The Horseman

There was absolutely no way out.

Stuart threw back his dark head and laughed triumphantly. “That’s the very thing I’m desperate for you to say—‘I do.’ A June wedding would be perfect, wouldn’t it, darling? We need to be together, man and wife. I know you love the idea of Morelands for the wedding, but surely you’d want to be married from your own home? You couldn’t possibly disappoint Justine. Or my mother, for that matter, though she’s neutral. She thinks the world of your grandfather. Morelands is an incredible venue, no denying that, but Justine and I have our hearts set on Melbourne. Tell me that’s what you want, too, Ceci. I’ve known you for a dozen years and more, but sometimes I think I don’t know you at all.”

She had the eerie feeling that was true. She couldn’t tell him that many changes were taking place inside her. In retrospect she realized she rarely confided in him. Stuart was a little like her mother in that he had a tendency to close his ears on what he didn’t wish to hear. “Let’s just enjoy today, Stuart,” she begged gently. “I can’t always do what you and my mother want. Oh, look—” she shifted her gaze gratefully “—there’s Sasha Donnelly calling to us.”

“I say, she’s looking very glamorous.” Stuart was distracted by the shortness of Sasha’s skirt and the sassiness of the gala confection she had on her head.

“She is, and she’s still carrying a torch for you,” Cecile pointed out lightly.

JUST WHEN SHE THOUGHT the stranger must have left early, she saw him standing with a knot of older guests. Profound disappointment, even despondency, was transformed into soaring spirits. They rose alarmingly, threatening to make her airborne.

You fool! You’re not even putting up a struggle.

She ignored the little voice. At the center of the group was her grandfather. Her mother and father flanked him, both of them looking extremely stylish; they were handsome people. With them were close friends of the family, Bruce and Fiona Gordon and the Ardens. Bruce Gordon and George Arden were among her grandfather’s oldest friends and business partners. All of them were smiling warmly.

“Ceci, darling! Stuart!” Joel Moreland caught sight of them, gesturing them over. When they were close enough, he put out his arm to gather his much-loved granddaughter to his side. “I don’t think either of you have yet met Señor Montalvan, who is visiting us from Argentina. When Fiona told me she and Bruce had a houseguest, I insisted he come along with them today.” Joel turned his aristocratic silver head to smile at the well-to-do couple.

“Cecile, my darling—” he beamed down at her as he began the introductions “—may I present Señor Raul Montalvan from…”

She didn’t hear another word for the roaring in her ears. Every dormant cell in her body fired into life.

Damn it, damn it! This isn’t like you. Get a grip!

She might have been standing at a distance, looking at her double. The tide of feeling she was experiencing was not untainted with remorse, even shame. There was Stuart, her fiancé, proud and smiling by her side. She wore his ring. She should only be thinking of Stuart, while all the while she was racked by her attraction to another man.

He was even more stunning close up. Indeed he could have stepped out of a bravura painting. The bronze of his skin was in striking contrast to the dark caramel of his hair with its glinting golden strands. How dark his eyes were! Not black, but a brilliant dark brown with gold flecks. Their expression was very intense. She didn’t think she had seen such intensity in a man’s eyes before. They made her feel more conscious of herself as a woman than at any moment of Stuart’s most passionate lovemaking. It was as though that dark seductive gaze pierced right through her breast to her heart.

“Miss Moreland, I’ve heard so much about you.” He spoke with exquisite gentleness. “The whole of it glowing!”

This drew a smile from her grandfather, who Cecile guessed correctly had been singing her praises.

There was an intriguing hint of an accent. No more. It was a cosmopolitan voice, coming from deep in his chest, the timbre dark, beguiling, with a faint cutting edge.

Good manners demanded she extend her hand. “My grandfather has a very natural bias, señor. I’m very pleased to welcome you to our country.” Her skin seemed to sizzle at his touch. She thought she flushed. He didn’t shake her hand as she expected, but bowed over it in a way that showed his heritage. It was an entirely natural and elegant ritual courtesy that didn’t demand his lips touch her skin. She didn’t think she could have borne that given what the mere touch of his hand could do. His hands were as elegant as the rest of him, but she could feel calluses on the pads of his fingers and the palm. Was that the cause of that extraordinary surge of electricity?

Then it was Stuart’s turn. He gave a hearty, “Happy to meet you, Mr. Montalvan.” To Cecile’s ears that didn’t quite ring true. Stuart hadn’t taken to the newcomer, she could tell, but he was shaking the other man’s hand vigorously. “What brings you to the Territory?” he asked.

Montalvan gave a very European shrug. “Pleasure, business. I have always wanted to come to Australia.” He spoke in a relaxed fashion, but the gentleness, it seemed, had been reserved for Cecile. “Your Top End is not so very different to my home in Argentina. Very beautiful, very isolated, hot and humid, plenty of rain when it comes, glorious vegetation, vast open spaces.”

Joel Moreland nodded his agreement. “This is still largely frontier country, Señor Montalvan.”

“Please, do call me Raul!” Montalvan turned to his host with a charming half smile.

“Raul it is,” Joel Moreland responded, his expression revealing that unlike Stuart, he had taken a fancy to this young man. “Raul is in the ranching business,” he informed Cecile and Stuart, “so we have a lot in common. His family have been in ranching for many generations. Ranching and mining, isn’t that so? He’s also a very fine polo player, I’ve been told.”

