by Margaret Way
“Crazy isn’t it?” He echoed her depth of feeling, close to her, lifting her face to him.
Then he began to kiss her, desire overcoming every other consideration. She was too much. Too much. The pearly skin, the slender body so made for a man’s loving, the sight and the scent of her. He thought he could handle it. Hell, he had followed her, all suspicion, now he enfolded her, excited by her soft cry he swiftly cut off.
Her lips were so full and soft. Like velvet. They opened to him as if she, too, had been swept away like a leaf in a storm. No woman’s body had ever felt so right to him. So small yet so finely fashioned, so yielding. He wasn’t just kissing her—he became aware of that, covering her mouth and face with a hard, hungry yearning. She was melting into him, letting him take her slight weight. It gave him the most profound shock to realise he was falling in love with this woman. This near stranger. This woman he didn’t trust.
Perhaps that was what she wanted. Father and son.
The thought gave him the strength to free her, though his body was on fire.
The power she possessed. The sweetness! The mystery! All of a sudden he bitterly resented it. He had always tried to do what was right, yet he could see if he didn’t hold her she might fall. Why was she doing this? How could anything work out?
“Rebecca?” he warned, the anger inside him growing as he realised he had to fight to let her go.
“What do you want me to do? Tell me?” she pleaded in a soft, husky voice. She could have wept for her own surrender when she had spent years getting her defences in order.
He stared into her face, her eyes huge and shining with the shimmer of tears. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said bleakly, thinking he should have known better. “I have to be half-mad.”
There was even a possibility she was acting, witch that she was. Yet he put his hands squarely around her narrow waist and lifted her onto the desk, full of consternation that she was regarding him almost helplessly out of those beautiful eyes.
“In the bad old days, women with your powers would have run the risk of being burned at the stake,” he said in a voice so mocking it splintered like wood.
“What pleasure would that have given you?” she retaliated, some colour coming back into her cheeks.
“Rebecca, I would have gone to your aid,” he responded satirically. “No doubt about it. Probably got myself killed for my trouble.”
Where was the rest of the world, he thought, wanting to kill sensation, but he couldn’t. They might have been locked in some fantastic capsule.
Rebecca too was stricken. She pressed her two hands momentarily to her eyes. “I have to go back,” she murmured twice like a mantra.
“I should think so.” His voice had just a touch of cruelty. “Otherwise my father will be after you. Why if he found us together he could even think I’m trying to seduce you away from him.”
“Except this is some nonsense you’ve made up. “She wrapped her arms around her.
“The tragedy is it isn’t. You have real power in your hands, Rebecca.” He reached out and lifted a handful of her long silky hair caressing it. “You even fascinate me. But there’s no way I can accept your protestations of innocence. The way you’ve got my father eating out of your hand provides all the evidence I need. Especially when I know him as well as I do. Here.” Abruptly, under intense pressure, he lifted her to the floor. “We’d better go back but we’ll take care with our exits. You go first. I’ll follow. It might come as a big surprise but Dad has a damned expensive fireworks display organised for you.”
“And he’s done the whole thing on his own, without reference to me.” All of a sudden she couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him. This man who had transformed her. She felt utterly terrified of him in a sense. Of his seductive hands and mouth, the dazzling eyes. She had never given herself up to a man so freely. It was prudent to take flight.
With one hand Rebecca held back her dark tumbled hair, gesturing with the other for him to stay in place. “I don’t belong here,” she said, seeing an end to Fee’s book, her stay on Kimbara. Everything.
“I can’t make sense of it, either,” he responded, his white smile ironic. “But I can tell you this and this is the really scary bit, I can’t see any of us letting you go.”
