The Heiress Bride

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

It was a humid summer evening, and the annual Waikura Clarion Christmas party was in full swing.

Checking that the guests were enjoying themselves, Alysia paused in the doorway of the big front lounge.

Her father, wine glass in hand, held forth to a respectful circle of his employees. Spencer Kingsley was a big man, and his confident stance, rich baritone voice and command of language ensured that people listened to him.

Only one person had let his attention stray; Chase Osborne, the chief reporter, stared absently into his glass.

As Alysia stood watching, Chase raised his dark head and looked directly at her with unblinking green-brown eyes under emphatic black brows. He gave her a courteous nod, then his gaze left her as her father threw back his head in laughter, echoed by the rest of the group.

Chase’s firmly delineated mouth moved only a fraction of an inch at one corner before he downed the remainder of his drink.

He had scarcely noticed Alysia, despite the green chiffon designer dress that exposed the smooth skin of her arms and shoulders, complemented her fine, fair hair, and emphasized eyes the same clear light green as the pendants in her ears, carved from translucent New Zealand inanga jade.

Her eyes were her best feature, though when she was younger she’d thought green a wishy-washy color, longing for a more positive blue or brown.

Once she had horrified her father by using a strawberry rinse in her hair. Now she occasionally had her hairdresser use highlights in the winter to give it a bit of life.

She was no great beauty, but tonight several people had commented favorably on her appearance, and even her father had said that she’d never looked prettier, lighting a tiny glow inside her.

For Chase Osborne she might have been just another piece of furniture in the crowded room.

“Allie!” A rotund middle-aged man appeared at her elbow. The Clarion’s advertising manager, Howard Franklin was one of the few people who habitually shortened her name. “You’ve done a great job.”

“Thank you, Howard.” She actually had done very little. Her father had told her which catering firm to hire and given her a list of staff members to invite. “I hope you and Mollie are enjoying yourselves.”

Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. The younger contingent had gravitated from the swimming pool to the games room. Several couples were dancing on the terrace to music from a tape player, while older staff and their partners gathered in the lounge.

“Great, great,” Howard assured her. “But you don’t have a drink. Busy looking after everyone else, eh? Let me get one for you.” He took her arm to guide her toward the bottles and glasses on a table in a corner.

A burly man with a flushed face turned from it as they approached, two frothing beer mugs in his hands. Verne Hastie was the print room manager. “Allie!” he said in overhearty tones. “Long time no see. All grown up, too!” Bold blue eyes approved the shoestring-strapped dress and fitted bodice.

Alysia stiffened as her cool gaze briefly met his.

Verne grinned widely at Howard. “How come you’re with the prettiest girl in the room, an old fogy like you?” he demanded. He laughed uproariously.

“I’m just getting Alysia a drink,” Howard said. “What would you like, Allie?”

She turned to him with relief as Verne went off across the room. “Gin with lemon bitters. Make it strong.”

Howard chuckled. “Well, you’ve had your twenty-first birthday.” He poured the drink and handed it to her. “Here you are.”

She gripped the glass tightly in a damp hand and took a generous gulp from it. Sweeping a glance around the room, she encountered Chase Osborne’s dark eyes again. This time they were alert, his gaze dropping, apparently to gauge the level of the liquid in her glass before rising again to hers, curiosity and something that might have been a hint of concern stirring in his eyes.

A spoon tinkling against a glass brought Alysia’s attention to her father, who was standing near Chase. Someone killed the tape player and the dancers gathered at the French doors leading to the terrace, while other people were summoned from the games room.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Christmas being a family occasion, and you all being part of the Clarion family, this seems an appropriate time to make an announcement.”

As Spencer’s proud gaze traveled around the room Alysia felt a surprised thrill. She hadn’t expected a formal announcement, though everyone probably knew already she was about to start working with them, her very first real job after leaving university.

Spencer smiled and continued. “As I’m getting on in years—” he paused for muted laughter and murmured denials around the room “—it’s time I started thinking about the future. Young blood is always good for an old business and the Clarion is no exception. I’ve decided, therefore, to appoint a deputy editor.”

Deputy? Alysia felt dizzy. Not a junior position in the newsroom after all. Instead a new position created just for her.

The business degree she’d taken before attending journalism school might have made her father think she’d be more valuable in management. But she’d expected to work her way up, not be presented with a plum position working at his side.

Flushing with embarrassed excitement, she took a step forward.

“So…” Spencer raised his glass. “Please drink to my right-hand man and the Clarion’s deputy editor.”

He turned to Chase and put an arm around his shoulders. “Chase—here’s to your new position. Congratulations.”

All the blood drained from Alysia’s cheeks. She felt herself go pale and cold, her temples thudding.

Everyone was raising their glasses, calling out their congratulations, and a smattering of applause broke out. Thank God no one was taking any notice of her. What a fool she’d almost made of herself.

Chase was smiling as Spencer shook his hand. “Thank you all very much,” he said. “And Spencer, I’m deeply honored by your confidence in me.”

Sycophant. Toady! A sour taste rose in Alysia’s throat, almost choking her. While everyone else surged around the two men, offering Chase congratulations, she left the room, almost running along the wide passageway to a door that opened onto the old back veranda and the garden. She had to get away before anyone saw how upset she was. How betrayed she felt.

Quickly she descended the broad steps and crossed the moonlit lawn bordered by a mixture of native New Zealand evergreens and exotic hibiscus, roses and lavender. The trailing leaves of the pepper tree whipped at her face, startling her, and she breathed in their sharp scent as she went on.

Beyond the formal garden a path wound between thick shrubs, and at its end a low stone wall served the double function of retaining the steep bank and providing a place to sit and survey the view.

A sea of lights spread out far below, a winding curve of blackness marking the river that bisected the town. And beyond the farthest lights a range of hills created another black uneven line below the five stars of the Southern Cross and the pale misty swathe of the Milky Way.

Alysia sat on the wall, half turned to stare unseeingly at the winking of the lights imitating the crowded night sky overhead.

Gradually the turmoil inside her subsided, while she castigated herself for being such a fool. It didn’t mean her father didn’t love her…only that she was too young and inexperienced for a senior position and he knew it. She knew it. Her sickening disappointment was based on a fleeting false impression. She would just have to get over it.

Once she did start work she’d show him, show everyone—she’d be the best damned reporter the Clarion had ever had. Better even than Chase Osborne. And in a few years she’d be given her rightful place as the heir to the Kingsley heritage. Because she’d have earned it.

She stayed unmoving for a long time, scarcely hearing the revelry from the house, until the breeze wafting uphill from the river rustling and rattling the manuka and flax and occasional tall, lacy ponga fern covering the slope, made her shiver.

Rubbing at her bare arms, she got up, stopping with a small gasp as she saw the dark bulk of a man standing rock-still a few feet away.