“Not surprising, when he hails from a country that has won the World Cup every year since 1949,” Cecile’s father, Howard, contributed with an admiring laugh.

“True.” Montalvan gave another elegant shrug of his shoulder. “But you have some wonderful players here,” he added appreciatively. “I’m hoping I’ll be invited to participate in a few matches during my stay. Australia is nearly as polo mad as Argentina, I believe.”

“It’s the great sport of the Outback,” Moreland confirmed, “but we can’t challenge your world supremacy. Don’t worry, Raul, I’m sure we’ll be able to arrange something. I used to be a pretty good player myself in the old days.”

“I’m certain that’s an understatement, sir.” Montalvan gave a respectful inclination of his head.

“My father was absolutely splendid!” Justine, who adored her father, spoke proudly. “We have two polo fields on Malagari.”

“That’s my flagship cattle station toward the Red Centre,” Moreland explained before turning to his daughter with a teasing smile. “The polo fields, my dear, are still there. You should come and visit sometime.”

“I will, I will, I promise.” Justine flushed slightly. “When I get time. Father breeds some of the finest polo ponies in the country,” she added.

“So I believe.” The Argentinian’s expression lit up with interest. “My family breeds fine ponies, too, but nothing like Señor Moreland’s operation, which we do know about in Argentina. I believe, sir, you sold ponies to our famous Da Silver brothers?”

“So I did,” Joel Moreland said with great satisfaction. “A heroic pair! I’ve seen them play. Their team won the World Cup no less than four times, the last time—that was in the mid-90s—riding Lagunda ponies. That’s my horse stud in the Gold Coast hinterland of Queensland where the climate, the terrain and environment are ideal.”

“I’d love to visit it sometime,” Montalvan replied. “It would be a great honor.”

“And I’d be delighted to show you, Raul. Both Malagari, which is in the Territory and very dear to my heart, and Lagunda, way across the border. The flame for the game still burns very bright, but inevitably time has sidelined me. I still ride, of course. Now my son, Jared, was far more talented. He had effortless style, the physical strength and power to excel at the game. He had a physique like yours.” Moreland had been speaking with spontaneous enthusiasm but he stopped abruptly.

“Very sadly, Uncle Jared died young,” Cecile told their guest softly. She knew the comment had simply slipped out, borne of her grandfather’s obvious liking for their visitor. Her grandfather rarely spoke his dead son’s name. Nearly thirty years later, the pain was too great.

“I am so sorry,” Montalvan answered quietly, briefly raising his hand to touch Joel Moreland’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” Moreland bowed his silver head.

“So where are you staying, Señor Montalvan?” Cecile asked with a return to her normal fluent poise.

“Why, with us, Ceci dear,” Fiona Gordon, who had been Justine’s chief bridesmaid and was in fact one of Cecile’s godmothers, smiled fondly.

“Bruce and Fiona have been very kind to me.” Montalvan flashed the couple a smile that was simply marvelous, Cecile thought. It had much to do with his fine white teeth against his deep tan, but it went further, lighting up his whole face.

Yet another powerful tool in his seductive armory, she thought, listening to him say he couldn’t impose on Bruce and Fiona much longer.

“I’m thinking of leasing, perhaps buying an apartment overlooking the harbor,” he told them. “As I’ve come this far, I intend to make my stay fairly lengthy.”

“You have no one at home demanding your presence?” Stuart asked with the faintest lick of challenge. “Not married, I take it?”

No wife in her right mind would allow this man to roam at will, Cecile thought, acutely aware she was hanging on his answer.

“I’m still waiting for the coup de foudre, as the French say.” Oddly, Montalvan echoed Cecile’s earlier thoughts. “May I congratulate you on your engagement.” He returned Stuart’s gaze directly.

“You may,” Stuart answered, blue eyes very bright. “Getting Cecile to say yes wasn’t all that easy, but she’s made me the happiest man in the world. Or at least as happy as Daniel on this day of days. It’s been the perfect wedding.”

“Indeed it has!” Justine gave a voluptuous sigh of satisfaction. “I can’t wait until Cecile and Stuart tie the knot. You’ve no idea, Mr. Montalvan, how long I’ve been planning it in my head.”

Cecile, glancing across at her father, caught the rueful expression in his eyes. Planning was Justine’s forte. What she planned had to come off.

THE CELEBRATIONS WENT ON long after the bride and groom had left for Darwin airport on the first leg of their honeymoon trip, which would take them to Hong Kong for a few days, then on to the great capitals of Europe. Sandra had thrown her beautiful bouquet from the upstairs balcony into a sea of smiling, upturned faces and waving, raised arms. There was a great deal of laughing and scuffling, especially on the part of the chief bridesmaid, Melinda, who had her eye on a certain someone in the bridal party, but despite the fact Cecile had just stood there smiling, the bouquet flew to her as though carried on guided wings. Because she made no move to catch it, it came to land on someone directly behind her who, with a swift movement of the hand, sent it back over Cecile’s bare shoulder and into the arms she hastily raised. Sandra’s bridal bouquet was much too precious to allow to fall to the ground.

“Oh, good for you, Ceci!” Melinda, disappointed, declared.