By noon of the following day all of the guests had begun the return journey home. Rebecca who had slept very late after a few broken hours, thought she wouldn’t have to face Brod reminding herself he was flying out with the highly impressive Cameron brothers who were obviously very close to him. She didn’t think she could deal with seeing Brod today but when she finally made her way downstairs, moving quietly through the house, she saw Stewart’s study door was shut. Even from the outside she could hear the terse sound of voices within. Father and son in a meeting. For a split second she wanted to race back upstairs and barricade herself in. So he hadn’t flown back to Marlu as planned? Rebecca stood motionless for a moment feeling vaguely distraught when Jean Matthews, Kimbara’s housekeeper, came up behind her.
“Good morning, Rebecca. Feel like some breakfast?”
Rebecca gave a little laugh detecting the humour in the way the housekeeper said it. “Tea and toast will do, but let me get it.”
“Frankly that would save me, dear,” Jean Matthews said. “I’m up to my ears in work. Come back into the kitchen. I’ll join you in the cuppa.”
“Fee not up yet?” Rebecca asked as they walked into the marvellous old kitchen huge by any standards and outfitted for the most demanding professional chef.
“Of course not!” Jean smiled. “I expect she’s nursing a little hangover. Mr. Kinross and Broderick just keep going like nothing has happened.”
“I thought Brod was flying back to Marlu today,” she asked trying to sound casual.
“That was my understanding.” Jean nodded, putting bread in the toaster while Rebecca made the tea. “He never stays long more’s the pity but I understand there’s to be a meeting with Ted Holland the overseer. Between the two of us, though, Broderick and his father don’t see eye to eye—everybody knows it—Broderick is in on the decision-making. Sooner or later he’ll get his due.”
“They’re not a happy family.” Rebecca gave a sigh, pouring boiling water over the fragrant best quality tea leaves in the pot.
“It didn’t take you long to find that out.” Jean made a wry face. “The children could have loved their father mind. They wanted to love him but he rejected it. I go way back so I know. In the old days I was Nanny. Fee tell you that? Came here when I was barely sixteen as a domestic. Still can’t believe Miss Lucille has gone. She was an angel. I loved her.”
Something in her eyes conveyed she had given up trying to love her employer. “I stayed for the children. Turn a woman’s heart in her breast. I worked in the house under Mrs. Harrington, my predecessor. A real old biddy I can tell you. She used to make me so nervous, but a wonderful housekeeper and a marvellous cook. Taught me everything I know. I still remember the lessons and her superior ways. When she left Mr. Kinross asked me to take over. It’s so different these days. Broderick on Marlu. Ally gone away to Sydney. Lord she could have had Rafe Cameron,” Jean wheezed, easing her plump frame into a kitchen chair, “but I fear it’s too late. They were mad about each other but they’ll never fit the pieces together again.”
Jean’s eyes misted so she took off her glasses and polished them. “Tried to talk her out of it. I know Broderick did. Rafe’s his best friend. Even Mr. Kinross seemed upset.”
“It’s not possible they might get together again?” Rebecca asked, knowing that this issue had upset everyone.
“Take my word for it, luv,” Jean sighed. “The Camerons are very proud men.”
“No one else has got Rafe to the altar,” Rebecca pointed out.
Jean’s face brightened. “That’s true.”
Meanwhile in Stewart Kinross’s study, the last thing on the agenda the decision to bid at a forthcoming auction of a well-known Central Qu
eensland sheep and cattle station was taken. Brod went to stand up, gathering a whole sheath of papers and knocking them into shape. He’d been acutely aware his father had something on his mind he was keeping to discuss. Now it came out.
“Before you go, Brod.” Stewart Kinross took off the glasses he used for reading and eased the marks on his nose, “I’d like to speak to you about what happened last night.”
“I thought it was very successful,” Brod said. “Everyone else did, too, going on the lavish praise.”
“That wasn’t the question I was about to ask.” Stewart Kinross gave his son a cold stare. “Rebecca gave me to understand she asked you to put the necklace in the safe for her.”
“Indeed she did. You were busy with guests at the time. She couldn’t wait to take the darn thing off, though you’d never have known it. Cool as a cucumber, Rebecca.”
“Can we be serious for a moment?” Stewart Kinross snapped.
