In the Australian Billionaire's Arms

by Margaret Way

  It was too hard to resist. “Do you happen to know the combination?”

  “Do you?” she shot back.

  “I could open it blindfolded. I really don’t want to offend you, Sonya.”

  “Then you couldn’t be doing a better job,” she said coldly, sitting very straight, long legs crossed neatly at the ankles.

  Excellent deportment lessons there. “Your dress was exquisite, by the way. Did Marcus buy it for you?”

  “Ah, the direct approach!” she said, looking down her finely cut nose at him. “I wore it because I had nothing better. Nor could I buy better. The dress is many years old.”

  He sat studying her. She appeared to be telling the truth.

  “Vintage haute couture.” She waved a hand.

  “It looked it,” he said, wanting to pierce her defences.

  She shrugged a shoulder. “But you are not here to discuss my evening dress, which I might tell you belongs to me.” She remembered her beautiful mother wearing it. But that was another time, another place, another world. A time when she had been happy.

  “Actually I’m here to catch up with my uncle,” he said, breaking into her sad thoughts. “My love and loyalty is with him. You must understand that?”

  She gave a light sceptical laugh. “Come now, you have no real right to interfere in his life, David. Marcus is a man in his fifties, a highly intelligent man.”

  “Who in all his adult years has never looked at another woman outside Lucy. Until now,” he retorted sharply. “My big concern, Sonya, is that he doesn’t get hurt. Extraordinarily enough Marcus is an innocent in his way. His health isn’t all that good either. For years the whole family has been concerned he might simply die of a broken heart. That’s how devoted he was to Lucy, his wife.”

  She flicked a platinum tendril off her heated cheek. “I understand the great pain of his loss. Marcus has told me many things about his beloved Lucy.” She could tell him something of her own losses but her rigid sense of caution stopped her.

  “Has he?” Another highly significant thing, he thought.

  “Haven’t you met anyone in your life you immediately identified with?” she asked, hostility in her beautiful green eyes.

  He stared back at her, knowing he could never say he had identified with her. On sight.

  “You won’t be able to take Lucy’s place, Sonya,” he assured her. “No one will let you. You simply don’t know what you’re getting into. The Wainwright family is very powerful. You can’t imagine how powerful. You wouldn’t want to get them offside. You wouldn’t want to embarrass them. Family is very important. So too is the Wainwright fortune. None of us would like to see a huge chunk of it going out of the family. We’re all interconnected in business. You’re far too young for Marcus. You know it. I know it. That said, many people would only see you in one way—as a woman on the make—and hate you for it.”

  “So what you’re saying is, I couldn’t possibly come up to your exalted standards?” she asked with surprisingly cool contempt. “Or is the fact Marcus is thirty years older the main objection?’

  He showed his own anger. “If you were even twenty years older I doubt if I’d be saying any of this. You don’t love Marcus, Sonya. Don’t tell me you do.”

  “I wasn’t about to tell you anything,” she said icily. “The Wainwrights, who are they when it’s all said and done? Billionaires? So what? That’s not class, breeding, tradition. This nation is barely over two hundred years old. You’re parvenus. Your English ancestor, Wainwright, only arrived in this country in the early eighteen hundreds, the flicker of an eyelid. Your family does not impress me.”

  “Evidently.” He was somewhat taken aback by her remarks, yet amused. “So tell me about your illustrious family?” he challenged. “European aristocracy, were they? Counts and countesses a dime a dozen? Or haven’t I given you sufficient time to get a really good story together? Maybe you’re a fantasist? Where do you come from exactly? Is Erickson even your real name?”

  “Maybe I change it,” she said, sounding all of a sudden very foreign.

  “Quite possible. My great-aunt Rowena thinks you have a slight Hungarian accent. She was married to a top British diplomat for many years. She knows Europe. She knows accents.”

  Her eyes blazed emerald. “Well, well, well! I can’t find any other words.”

  “Surely it’s not difficult for you to tell us something of your background? I’m ready to listen.”

