiles. Tall, dark, long-limbed, with a strong familial look.
“Nice to see you again, Toni,” Sally, the nicer one, said. “I love your dress. Did you buy that in Paris?”
“Yes.” Toni smiled.
“I thought as much.” Tara raised delicate brows. “I suppose you went to all the fashion shows?”
Toni smiled again. “Not likely. I could never get in.” She didn’t say she had met several of the world’s top models and found them very friendly and levelheaded.
Next came the polo players with their wives and girlfriends. Fern Patterson, sister to James, the captain of the opposing team. Fern was small, fair, with a stylish tousle of blond curls and a capable, intelligent little face. Although Toni liked the look of her, her radar detected that Fern was somewhat wary. It wasn’t until later Toni found out why. Fern had been Joel’s girlfriend for almost a year. Something of a record.
Andrea Benton was a surprise. Not pretty at all, yet by dint of know-how and discipline she managed to look striking. Tall, thin and tanned, she wore her expensive clothes well. Her light green eyes were very clear and direct. She had excellent teeth and a very attractive smile. But it was her hair that drew the most attention. Cut in a short medieval bob, it was an impossible but eye-catching burgundy. Cate later told Toni that Andrea changed the colour of her hair at the drop of a hat.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Toni.” Andrea shook Toni’s hand firmly. Her voice was good, well-pitched, educated, with that faint note of arrogance common to the very rich.
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