In the Australian Billionaire's Arms

At the same moment Marcus turned his attention back to Sonya with what looked like an expression of relief on his face. Surely Tara knew she would never land Marcus? Holt thought. Lucy and Tara had been friends. It was clear poor Tara thought that guaranteed her next in line. Though even Tara would be far more suitable than Ms Erickson of the emerald-green eyes. If he had panicked her in any way she hid it supremely well. How did she manage such aplomb at twenty-five years of age?

He knew in his bones he was right. Ms Sonya Erickson had a past.

Right now she was looking to a rosy future with Marcus. He hadn’t a single doubt if she wanted marriage she would get it. She was already wearing the jewels. He needed to ask Marcus in a diplomatic way if he had lent them to her for the night. Or had he gone totally overboard and given them to her? That idea plagued him. He imagined the sort of conversation that might have gone on.

“You’re wearing an emerald silk dress, Sonya? I have in mind a particular necklace and matching earrings. They need an airing, after being locked away in the safe.”

Did she protest?“Really, no, Marcus!”

“It would please me so much.”

To be strictly fair it was hard to resist Marcus. Maybe she was the sort of young woman who lived to please. Dear Marcus, so long faithful to the memory of his beautiful Lucy, appeared to have fallen deeply in love.

Alas!

No wonder writers used the verb fall. The feeling was exactly like a free fall through space. The profound worry was the beautiful Sonya could be the best heartbreaker of them all. She must have trodden a path littered with admirers. Lovers? Despite himself he thought it would be quite an experience to share a bed with Ms Erickson. He was only human, but he was having none of taking Ms Erickson on trust. The beautiful Ms Erickson was wearing a mask. He would check on her discreetly. Clarify the situation.

The voice in his head said wryly, It’s already too late.

CHAPTER TWO

MIDWEEK Holt had lunch with Rowena. Usual place, Simone’s. The food was so good even Gordon Ramsay would have to wax lyrical. He and Rowena had things to discuss. Namely Marcus’s future. Marcus was very dear to both of them and now they realized Marcus for the second time in his life was totally enraptured and could be at that very moment seriously considering marrying a woman young enough to be his daughter.

Okay, was that a bad thing? It happened all the time with beautiful clever girls. Most often they were blonde. Rich men married blondes for choice. He didn’t exactly know why. Beauty came in many guises. But he had to say blonde was good.

He was nearly ten minutes late, having to work hard at winding up a meeting with a lot of guys in business suits and one woman executive with really Big Hair. With the light behind her he had the unsettling sensation he was talking to a balloon. If he lived to be one hundred he would still be amazed by what women did to their hair. The incredible colours they tried out. One of the girls in the office, Ellie, had gone briefly pink and purple. Maybe it was to attract his attention? He had stumbled over her so often, he had come to the conclusion she deliberately lay in wait.

A majestic-looking Rowena waved when she saw him, her face lighting up.

“Sorry I’m late.” He threaded his way through the tables, acknowledging friends along the way. Simone’s did a roaring trade with the big end of town. He bent to kiss Rowena’s velvet cheek. He loved everything about her. Her wit and her wisdom. She always wore the same perfume like a signature note. Roses softened by iris, musk and, he thought, vanilla? It was so wonderfully subtle and evocative of Rowena, who could blame her for sticking to one sublime perfume? Most of the women in his circle ran the gamut. The beautiful Sonya had worn a serenely beautiful fragrance he was not familiar with. But it had been heaven to inhale.

“What are we having?” Once seated, he picked up the menu.

Rowena glanced across at him, delighting in his handsomeness. “I hope I did the right thing, dear. I’ve already ordered for both of us. I know how little time you have.”

“You also know my tastes. So what is it?” He put up his hand to signal the drinks waiter. He and Rowena always shared a bottle of wine. Just enough. Not too much. He had plenty of work to do. Rowena, after a long successful life as a top diplomat’s wife and hostess, knew exactly her limits. He only wished Paula did. She had become very argumentative after the gala night, claiming Sonya Erickson had not only sunk her claws in Marcus but had fascinated him as well. Of course he had denied it. Not strenuously.

To go with the fine Riesling Rowena had chosen seared scallops, white truffle butter, Tasmanian salmon with a creamy crab sauce and niçoise vegetables; he said he’d pass on dessert. Rowena elected to stay with the chocolate and mandarin parfait. Rowena was one of those fortunate women who loved her food but never put on a pound.

“So, you think Marcus is in love with her?” Rowena got right down to business.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. She’s extremely beautiful. Well spoken. And nobody’s fool.”

“But you don’t trust her?” Rowena had the Wainwright piercing grey eyes.

“What do you think?”

“I haven’t seen them together, dear.”

“Excuse me, do you have to? She was wearing Lucy’s emeralds! Not something I’d expect of Marcus.”

“Maybe she promised to take them off when the night was over.” Rowena gave him an arch smile.

“Do you suppose she stayed over?” The idea dismayed him. Not a good sign.

“Come on, my dear. You sound dismal. It’s the twenty-first century. Marcus is still a fine-looking man. She could well have.”

“Then he’s a lucky son of a gun,” he said, with a twist in his smile.

“Sure you weren’t a bit taken yourself?” She reached out to touch his hand.

“I’m a man, Rowena,” he said very dryly.

“Very much so. What about that Paula of yours?”

He ran a hand over his brow. “Rowena, you know perfectly well Paula is a long-time friend. It’s not serious.”

“God, I hope not!” Rowena heaved a grateful sigh. “And that mother of hers!” She closed her eyes. “I bet she never gets off her knees praying for a match. But enough of the Rowlands. No wonder poor George spends his entire time at work.”

“I like him.”

“So do I.” Rowena smiled. “A diamond in the rough.”

“Ms Erickson is no rough diamond,” he pointed out. “She has the aristocrat down pat. She’s highly intelligent. And ultra cool. But she doesn’t love Marcus. That’s the big worry.”

“How would you know?” Rowena’s gaze sharpened on his face.

“I know,” he said and glanced away.

“So you’re worried where this is going?”

“The short answer, Rowena, darling, is yes. I’d be a fool not to be wary of Ms Erickson.”

“For what it’s worth, I like her. I really like her.”

“Your opinion is worth a lot. But what’s her story?” he asked tersely. “She has one, of course.”

Rowena nodded sagely. “One wouldn’t have to be a mastermind to sense that. She has a very graceful flow of conversation. Pick a subject. Any subject. She speaks fluent French. I once put a question to her in French about the extraordinary arrangement she was working on at the time, a blend of burgundy and pale pink calla lilies. She answered, switching automatically from English to French. Polished accent. Better than mine. The one thing she doesn’t talk about is herself. She appears so self-contained yet I feel she’s terribly alone. There’s a sadness there, don’t you think?”

“Maybe that’s part of her role of woman of mystery?” His tone was highly sceptical. “She could be a consummate actress.”

Rowena negated that with a shake of her silver-streaked head. “She’s genuine.”

“But genuine what, Rowena dear? I’ve made a few enquiries on the side. Couldn’t come up with anything much. I might try Interpol.” It was only half a joke.

“She’s only been in the country for around five years,” Rowena supplied.

“Yes, I found out that much. There’s a trace of an accent that isn’t French.”