  She stood up. “So sorry, David, but I’m not ready to talk. Especially to you. You’re very arrogant for so young a man.”

  He too rose to his feet, making her look small by comparison. “Beside you I’m an amateur,” he said cuttingly.

  Colour stained her high cheekbones. “You do not know the correct way to treat me.”

  “Or address you either. Should it be Contessa?” There was hard challenge in his strikingly handsome face.

  “Who knows what might have been?” she said, then broke off abruptly, as if she had already volunteered too much. Her head tilted into a listening attitude. “That’s Marcus now,” she said thankfully, beginning to walk away from him. “I would not like him to find us arguing. Marcus is a very lonely man. He may think he’s in love with me because I have green eyes. His Lucy had green eyes. I’ve no need to tell you that. Marcus loves you like his own son.”

  “So that gives me rights and obligations, doesn’t it?” he answered tautly, tiring of her play-acting. “Lucy did have beautiful green eyes, but Lucy looked nothing like you. She didn’t act like you either. She was a sweet, gentle woman, which by and large you aren’t. What is it you’re after?”

  She turned to look at him with icy reserve. “I’m sorry, David. It seems to me that’s none of your business. Now I must go and greet Marcus. You may not believe it, but I too want him to be happy.”

  He waited, resisting the urge to go to the window to witness the quality of the greeting. Moments later Marcus came into the living room, a spring in his step. He was looking better than he had looked for ages. There was colour in his skin, a brightness in his eyes. Marcus is a good man, he thought with a lunge of the heart. He deserves another chance at happiness. Only he wasn’t going to stand by and allow a young woman who rebuffed any attempt to invade her privacy to damage their close loving relationship. What did she have to hide anyway? Ultimately her background would have to come out.

  “David, I’m so glad you called in.” Marcus bounded forward to seize his nephew’s hand.

  “I’ve missed seeing you,” David responded. “Sonya has been looking after me.”

  “Wonderful. Wonderful!” Marcus enthused, drawing Sonya forward, his kind, distinguished face alight with pleasure. “I do so want you two to get to know each other better.”

  There was an unintended warning in that. He knew beyond doubt he had to forbid himself all and any erotic thoughts of Sonya Erickson. He couldn’t possibly be the one to break his uncle’s heart. On the other hand Ms Erickson, with all her barriers in place, would have to open up about her past.

  Twenty minutes later Holt left. He had accepted one drink, Scotch over ice. He was driving and he was a guest at a dinner party that night. His emotions were in turmoil. He hadn’t planned on any of this, but there was no avoiding the bitter truth now. Despite his very real concerns, he had become powerfully attracted to Sonya Erickson, if that was her real name. For the first time in his ordered life, he was losing his footing. No comfort to be drawn from that. The worst aspect was he knew he wouldn’t give a damn who or what she was if she was the woman he wanted. She was in fact the only woman who had ever made such an impact on him. A different order altogether from his usual girlfriends. And there was Marcus looking better than he had looked in years. Marcus wanting he and Sonya to be friends.

  God, what a mess!

  If Sonya Erickson were truly in love with Marcus he would have to accept their marrying, whatever his private misgivings. But the beautiful Sonya, though obviously fond of Marcus—who
could not be?—was not in love with him. Why was he so sure? Disturbing to know he could take her off Marcus whether she wanted it or not. Mutual attraction was very hard to hide. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. It hadn’t crept up on them. In one of those sad ironies of life the attraction had been immediate. Neither had chosen the time. Now it was starting to take a heavy toll. Better they had never met. For an enigmatic young woman who presented herself as emotionally detached, what had drawn her to Marcus?

  Apart from the money? said his cynical inner voice.

  What had caused her to let down her guard? Marcus’s essential goodness, his kindness, his courtly manner. More importantly Marcus would never pry. She had told him that herself. Did she want above anything a secure place in the world? Marcus could give her that. Did she fear being swept off her feet by some driving passion that could upset all her plans? She definitely had issues. Not a whole lot of trust in people. He’d already concluded it all had to do with her past life. Did a great need to be safe drive her? He was fast reaching the conclusion she was on the run from something. Someone? How would that impact on Marcus’s plans?

