Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor: Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor

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 my concern?” He picked up his suitcase. “I’m Corin’s best man.”

“Corin thinks the world of you.” She began to lead the way to the double height divided staircase that swirled upward to left and right at the end of the entrance hall.

“The feeling is mutual,” he said. His eyes were on her delicate shoulders and straight back. “It’s you who seriously messed up. By the way—” he paused, wanting to know the answer “—Corin doesn’t know about us, does he? Or the dubious us we were.”

She didn’t stop, knowing he was baiting her. “No need to bring your suitcase,” she said. “Someone will bring it up.”

“Just answer the question,” he returned curtly.

Now she turned to face him, feeling racked with emotion. His height and strength, the grace and vibrant life. If only one could wish for one’s time over again! Had she known it, her eyes, huge and haunting, dominated a magnolia-pale face.

She was the most desirable woman in the world, despite the way she had treated him, Garrick thought, struggling against a rush of fever and remembered passion.

She messed you up once. Don’t let her do it again.

“You didn’t read my letters, did you?” she asked sadly, one slender hand holding on to the gleaming brass handrail, as if for support.

Anger was driving him now. He made a grab for it. Got it under control.

Don’t let her see she’s getting to you.

“What was the point? You were never coming back to me. You made that abundantly clear. You were just spreading your wings. Taking advantage of all I felt for you.”

“I was scared of my father,” she said, superb actress that she was, managing to still look upset and frightened. “He called. I jumped.”

Garrick fired up, his voice like a whiplash “Oh, rubbish! Your father gave you everything! You wanted for nothing.” He knew he was betraying far too much emotion.

“Only in some ways,” she said. Garrick didn’t even know the half of it. “Ever since I was a little girl—even when our mother was alive—my father was such a controlling man. He controlled her.” Tears pooled in her beautiful dark eyes. Resolutely, she blinked them back. “I never had the courage to challenge him. That shames me now. I should have been braver. But my father scared strong men witless. You might consider that. Tough business people, not just servants or the like. Only Corin could stand up to him. I had to pay the price for so closely resembling my mother. Corin was the heir. I was the daughter. A nothing person. Daughters were nothing. But he would never forfeit control. You didn’t really know my father, Garrick, any more than you knew Leila. You remember her as a charming, super-glamorous woman, warm and friendly. The reality was very different.”

“I thought you weren’t going to speak ill of the dead,” he reminded her harshly. “And you weren’t a handful, I suppose?” he challenged. She was standing on the first step. They were almost eye to eye. He could have reached out and pulled her into his arms. “Your father confided he was greatly disturbed and disappointed in the way you did everything in your power to make life extremely unpleasant for your stepmother. Leila, according to him, and her, incidentally—though she said little against you—tried over and over to please you, to establish a connection, but you weren’t having any. As I say, it was understandable, but don’t lay all the blame on Leila, who isn’t here to speak for herself.”

“Well, it appears she has you,” she retorted sharply, visibly stung. “You feel my father and Leila were more trustworthy than me?”

“God, yes!” he freely admitted. “Why would they lie? They appeared most sincere. I know there was a lot of conflict.” He frowned. “We all more or less knew that. Bringing a beautiful, much younger wife into the family was bound to have repercussions.”

“It did that.” She turned away, as though realizing it would do no good whatever trying to enlist his sympathy. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about it. You’ve obviously made up your mind. You don’t seem to appreciate that you were blessed, Garrick. Both of us might have been born into wealth and privilege but you grew up with wonderful parents. To most people, being the Rylance heiress meant everything was within my grasp. That wasn’t so. Being wealthy carries its own burdens. You know that. One can buy relationships. People want to know you, be seen with you. But one can never buy love. It’s not for sale, when love is everything in life.”

He gave vent to a theatrical groan. “Oh, please! I had love for you, Zara. Do you dimly remember that? You didn’t want it. I knew at the time I wanted you more than you wanted me, but that was okay. What you gave me filled my life with radiance. Hope for a glowing future. In reality, there was no hope. What you actually did was expose me to a lot of wasteful unhappiness. You weren’t worth it. I detest devious, dishonest behaviour above everything.”

Colour swept her face in a rosy tide. “Then your memories are distorted. I wasn’t playing any game, Garrick.”

He found himself gritting his teeth. “Please do shut up, Zara,” he said. “We have a history of heartache, but we can’t turn this weekend into a battlefield now, can we? What’s past is past.”

Her gaze turned inward. “What did the American author, Faulkner say? The past is never dead; it’s not even past. You and Julianne suffered no family traumas like Corin and I did. You had a wonderful mother and father. Your father is the loveliest man—I’m hoping to see him. He invited me to Coorango.”