The English Bride. Margaret Way
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How could one think calmly, rationally when he was continually longing to make love to her? She might even see his masculine drive as excessive, a kind of male sexual aggression. She was so small, so light limbed, so fragile in his arms, the perfume of her, of her very skin, a potent trigger to desire.
By contrast she seemed shaken, deprived of speech, unusually pale.
“I’m sorry, Francesca.” Remorse was in his voice. “I never meant to be rough with you. I got carried away. Forgive me. It’s as you say, I lack the courtly touch.”
She could have and perhaps should have told him how she felt, how she welcomed his advances with all her heart, but the tide of emotion was too dangerously high. She stood away, putting a trembling hand to her hair, realising a few long, silky strands had worked their way loose. “You didn’t hurt me, Grant,” she managed to say. “Appearances can be deceptive. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
His low laugh was spontaneous. “You could have fooled me.” He watched her trying to fix her hair, wanting to pull it free of its braided coils. What fascination long, beautiful hair had for a man. He could even imagine himself brushing it. God he had to be mad! He forced a grin, the smile not going with the look in his eyes. “I suppose we’d better take the coffee out. It’ll be getting cold.” He reached around and set the glass plunger on the tray. “I’ll carry it out. You relax. Get the colour back in your cheeks.” A tall order when he had reduced her to a breathless quivering receptacle of sensation, naked in her clothes.
CHAPTER TWO
FRANCESCA woke with a start knowing before she even looked at the clock she had slept in. She had set the alarm for five in the morning, now it was six-ten.
“Damn!” This was too awful. She wanted to go with Grant. Francesca flung herself out of bed, glancing through the open French doors that gave onto the verandah. Sun-up four-thirty. The sky was now a bright blue, the air redolent with the wonderful smell of heat. She had even missed the morning symphony of birds, the combined voices so powerful, so swelling they regularly woke her at dawn. Sometimes the kookaburras started up their unique cackling din in predawn and she was awake to hear them, lying in bed enjoying their laughter. But she had slept deeply, exhausted by the chaos of emotion that was in her.
Still she planned to go with Grant and he’d agreed, if somewhat reluctantly. Grant had told them all before retiring he intended to wait an hour for a message to be relayed in from Bunnerong. All stations operated from dawn. Perhaps his pilot had already called in or Bunnerong had notified Kimbara of his arrival? That was the way they did it in the bush.
Hastily she splashed her face with cold water to wake herself up, cleaned her teeth and dressed in the clothes she had laid out the night before to save time. Cotton shirt, cotton jeans, sneakers. She put the brush through her hair, caught up a scarf to tie it back and rushed out into the silent hallway, padding along it until she reached the central staircase. She was almost at the bottom, when Brod came through the front door, surprise on his handsome face. “Fran? We thought we’d better let you sleep in.”
Dismay hit her and she sent him a sparkling glance. “You don’t mean to tell me Grant has gone without me?” Her emotions were so close to the surface she felt betrayed.
“I think he intends to go without you,” Brod admitted wryly. “He has the firm idea you’re not really up to it. Bunnerong has called in, as expected. Curly still hasn’t arrived. Grant has delayed taking off for as long as he can. He’s down at the airstrip refuelling.”
“So he hasn’t taken off yet?” Hope flashed in her eyes.
“No.” Brod heaved a sigh, beginning to think Grant was right not to take her. This was his little cousin from England. He valued her highly but she wasn’t used to confronting potentially dangerous situations. With no makeup and her long hair floating all around her, her cheeks pink with indignation she looked little more than a child.
“Get me down there,” she said, racing towards him and taking him firmly by the arm. Literally a fire head.
Brod resisted momentarily, even though his expression was affectionate and understanding. “Fran, think about this. There’s a possibility the pilot has come to some harm. That could be very distressing for you. Believe me, I know.”
She looked up at him with her flower-blue eyes. “I won’t screw up, Brod, I promise. I want to be of help. I completed a first-aid course.”
Brod gave a sigh and ran his hand through his raven hair. “I don’t want to be alarmist but out here accidents aren’t something that happen to other people, Fran. We don’t read about it in the newspapers or see it on television. They happen to us. All the time. Curly might be beyond first-aid. Think of that. No matter how game you are, how much you want to help, you’ve led a protected life.”
“Most people do. But I’m ready to learn, Brod.” Francesca caught his stare and held it. “Stop treating me like a pampered little girl. I’ve had my tough times as well. Now, get in and drive.” She ran to the waiting Jeep ahead of him, almost dancing in her desire to get down to the airstrip. “Grant promised he’d take me,” she called over her shoulder. “I know it mightn’t be good but I’m not going to cave in. I’m half Kinross.”
She was, too, he thought with some admiration. Used as a buffer between warring parents. “It sounds to me like you have something to prove, love,” Brod said as he started the engine.
“Yes, I have.” The great thing about her cousins, Brod and Ally, was they wanted to listen.
“To Grant?” He looked at her with his all-seeing eyes, encouraging her.
“Who else?” she flashed him her smile.
Brod nodded, his expression wry. “He’s a helluva guy, Fran, a genuinely exciting personality. He’ll go far, but he’s very stubborn. Once he makes up his mind you won’t change it. Princess that you are you won’t wind him around your little finger so be warned. Grant has very strong views. A quick pride. Strength and energy to burn. But he has lots to learn like the rest of us. We know he’s deeply attracted to you but you could get hurt. Rebecca and I don’t want to see that because we care about you too much.”
Francesca’s delicately arching brows drew together. “I know and I love you for it but I have to take my own chances in life, Brod. Make all my own mistakes. That’s as it should be. My friendship with Grant has gone a step further. Everyone is aware of it. We’re more involved and as a consequence we’re coming increasingly into conflict.”
“You know what they say. Life isn’t meant to be easy. I can see it happening, Fran.” Brod accelerated away from the compound. “Grant has never felt a woman’s power. He’s had casual affairs but they never burned him. What happens when you go back to Sydney? Have you thought of that?”
“Of course I have!” Francesca exclaimed, trying to push the thought away. “I don’t want this time with you and Rebecca to end. I’m longing to see Ally when she gets home. Rafe, too, though I know he has reservations about my friendship with his ‘little brother.’”
Brod chose his words carefully, knowing what she said was quite true. “Responsibility is Rafe’s middle name, Fran. He damned near had to father Grant when their parents were killed. In his shock and grief Grant went more than a little wild. He was always getting into trouble, always trying to bring some daredevil prank off. That tragedy has shaped him. Put fear in him. Showed him about loss. It might well be to remember it. Grant mightn’t let a woman get too close to him. His grief at the loss of his parents was enormous. He was very close to his mother as the youngest.
“They were wonderful people, the Camerons. They took pity on Ally and me and our chaotic home life. They as good as fostered us. Rafe is as close to me as a brother. Come to that I always thought of Grant as a younger brother. To love is to lose. Grant learned that early.”
When they arrived at the airstrip Grant was close to taking off. He saw them coming and jumped down again onto the tarmac. There was Francesca looking like