Australia: In Bed with Her Groom. Emma DarcyЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      THE DAYS SLID by, magical summer days. Even more magical nights. Ashley was loath to bring any note of discord into the happiness of simply being with Harry. She asked no questions about his life in England. It was easy to pretend that was something far off when the immediacy of now overflowed with so many pleasures.

      In many ways it was like some idealistic dream, too intoxicating to bring her head down from the clouds. Harry brought gaiety and spontaneity into her life. Inhibitions and planning flew out the window. Over and over again she found herself thinking, ‘Why not?’ and saying yes to whatever he suggested or initiated.

      Their family outings were marvellous fun—a lazy afternoon at the beach, an exhilarating morning spent riding the breeze and the waves in a catamaran, a hilarious evening competing at minigolf, then eating monstrous hamburgers with the works. They picnicked by Somersby Falls and dined on fish and chips at Woy Woy wharf, watching the fishermen and the seagulls.

      Both Harry and William inveigled her into sharing their interest in the test match cricket, abandoning work for the day, as she did most days except for following through on absolute-must situations like setting up Cheryn Kimball in the new job she had scouted.

      They rode to Sydney in the Rolls Royce, and were ensconced in a private box in the Brewongle Grandstand with a wonderful view of the cricket ground. Drinks were readily available at any time, and a scrumptious buffet lunch was served. She enjoyed watching Harry and William enjoying the game, both of them indulgently explaining the finer points of the batting and bowling to her.

      But the nights far transcended the less intimate joys of the days. If their initial coming together had lacked style, Harry more than made up for it, imbuing all that followed with romance. They danced by candlelight and feasted on suppers of strawberries and caviar and lychee nuts washed down by French champagne. Ashley learnt the pleasures of sensuality and for the first time revelled in being a woman, desired, loved, adored and cherished by a man who made her feel she was utterly perfect for him.

      When it came to the night of Olivia Stanton’s party, Ashley didn’t want to go, didn’t want to waste the time away from Harry. Nevertheless, the agreement had been made, and Harry took it for granted she would keep her word. He arranged for the Rolls Royce to be standing by to take her in the style Olivia expected, and he and William had their war game all set up to play while Ashley was out.

      She felt quite flat-spirited as she dressed, although not to be completely outshone by her mode of transport, she made every effort to achieve an elegant appearance. It was also a matter of personal pride to feel at least equal to Olivia Stanton, who liked to queen it over everybody. Perhaps a touch of vanity entered into it, as well, an underlying urge to show the world, at least her little corner of it, she now knew what it was to be a woman.

      Ashley didn’t have a wardrobe full of party clothes to choose from. Normally she had no need of them. The only appropriate choice was a black crepe wrap dress that she’d bought for a chamber of commerce dinner.

      It had a halter neckline, which she dressed up with gold chains. She fiddled with her hair, achieving a smooth dipping loop across Her forehead before sweeping the bulk of it into a soft chignon. A few strands were left curling around her ears, to which she attached long dangly earrings in jet and gold. Her T-bar black suede high heels had been an extravagance—she loved shoes—but they lent a touch of true class.

      She applied more make-up than usual, darkening and adding definition to her eyelashes with mascara and deepening her lids with a smoky eye shadow. The black dress demanded red lipstick and a touch of blusher on her cheeks. A dusting of powder took the shine off her nose and added a smooth matt finish to her skin.

      An examination of her reflection in the full-length mirror assured her she couldn’t look any better. She dabbed some Beautiful perfume on her pulse points, picked up the black Oroton evening bag that had been a gift from Roger so long ago, then went downstairs, still feeling at odds about having to mix with other people when she would much rather stay at home.

      It was a measure of how deeply Harry had infiltrated her life. When she had accepted the invitation from Olivia she had felt quite pleased about it. Her social calendar usually ran to lunches with friends she had made through business, or casual barbecues with families who had a child in the same class as William. She was neighbourly and supported community interests, but she wasn’t really close to anyone.

      It had seemed enough before Harry. She had not been discontent with her life. Being single was a relief after marriage to Roger, and having kept so much to herself for the sake of appearances during the unhappy years with her husband, she had never developed the knack of cultivating bosom friends to whom she might pour out her heart.

      She was a good listener, a sympathetic listener, and she thought she was generally liked by others, but no-one really knew her. Not as Harry did. She had told Harry things about herself, thoughts and feelings, she had never told anybody. He had somehow drawn that depth of intimacy from her, and now she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.

      It struck home that if she didn’t commit herself wholly and solely to him, Harry would leave an enormous hole in her life when he returned to Springfield Manor. In William’s, too, she suspected. Perhaps it was time she stopped existing in a wonderful dream and started considering the reality of a future in England. This party tonight might serve to put Harry’s influence on her in perspective, bring her feet to the ground.

      He and William were in the dining room, their miniature battle lines in place on the table. They were discussing the rules of their war game when she entered, but they broke off their conversation as soon as they saw her.

      ‘Wow, Mum! You’re sure dressed up tonight!’ William remarked in surprise. ‘Is it a special party?’

      She shrugged, feeling somewhat self-conscious about her uncharacteristic attempt at glamour. ‘I just wanted to look good and feel good.’

      ‘Then you’ve more than achieved your aim,’ Harry said warmly, his eyes agleam with appreciative interest as they skated over her from head to foot and returned to linger on the loosely tied bow at her waist, obviously the key to unwrapping the package. ‘Feeling good is important,’ he added, his gaze lifting to hers in wickedly innocent inquiry. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

      Her pulse leapt in anticipation of how he would help later tonight. She could feel her body prickling with excitement as she imagined his hands teasing her dress apart, his head bending to…

      The telephone rang.

      ‘I’ll get it,’ William offered, oblivious of the shimmering tension between Harry and his mother. He darted to the kitchen, leaving them together.

      ‘I’m not sure I should let you out of my sight, dressed like that,’ Harry murmured, his eyes ablaze with desire.

      ‘Afraid of competition?’ she teased, secretly revelling in feeling sexy.

      ‘No. But if the men at Olivia Stanton’s party get out of hand, don’t hesitate to call in the cavalry.’

      She laughed. ‘That’s never happened to me.’

      ‘Ashley, you’re radiating your awareness of your own sexuality. That stirs a man’s hormones. All my hormones are rioting over you right now. I have an intense urge to smudge your lipstick and—’

      ‘Mr. Cliffton,’ William called excitedly. ‘It’s for you. Come quick. It’s from England.’

      ‘Uh-oh!’ Harry grimaced an apology and left her to answer the summons.