  There were too many question marks hanging over Ms Erickson’s head. One thing was very clear. She was an extremely fast worker. She could be the second Mrs Marcus Wainwright if she so wanted. One heard of May/December marriages all the time. But in just about every case, the man was rich. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He needed to talk to Rowena.

  When he arrived at his apartment he rang Rowena to say he would be coming to Sunday lunch. Rowena always kept a marvellous table. More importantly, he and Rowena could keep an eye on proceedings and later confer.

  “All right if I bring Paula?” he asked. “I know you’re not fussed on her.”

  “Protection, dearest, is that it?”

  He grimaced to himself. “I don’t want to be seen to be using Paula. She’d actually love to be invited.”

  “Doesn’t answer the question, dear.”

  “Marcus is madly in love with her, Rowena,” he said firmly. “I was at the house this afternoon. Sonya was there, putting flowers all around the place.”

  “I bet they looked wonderful,” Rowena’s cultured voice fluted down the phone.

  “She does have the genius touch. Did you know about this recent development?”

  “Matter of fact I did. Sonia had some marvellous bromeliad stems for me. Wonderful to see with just a large green leaf hanging over the side.”

  “Rowena dear, I’m sure the bromeliads looked inspirational,” he said edgily, “but what I most want to talk about is this. What is Sonya up to? She knows Marcus is in love with her. Can you really say with any degree of confidence a marriage between them might work, given the thirty-year leap? She could divorce him and get a hefty settlement. Break Marcus’s heart. That’s a huge worry.”

  “It’s possible, my darling, but who is able to predict a marriage?”

  “Now there’s a cop out if ever there was one,” he exclaimed. “She’s won you over as well. You and Rolly had a great marriage. So do Mum and Dad.”

  “Ah, then, your mother had a great deal of money. So did I. No one could ever have accused us of being fortune hunters. Makes things a lot easier.”

  “Mum is four years younger than Dad,” he pointed out.

  “My lovely Rolly was twelve years older than me.”

  “The perfect gentleman.”

  “He was indeed.”

  “You all brought a great deal to one another,” he said. “What is Sonya going to bring to Marcus?”

  Rowena chuckled. Over-long.

  “Okay, okay, but is she in it for short term gain, Rowena? I’d love to look on the positive side, but I couldn’t bear to see Marcus humiliated. She doesn’t love him. That’s the pity. But she does have him wrapped around her little finger. He’s happy at the moment. Really happy. I have to say it’s lovely to see.”

  Rowena abruptly sobered. “I’m as concerned as you are, David. For both of them. You know, dear, I’ve come to the conclusion Sonya is carrying a burden she can’t lay down. Despite that poise of hers, the high-born air, she seems to me a little lost.”

  “Lost?” For a moment he thought he might lose it entirely. “She’s as switched on as they come.”

  “Lighten up, love,” Rowena advised. “I know how much you love Marcus. You’ve always looked up to him. You have heart. You’re also very perceptive. I do realize the developing situation had to be taken very seriously. I’m with you there. Marcus, up until he met Sonya, has acted as though all happiness had passed him by.”

  “It’s a dilemma, isn’t it?” he said. “Marcus is the one who stands to be hurt. Even if a marriage did take place, marriages end. A beautiful young woman with a large settlement could move on. Marcus would not. We both know that.”

  “Yes indeed,” Rowena quietly agreed.

  “We can expect fireworks from Dad and Mum. Dad especially. He loves his brother. Dad will want Sonya thoroughly checked out. Even then he wouldn’t approve. Neither would Mum. You know what they’re like. You know what the family is like. They’ll condemn her right off as a fortune hunter and a fake.”

  “Well, she’s not faking the patrician air,” Rowena said in strong defence of the young woman she had come to like and admire.

  “She’s a mystery woman indeed,” David answered, very, very dryly.

  “There’s a story there, my darling. But not a happy one, I’m sure.”

