Beresford's Bride. Margaret Way
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you followed them all around Europe. You’ve acquired an accent, by the way. It’s utterly charming.”
“Would it surprise you if I told you I spoke French like a native?”
“Not at all. So what have you been doing for yourself in Paris?”
His eyes held a cool taunt.
Obviously he wouldn’t see her as a dedicated schoolmarm tutoring English, which was what she had been doing quite successfully. That and part-time photographic modelling, mostly featuring her long blond hair.
“I’ll tell you some time if you’re really interested,” she said.
“What’s wrong with now?”
“I think you have some preconceived notions about me.”
“Actually, Toni, you hadn’t established yourself at all.” Which wasn’t true. She was affecting him strongly. “After all, your mother spirited you away when you were only seventeen. Kerry missed you terribly. Did you realise that? Especially after your father died.”
She heard the little catch in her voice. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“No,” he agreed, his striking face grim. “Your father grew careless with life. He was profoundly affected by the divorce.”
“I loved him, Byrne.” She lowered her head, her voice sad.
“He certainly loved you.” Adored her, more like it.
“I was devastated when I heard.” In fact, she had collapsed, full of hysterical accusations against her mother.
“You couldn’t find your way back?” He didn’t feel in the least sympathetic, although she made an irresistibly poignant picture.
She gave herself a second to get herself together. “I had serious concerns about Zoe.” She couldn’t elaborate. “And there was the question of money.” At that time she had been pretty well without resources.
“Zoe wouldn’t give you any?” One black eyebrow shot up.
“Her nest egg had been more than halved. She was terribly worried. She’d made a disastrous investment. A person she thought highly of abused her trust. Zoe’s so impulsive. She acts before she thinks.”
“Hell, yes,” he agreed discordantly, thinking of how hard Eric Streeton had worked for his money. “Let it go, Toni. It’s all in the past now.”
“Unfortunately the past is never truly past. It follows us around. I was very surprised when Cate wanted me for a bridesmaid.”
He knew there had been a big power struggle, the family dividing into two camps, pro and anti Antoinette. “You got on very well as girls,” he said evasively. “You are her fiancé’s only sister.”
“I’m sure that was the only reason I made the bridal party.”
“I have to say one or two of us were concerned you mightn’t show up on the day.” He saw a quick flash of hurt in her eyes and instantly regretted his cutting remark. Lord, was he trying to punish her? Maybe he was.
The waiter returned, bearing a silver tray. He deposited a bottle of Dom Pérignon on the table and proceeded to uncork it, murmuring a fervent thank-you as he pocketed his tip.
“Welcome home,” Byrne said, lifting his glass to salute her. “I must apologise, Toni. I’m being too hard on you .”
“I may pay you back one of these days,” she retorted, sounding a different person suddenly. “Anyway, you’re a hard man.”
The gray eyes frosted over. “Is that my reputation, really?”
“Whether you like it or not.” She sipped her champagne.
“Listen to me, Toni.” He loosened the button of his beautifully cut jacket and eased back. “I’ve got a lot of people depending on me. A cattle chain to look after. These are tough times. Testing times. Toughness is a quality to be desired. You’d do well to remember it.”
“Oh, I will! Be sure of it. And Joel isn’t offering a challenge?”
For a moment he looked like he was going to ignore the silky taunt. “I’m not going to put my own brother down, but I think you’ll find Joel wouldn’t want to take on my responsibilities.”
“Just as well, under the circumstances. Personally I don’t go along with the old law of primogeniture. Both of you still unmarried?”
He took his time replying, a little nettled, more amused. “Not even engaged. Joel has plenty of time. I’ll get around to it when I’m ready.”
“You might even have someone already in mind?” She kept those lotus eyes trained on him.
“Not at all.”
“You don’t need women?” She knew she sounded challenging. But then she’d already been labelled.
“Oh, but I do, Toni. I don’t always sleep alone.”
No. Indeed not, Toni thought, endeavouring to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine. “Do we name names?”
“No,” he said bluntly.
So that was that.
“Drink up and we’ll go in to dinner,” he murmured. “I’ve had meetings most of the day. I feel like a Porsche with the engine still running. It will be nice to relax.”
Relax they didn’t. The tensions tightened a notch, even though an attraction between them was tacitly admitted.
The main dining room was opulent, softly lit, with beautiful paintings and tapestries on the wall, the tables glowing with candles and posies of flowers.
“It’s lovely here,” Toni murmured appreciatively, watching the light glance off his dark copper skin.
He glanced around, used to grand surroundings from infancy. “The main dining room has recently been refurbished, I understand. If it’s all right with you I’d like to get away fairly early in the morning, Toni.”
“Have no fear. I won’t put you out.”
He looked at her keenly, almost laughed. “Well, I’d like to be at the. airport by eight-thirty, at the latest. I suppose it’s reasonable to conclude you’ve brought a fair bit of luggage?”
She grimaced at the implication. “I’m not Mommy Dearest, Byrne. I’m here for the month, then I’ll go back to Paris.”
There was a sudden flare in his eyes, like diamonds exposed to bright light. “It sounds like you have someone waiting for you.”
“There is someone.” She took a deep breath, pretending to go starry eyed.
“There always is.” He stared at her for a minute before picking up his menu.
“His name is Akbar,” she confided. “We have crazy times together.”
His handsome mouth tightened. “I’m not sure I’m ready to hear about your little jaunts around Morocco. In many respects I lead a conservative life.”
She opened her eyes wide. “Don’t be ashamed of it, Byrne. You’re a gorgeous man, really,”
Her power to discomfort him was impressive. “Why, thank you, Antoinette. Just so long as you remember I don’t party with youngsters.”
“Which I might say without fear of contradiction lets me out. I’m twenty-two.”
“A considerable age.” His voice was half mocking, half gentle.
“I’m not going to let you patronise me, Byrne.”
“Good for you. I’m enjoying your efforts.” He looked at her.
“Oh? I thought you were trying to make me suffer.”
That