The Cattle Baron's Bride. Margaret Way
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Her heart gave a wild flutter. She couldn’t believe the arrogance of his manner could be a seduction. But it was. “I’d like to know you better,” she said, something she’d discovered the moment she’d laid eyes on him.
“So you can dig out my weaknesses?” He willed his blood to stop racing. There was a tremendous exhilaration in this sparring. It was like being caught up in an electrical storm when at any moment danger could be inflicted on a man.
“I didn’t imagine for a moment you had any,” she answered with faintly bitter sweetness.
“As many as the next man.” He shrugged. “But I work hard to keep them under control. I had the impression you and your brother’s assistant were close?”
A flare of something, was it anger? deepened the apricot colour in her cheeks. “Now how on earth did you arrive at that conclusion?”
“Are you telling me it’s not true?” Sad if he was giving himself away.
“I’m not telling you anything,” she said crisply, knowing with every passing minute getting involved with this intoxicating man would be a terrible mistake. “I’d like to see you less sure of yourself and your opinions.”
“And you’re the one hoping we can be friends?” he scoffed.
Think, Sam. Try to clear your head.
Yet all her pulses were drumming in double time. “Not friends so much,” she successfully mustered her poise. “I don’t believe we could ever be friends, not unless you undergo a radical change, but colleagues of sorts. I know you’d prefer Men Only, women being such nuisances, but I’d endeavour to keep out of your way.”
“Fine,” he drawled, staring down at her mouth with her small teeth like prize pearls. Her lips were full, luscious, incredibly tempting. He’d like to crush their cushiony softness beneath his. Teach her a lesson. “But not exactly easy if we had to share a tent?”
She battled the shock wave. “We wouldn’t have to do that. Would we?”
For the first time there was genuine amusement in his jewelled eyes. “Not your idea of fun? It could get worse.”
She was still seeing them sharing a tent. “Like dodging crocs and pythons that devour you at a gulp?”
“Lady, there’s so much I’m not telling you.” It came out with a flicker of contempt.
Use your head. Go!
She had to make her escape before she said something she would regret. Ross Sunderland was dynamite. Exciting yes, but one of the dangerous men of this world. He drew her so much it was scaring her badly. “Anything to put me off,” she managed lightly. “I think I’ll have a word with Isabelle if I can find her. You’re a terrible man.” She half turned away.
“Knowing that at the start will save you a lot of trouble,” he called after her.
“To be frank I knew it the instant I laid eyes on you.” She turned back to confront him, long silky hair swirling, flame bright in the strong lights.
His mouth curved in a challenging smile. “Then you know we’re not fated to be friends.”
“That sounds so much like a dare?”
They were caught in a tableau, neither moving until a very pretty brunette dressed in show stopping red broke it up by rushing between them, ignoring Samantha as though she weren’t there. “Ah there you are Ross, darling!” She grabbed his arm. Held on for dear life. “I didn’t think this was your scene. Mum and I have only just arrived. Come and join us. We were just saying we should have a good party. It’s seems like ages since we got together.” She began to pull him away.
Samantha didn’t wait to see them move off. She was cursing herself for allowing Ross Sunderland to get to her. No way either was he going to block her path. Her company and contribution were important to her brother. She was determined not to be left behind.
David Langdon took a long slow breath then decided to catch up with the woman he’d spent so much time watching. Albeit out of the corner of his eye. A beaute fatale. Of course he had known she was beautiful. In fact she was more beautiful in the flesh than she was in the photographs he had seen in the papers and the few times they had captured her on television always hurrying away, head bent, one hand trying to cover her face like the tragic Princess Diana. For a while the media had hounded her. That must have been a bad experience. He knew who she was of course. Isabelle Hartmann, Blair Hartmann’s young widow. She couldn’t be more than mid-twenties and her beauty hadn’t even reached its zenith. She still looked as though she was hurting badly.
David hadn’t even told his sister how much he had learned about this near notorious young woman over the past months. Mostly from people supposedly in the know. Little of it good. It seemed to him a shocking thing to condemn her out of hand. Who knew exactly what went on within a marriage? Closer to the truth he’d been seized with a fierce desire to protect her which was quite odd since he had never managed to meet her. Not that he wasn’t in and out of Sydney all the time but he made a point of avoiding the big social functions unless they were in aid of charity. His deep seeing eyes, trained eyes, had divined the torment in her.
A lot of the rumours and gossip had their origins in plain jealousy. He’d come to that conclusion. Men he’d found were far more reluctant to put any blame at all on her though all were in agreement Blair Hartmann had been a nice easy going guy, maybe a little light weight, spoiled outrageously by his wealthy mother. Everyone knew that. It was women, especially Evelyn Hartmann’s circle, fuelled by envy and resentment and fearing to cross such a formidable figure in society as Isabelle’s ex-mother-in-law, who claimed Isabelle was an altogether different person from the one who appeared in public. For one thing she had been near arctic to the husband who had adored her. There was even talk she had refused him a child no doubt to preserve her willowy figure, selfish creature. She was terribly vain they reported, obsessed with herself and her clothes.
At least they couldn’t say she had married Hartmann for his money. The Sunderlands were a highly respected pastoral family wealthy in their own right as the press had easily uncovered. The fierce argument between the two, husband and wife had of course found its way into print. Speculation had been rife. Something Isabelle Hartmann had said had caused her late husband so loving and appreciative of her, to storm out of the party. Worse, perhaps caused him to be careless of his own life.
Whispers still followed her. He had overheard a few this very night. Blessed or cursed by such physical beauty she was bound to be a cynosure of attention. But no one he had noticed had been so careless as to give rein to gossip with her brother in earshot. Ross Sunderland was a man with fire in his remarkable eyes. Even the way he stood near his sister, sometimes with his arm carelessly around her, told the world not to be surprised if he retaliated on his sister’s behalf. Langdon had been told and had since witnessed the two were very close. My God, didn’t he feel the same about his own little sister, Samantha, nearly seven years his junior who had borne the brunt of their parents’ undeniably bitter break up with Sam the pawn in the middle. On his world travels at the time he had since done his level best to make it up to her.
Seeing Isabelle Hartmann alone for a moment that beautiful face cool, passionless as a statue, he made his way towards her, gesturing with a smile he’d get back to a couple who surged across the room to gain his attention.
“Good evening, Mrs. Hartmann. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself for some time. David Langdon.”
She turned to him quickly, staring up into his face. “Of course, Mr. Langdon.” Some emotion stirred in her, swiftly crossed her face, then disappeared. She gave him her hand, silky soft, slender quite lost in his bear grip. He fought down the powerful urge to carry it to his lips.
“My pleasure.” She smiled, finding something incredibly mesmeric about this big, dynamic man. “And it certainly has been. I’ve so enjoyed your showing.”
“I’m glad.” Was it his imagination or was