Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor: Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor. Margaret WayЧитать онлайн книгу.
been put in place by Dalton. It was all up to Corin. Quite possibly, Miranda wouldn’t care to live in the house, although she had only met Leila Rylance, the last chatelaine, briefly. Miranda would be in for a lot of exposure as Corin’s wife. In the ordinary course of events, medical students didn’t get to marry billionaires. From what he had seen of Miranda, he was sure she could hold her own.
He knew, even before the door opened, it would be Zara. That warning tightness in his chest. The first of the shock waves?
Kathryn Rylance had passed on her exquisite features to her daughter. Zara looked up at him with a tremulous smile—no doubt uncertain of his reaction—but her wonderful eyes were already working their spell like some medieval witch. “Hello, Garrick.”
Just the sight of her! Did she know how it hurt? A thousand electrifying volts of recognition. The accompanying sense of futility for ever having loved someone beyond reach. Would he never get over the tortured angst he had carried around as a young man?
You’re carrying a torch you can’t put down, let alone put out, you fool.
He was older, wiser. His heartache had morphed into steely resolve. He didn’t fully realise it but he was radiating sexual antagonism. “Zara, I wondered if you’d be here.”
She flushed at his cutting tone. “I don’t expect a hug.”
“I’m not a big hugger any more, Zara,” he offered very dryly, when his heart was beating like a bass drum. “You cured me of that. Am I allowed to come in?’
“Of course.” Her flush deepened, like the pink bloom on a rose. She stood back, a willowy young woman with an entrancingly slender silhouette. Her gleaming dark hair was caught back in some elaborate knot, emphasizing her swan’s neck and the set of her pretty ears. She was dressed in a white sleeveless blouse with gauzy ruffles down the front and narrow-legged black pants. Tall as she was, above average in height, she still wore high heeled slingbacks on her feet. A simple enough outfit albeit of the finest quality. Zara enhanced everything she wore.
“Corin’s been delayed,” she told him, clearly showing her nerves. She had to look up at him. He, like Corin, was inches over six feet. “Miri is with him. Just a quick drink with friends. They’ll be home for dinner, which is at seven.”
“I remember,” he said, slightly relaxing the tension in his voice.
“Shall I show you to your room?”
She gave him another shaky smile. She sounded very gentle, very anxious to please. “Where are the staff?” he asked briskly, as if he would much prefer one of them to do the job.
“They’re about. I wanted to greet you myself.”
“Really?” He raised a black brow. “I suppose we do have to sort out how best to handle the next couple of days.’
His expression must have been harsh because she said, “You still hate me?” Her own expression was one of deep regret.
He didn’t have to consider his response. It was automatic. “Don’t kid yourself, Zara.”
Don’t let those big dark eyes drag you in.
“If you ever haunted my dreams, those days are long past.”
“You still haunt mine,” she said very simply.
Great God! The cheek of her! His answer was so stinging it made her flinch. “You always were good at putting on a show. But surely you’re not over Hartmann already?”
She visibly recovered her poise, her tone unwavering. “You’re talking utter nonsense, Garrick. I was never involved with Konrad Hartmann. There was no relationship as such. A few dinner dates. A couple of concerts.”
“I guess I can accept that.” He shrugged. “Goddesses don’t fall in love with mere mortals. But you had a sexual relationship?”
“Hardly any of your business,” she said with considerable reserve.
“Of course you did.”
He glanced away from her beautiful face into the sumptuous formal living room. It had been redecorated since he had last seen it. Now its palette was gold, turquoise and citrine-yellow, with the walls painted a shade of terracotta impossible for him to describe. This grand room had once been walled in with a graceful curving arch that matched the arch on the other side. Now both huge reception rooms were open to the entrance hall.
It was a real coup! In fact it was stunning. The entrance hall remained floored in traditional black and white marble tiles but, as he lifted his head, he saw the new white coffered ceiling. In place of the arches, four Corinthian columns soared to left and right, acting as a splendid colonnade.
So who had inspired the magic? Some high-priced designer with impeccable taste? Miranda? Very possibly, Zara. It looked like her—the refinement—he decided. Zara always did have tremendous style.
She was standing a short distance away, appearing lost in her own thoughts. “I can’t talk about Konrad Hartmann,” she was saying. “I was the victim there.”
He lowered his coal-black head, his expression highly sceptical. “His beautiful Australian mistress?”
“Believe that, you’ll believe anything!” She spoke tautly. “I was sorry to hear your engagement to Sally Forbes broke up. I do remember her. She was a very attractive girl. And very suitable.”
He shrugged. “Well, she’s happily married to Nick Draper now. Remember him?”
“I remember your other friend, Nash, better.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” He laughed, a dry and bitter sound. “Nash fell in love with you as well. One way or the other, you left lasting impressions. Corin must have spent a fortune redecorating the place.”
“You like it?”
“Someone has superb taste,” he said, lowering his dazzling blue gaze to hers. “Was it Miranda? I would have thought she was too preoccupied with her studies. I greatly admire her ambition, by the way.”
“As do we all.” She spoke tenderly, as if Miranda were a much loved sister. “Miri and I decided on things together. Of course we had a very talented professional team in as well. We didn’t want any reminders of—” She stopped short, biting her lower lip. It was fuller than the sensitive upper lip. She had a beautiful mouth. Once he could have kissed it all day. All night. Pretty well did.
“Go on,” he urged in a clipped tone, thinking he might never have any real protection against this woman. “You didn’t get on with your stepmother, did you? I suppose it’s understandable. You couldn’t bear another woman to take over from your mother, let alone steal your father’s attention away from you.”
She put her hand to her throat as though such a charge caused her great pain. “What would you know about it, Garrick?”
“I don’t pretend I know a great deal,” he confessed. “After all, we’ve lived over a thousand miles apart for nearly all of our lives. But I do recall your telling me any number of times how Leila had come between you and your father. Not that we spent much time talking, or indeed talking about anyone else but ourselves and our plans for a future together,” he tacked on with marked bitterness.
“She did more than that,” Zara pointed out, keeping her face as expressionless as she could. “But one isn’t supposed to speak ill of the dead. Suffice to say, it was Miranda more than anyone who wanted big changes.”
“What? Wasn’t what was already in place good enough?” he asked in genuine surprise. “No one could say poor tragic Leila lacked style.”
Zara half turned away, showing him her lovely profile. “Let’s get off the subject, shall we? It’s really not your concern.”
“Of course it isn’t,” he agreed suavely. “But, tell me, what exactly is