“What do you want me to say, Dad?” Brod turned back. “Under the porcelain exterior she’s one tough little cookie.”
“Rebecca, tough? I hope you haven’t been saying anything to offend her?”
“Would I do that, Dad?” Brod asked, trying to keep his temper.
“You take particular pleasure in stirring people up. What I want to know is did you find a way to make her feel uncomfortable in the necklace?”
“I find a way?” Brod slapped his handful of papers down on the massive desk again. “As it turned out, Dad, you did that. Given that the Necklace and its history is well-known, I would have thought any young woman would have found it awkward to wear. It is intended, as we all know, for my future wife.”
Stewart Kinross shot back his huge swivelled leather chair. “Are you suggesting I’m way too old to consider remarrying?”
“God, Dad.” Brod struck his fist into his hand. “I wouldn’t have shed a tear if you’d married half a dozen of the women you’ve had in the past. Some of them were actually nice. But Rebecca Hunt is way off limits.” The very thought burned him up.
Stewart Kinross smiled bleakly. “You’ve obviously led too isolated a life, Brod. Is it her age, twenty-seven you’re getting at?”
Brod turned fully to face his father, his lean, powerful young-man frame crackling with energy. “Dad, she’s too young. She’s only a little bit older than Ally. She’s younger than I am.”
“So?” Stewart Kinross’s face might have been carved out of rock. “I don’t see that puts too much of a barrier in my way.”
Brod sat down hard. “So you’re really serious about this?”
Stewart Kinross’s handsome face coloured. “She’s exactly the sort of woman I’ve always looked for.”
“You mean damned secretive?” Brod flared. “Even if she were in her forties you’d have to know more about her.”
“I know enough,” Stewart Kinross thundered. “I can understand your fears, Brod. Rebecca is young enough to want children.”
“Well of course! Have you even begun to discuss this? It doesn’t seem likely. Rebecca told me she had no idea of the significance of the Necklace. She wore it because she didn’t wish to offend you. You were pretty insistent.”
Stewart Kinross seemed to take a long time to answer. “You weren’t there at the time, Brod.”
God, had she lied to him? Brod thought bitterly.
“Of course I told Rebecca the whole story,” his father answered emphatically. “Damned silly of me not to have. With people like you around someone was bound to tell her.”
Brod wondered if he could take it in. “You told her it has only been worn by Kinross wives? That my mother was the last woman to wear it?”
Stewart Kinross shrugged. “Well I never mentioned your mother, Brod. I haven’t spoken about your mother in many long years. She behaved very badly. She left me and you children. She broke her sacred vows and she was punished.”
A look of furious distaste crossed Brod’s face. “What a cold-blooded bastard you are,” he said with profound resentment. “Punished, my God! My poor mother. If only I’d been older! She could have married just about anyone else. Some normal guy and she’d be alive to this day.”
Stewart Kinross’s eyes were as cold as ice. “Then you’d never have been what passes for my heir.”
“I am your heir, Dad. Never forget it.” Brod’s face hardened to granite, his gaze so formidable his father was forced to look away.
“Well I think that’s all,” Stewart decided somewhat hastily. “You seem to think I’m not entitled to some life of my own, Brod. That being fifty-five I should scale down all my expectations.”
Brod moved to the door, feeling shaken now. Rebecca had lied to him. “I’ve never known you to scale down on anything, Dad. You think you’re Royalty. Money isn’t a consideration. If I weren’t so damned efficient you’d have to be more careful about how you’re getting rid of so much of it.”
The fact it was true put Stewart Kinross on the defensive. “I can’t imagine who you think you’re talking to,” he blustered. “I’m your father.”
“Damned right you are,” Brod answered grimly, “and a pretty miserable one at that.”
“I think you’d better go now,” his father warned. “I don’t need any lectures on my sins as a parent. Truth is you’re jealous of me, Brod. You always have been. Now there’s Rebecca…” Stewart Kinross paused, staring at his son. “I’ve tried to stop thinking about you two last night. Some expression on your faces when you were dancing.”
