Strategy For Marriage

“I’m surprised you said that,” he drawled. “But then you don’t know me. If I’d been really cutting Deakin wouldn’t be standing. ‘Don’t I know you’?” He aped Josh’s lighter tones then they hardened. “Only the fact Callista is my cousin and she’s wearing a wedding dress stopped me from asking him to step outside.”

“I can’t imagine he could stand up to your flailing fists.” She shuddered. Josh would be no match for this cattle baron. He didn’t have that sort of invincible masculinity. In fact, she considered very belatedly, Josh was soft.

“My dear girl, I’d drop him in one.” He signalled to one of the fleet of uniformed waiters who hurried to his side. “Thank you,” he said gracefully, taking two glasses of champagne from the silver tray.

“I should go now,” Christy said quite sadly as he passed a flute to her.

“My dear, you should be thrown out,” Ashe quipped, not liking this beautiful witch’s misery.

“I don’t belong here.”

“I entirely agree with you, but you’re not going anywhere. Not yet. Come.” He took her arm. Held her captive. “Let’s leave all these good people to their exuberant high spirits. I expect you’re hungry?”

“No.” She shook her head, fighting for her dignity.

“I promise you you will be. Enough money has been spent on the food and drink at this reception to feed the entire Outback for a year.”

As they made their way out to the marquee society photographers got in the way. Flashes went off, capturing the two of them strolling along like a pair of lovers. Ashe McKinnon didn’t stop to supply Christy’s name. He didn’t have to, Christy thought shakily. At least one photographer knew exactly who she was since he’d photographed her at various functions a few times before. Without question a photograph of her with Ashe McKinnon at her side would appear in Vogue, or whatever magazine had the rights. No matter what, Christy held her shoulders back and her head high.

The food was indeed so sumptuous many of the guests stood gawking in awe before they finally moved in to sample the endless dishes. Ice sculptures in the form of larger-than-life swans decorated the tables, which were festooned with white flowers and trails of ivy down the centre. Billows of white tulle and satin ribbons decorated the tented ceilings with thousands of fresh white flowers including masses of white orchids flown in from Thailand. Christy had already seen the six-foot-high wedding cake, which dominated the twenty-foot-long Georgian dining room table. Obviously the happy couple were to cut the cake in the house. She hoped to be long gone by then. Why hadn’t the cattle baron thrown her out? He was a strange perverse man.

Instead he made her eat something. “Go on,” he urged. “Everyone is looking at you. Isn’t that too priceless? Of course you’re the most beautiful woman here, though I expect you still want to change places with Callista?”

She was aghast at his little cruelties. “What a pig you are. Cochon!”

“But of course you speak French,” he joked. “Anyway I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He bent his glistening dark head over hers, a study in ebony and gold, as though he was whispering endearments.

“No need to overdo it,” she said sharply, struck again by the beauty of his eyes. Why did men have such wonderful eyelashes?

“I’m doing what I want to do. It’s even possible I’ve fallen madly in love with you.”

“And pray have you?” She could barely conceal her inner rage.

“No. We’re co-conspirators that’s all. And I’m damned if I know why. Our paths will probably never cross again.”

“Amen to that,” she flashed. This wasn’t a man you sashayed around. He was a big, powerful tough man. The sort of man she disliked.

“You don’t see me as eligible?” he mocked. “They tell me I am.”

“Why not with all that money,” she returned bleakly. Wasn’t that how it went with Josh.

“You have such command of diplomacy. I’m sure you weren’t always that cynical.”

“I was not.” There was a headache behind her eyes.

“You’re thinking about Deakin, aren’t you?” he abruptly accused, the muscles of his face tautening.

“It’s hard not to when I’ve turned up at his wedding,” she managed painfully.

“And when did you decide to do that?” He was determined to know.

“At precisely half past eleven last night,” she replied.

“What we call a snap decision? More champagne? There’s a choice. Moet or Bollinger?”

“Wouldn’t it have been cheaper, even smarter, to buy domestic?” she asked tartly, swallowing a morsel of Russian caviar.

“Mercedes thinks our champagne styles lack French subtlety.”

“She should go to more wine tastings. Even the experts have been known to be fooled.”

Inevitably other guests surged up to speak to Ashe. He appeared to be known and “adored” by everyone on the bride’s side, but needless to say none of the super-rich knew her. She only occasionally moved into their world at charity functions. But he introduced her to all his friends who turned searching but approving eyes on her. It was about time Ashe got married, they said with sly glances at her, never guessing she was wincing inside. As urbanely as Ashe McKinnon was handling all this, she just knew there was a dark side to the cattle baron. He was allowing this charade to go on to prevent a scandal. She was determined to get away from him, at the same time filled with the weird notion she couldn’t even if she tried. But her moment came. The best-looking of the bridesmaids, four in all, all dressed alike in shades of blue moire silk, determinedly took hold of his arm.

“Ashe, darling, why are you being so cruel to me…?”

Christy waited for no more. She fled across the lawn, keeping to the shadows and away from the main reception rooms, heading eastwards. If she got lost he would have to send a search party. She’d have really strange memories of all this. They’d probably stay with her all her life.

Just when she thought she was safe, a man’s hand suddenly reached for her, drawing her back into a large dimly lit room that looked like a man’s study. She had an impression of walls of books, glass cases bearing sporting trophies, paintings of winning racehorses, a desk and chairs.

“Christy!” Josh was staring down at her, soft floppy hair nearly falling into his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I don’t want to speak to you.” She gritted her teeth.

“Take it quietly, darling,” he begged. “God, I thought the bloody cattle baron had abducted you.”

“He’ll be coming to look for me pretty soon,” Christy warned, wanting nothing more than to have Ashe McKinnon explode into the room.

“You don’t know him, do you?’ Josh asked as if he guessed her pitiful secret.

“Pretty soon we’re going to get engaged,” Christy said briskly, wanting to see how he took it.

The generous mouth dropped open. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious,” she managed.

“You’re not!” Now he gloated. “You don’t know him. He doesn’t come to the city that often. He has a cattle empire to run.”

“I know!” Christy flaunted the knowledge. “He’s very rich.”

“You don’t care about riches.”

“I do now. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I’d say he has even more millions than your wife and mother-in-law put together.”

“You’re bitter, aren’t you?” Josh accused her, his hazel eyes raking her face and body.

“Get a grip, Josh,” she said, green eyes narrowing in contempt. “It’s okay you married your Callista. There’s a big wide world out there full of gorgeous men. Ashe McKinnon would have to be right up there at the top.”

“You weren’t on the wedding list,” Josh pointed out aggressively. “You’re a fake, Christy. You don’t know him at all.” But on his own wedding day Josh’s voice cracked with jealousy.