  “It makes a lot of women happy marrying a millionaire,” he pointed out.

  “In a lot of cases it doesn’t work out marrying for love,” she countered. “I hear the Grantleys are divorcing. How long ago was it we were at the wedding?”

  “Not long enough for them to open the wedding presents,” he said. “So, see you Sunday.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Problems. Problems. Problems, Rowena thought as she hung up.

  Was it possible beautiful young Sonya was in some way flawed? Had she a plan in mind? Marcus could offer her the good life, but would she be content for long with that? And what did Sonya think of David? She felt deeply troubled now. David was a marvellous young man. She couldn’t count the number of women young and old who had succumbed to David’s extraordinary charm. David had everything going for him. Sonya would be a rare woman if she didn’t feel his attraction. So what did Sonya think of David? On Sunday she would make it her business to find out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHAT am I doing? Where am I going with my life? I was coping well enough. Now I feel utter confusion.

  She often got caught up in conversations with herself. Sonya sat in front of her mirror while she put in her earrings. These days all she could seem to focus on was David Wainwright and the mounting tensions and difficulties springing up between them. She wanted to stop thinking about him, but his image was so compelling he broke again and again into her consciousness, no matter how hard she tried to keep up the barricades. She had the dismal feeling her past life with its tragedies had damaged her. Well, she was damaged, she admitted, but for ever? That was a frightening prognosis.

  Maintain the distance. Maintain the emotional barriers. You need no more complications in life.

  There was no getting away from the voice in her head. Everyone had one, but, her being so much alone in life since the tender age of sixteen, her inner voice only got stronger. David Wainwright’s mental image was so persistent, so vivid, for the first time in her life she understood how dangerous powerful sexual attraction could be. It played havoc with one’s control. And he was coming to Lady Palmerston’s buffet lunch!

  You’ll be seeing him again! Oh, sweet Lord! Forget the man.

  Only her senses were exquisitely, excruciatingly sharpened. She realized to her dismay it was affecting her normal behaviour. Only how did one stop the mix of excitement and panic that stormed through her? She needed to block both emotions. A woman’s weakness only gave a man power. She didn’t want any
man to dominate her thoughts, let alone her life. She wanted peace, peace, peace. A mature man, who had suffered himself, could give her that. Peace was important, a sense of being protected. God knew she’d had little of it in her fraught life. At twenty-five, she was still in recovery. At least that was how she thought of it.

  Recovery.

  Her history was a tragic one. But no one must know it. Not yet. When it came down to it meeting the Wainwrights had only complicated her life. She had to decide what she needed to do next. In less than half an hour, Marcus would be picking her up in his chauffeured Bentley. Marcus was a true gentleman, noble of character, much as her father had been. It would be a sin to lead Marcus on yet she knew she could have a real life with Marcus. No dramas. No concealing her true identity. She would have security. The age difference didn’t really bother her. Or it hadn’t until she had met Marcus’s nephew, David. Waves of emotion started to wash over her …

  God, if you’re up there, you have to help me! I’ve no one else to call on.

  Her parents had died very tragically in a car crash, ten years before. Only the crash had been engineered. She knew by whom. He would never do it himself. He would never be brought to justice. He lived in far-off America. But he had the power, the connections and the money to organize a hit even across continents. There would never be a mention of his name in connection with the tragic event. Laszlo had many friends in high places, even if he had many more enemies. But they couldn’t get to him. Like the Wainwrights, Laszlo was a billionaire with huge international interests in oil and steel.

  And she had something he wanted very badly. The Andrassy Madonna. A precious icon that had been in the family since the seventeenth century. Up until recent times Laszlo had believed the Madonna, fashioned by medieval craftsmen—her robes and headpiece studded with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and seed pearls—had disappeared into the hands of the invading Russians when the estate was pillaged at the end of the Second World War. Laszlo’s father, Karoly, had done the wise thing gathering up his family and what he could of his fortune and fleeing Europe for the United States and safety. There, he became enormously rich again.