Brod gave an abrupt laugh and rubbed his chiselled chin. “Keeping an eye on us were you, Dad?”
“I made a bad decision last time,” his father said. “One I don’t intend to make again. I have to confess I was a little disappointed in Rebecca. You seem to disturb her. About what, I wonder? Did you threaten her?”
“To put it bluntly, Dad. I let her know it wouldn’t be a good idea to get mixed up with you.” It only struck him afterwards that hadn’t been the smart thing to say. He should have let his father believe he and Rebecca were attracted. Hell weren’t they? No matter what he thought of her. For now he had to get out of the house. He didn’t think he could handle meeting up with Miss Rebecca Hunt without blowing his top. Grant wasn’t due to pick him up until the following afternoon. He’d go join Ted, Kimbara’s overseer. Take a good look around the station as they had already discussed. A good man, Ted. He had hand-picked him himself.
Fee didn’t feel up to working, preferring to spend most of the day “resting” so Rebecca continued with her own research. When she called in on Fee she implored her to tell her all about Cecilia’s Necklace. Free, holding a hand to her throbbing temples, told her where to look.
“The library, darling. The bookcase to the left of the fireplace. Near the sofa. The middle section as I recall. It’s all there.”
“Sure I can’t get you something, Fee?” Rebecca asked. The older woman was wearing a little make-up, she was never without it, but she looked decidedly under the weather.
“My youth back, darling,” Fee called.
It was a very large library indeed. One of the finest private libraries in the country with thousands of leather-bound volumes and records going back to the earliest days of settlement. It was an important room in the house. Rebecca felt privileged to be there. She loved books with a passion. The look of them, the feel of them, the smell, all the wonder, the information, the excitement and wisdom they contained. Following Fee’s directions she discovered the small leather-bound volume, with gold tooling published in the early 1870s giving an account of the Kinross-Cameron opal strike. Rebecca settled into the deep comfortable sofa, shifted a few piled-up cushions then began to turn the yellowing pages.
An hour later she was still reading. The adventurous young Ewan Kinross and his equally adventurous friend Charles Cameron, second and third sons respectively of good family had left Scotland in the mid-1800s to make their fortunes on the Australian gold fields. They hadn’t succeeded in panning gold, not really knowi
ng enough about it, but they persevered with their mining interests, all the time learning from the more experienced miners talk, until they were eventually rewarded by discovering a rich opal bearing seam southwest of the town on Rinka in New South Wales.
They took out a lease despite being told their find was probably worthless. The rest was history. The mine, Kinross-Cameron, gave up magnificent stones and made the men rich. Rich enough to do what they always wanted: take up adjoining great selections in far South West Queensland and raise the finest beef cattle in the land.
One particularly beautiful stone was kept to be made into a pendant for Ewan’s kinswoman, Cecilia Drummond. Both young men were in love with her and the pendant was by way of showing their deep regard for her. The story was that both young men settled into trying to win her hand, adding a new dimension rivalry to their close friendship. It appeared at times Charles Cameron was the more favoured of the two. Indeed a family letter suggested Charles was her “knight in shining armour.” But in the end Cecilia made her choice marrying Ewan Kinross and giving him four children.
Reading between the lines it appeared the marriage was not a happy one. Perhaps Cecilia would have done better to marry Charles. For a while it seemed the friendship between the two men was almost ruined then after the birth of Cecilia’s first child things appeared to come right again. Charles Cameron in fact was one of the godparents.
Rebecca closed the book, leaning back into the sofa. Impossible to believe Stewart hadn’t told her the full story. When she looked at the photograph of Lucille Kinross in full evening dress wearing the pendant Rebecca had almost felt the tears coming. She’d had no right wearing the necklace last night. Brod would never forgive her for it even if he could accept she had no knowledge of the pendant’s significance.
She knew now Brod had gone out for the day with Ted Holland. He hadn’t bothered with lunch at the homestead so she wouldn’t see him again until dinner. Fee had already told her she was going to make an effort to get up.
