The Cattle Baron's Bride

“But you can’t despair, Belle. You’re young. In time you’ll meet someone else.” Someone worthy of you, Ross thought. “I realise the fact the two of you had an argument before Blair left the party is weighing heavily on you. His mother’s attitude didn’t help but she was so intensely possessive of her son she would have blamed any woman who was his widow. Grief made her act so badly.”

By and large Evelyn Hartmann was right. She had sent Blair to his death.

“Evelyn wasn’t the only one to assign the blame to me. Blair’s whole family did. A lot of our so called friends looked at me differently afterwards. There was a lot of talk. I couldn’t defend myself. I was the outsider. Everyone looked on Blair as the most devoted of husbands.”

“But wasn’t he?” Ross asked, hoping he could get to the truth. Did the truth set you free or make matters worse?

“He adored me just as you say, Ross.” Isabelle spread her elegant long fingered hands. “I know you’re trying to help me but can we get off the subject.” Stay away from it entirely. “Samatha Langdon now. I’d like to meet her. I missed out on Cy’s and Jessica’s wedding. Impossible to go under the circumstances.”

“Cy and Jessica understood,” Ross assured her. “If you really want to meet Samantha Langdon why not come along with me tonight? We’ll take the chopper into Darwin late afternoon. You’ll need to book an extra room at the hotel. I think it might do you good to get out of the house.”

Would it? All the hurtful rumours and she supposed she hadn’t heard the half of them had given her a strong feeling of being separated from other people. Her problem—early widowhood and ugly spate of rumours—wasn’t their problem, thank God. She knew all the gossip would be doing the rounds of Darwin but then she wouldn’t be on her own. Nevertheless she said: “It’s just that I don’t think I can, Ross.” She began to gather up plates remembering how Blair in one of his moods had smashed their wine glasses, deliberately dropping them on the kitchen tiles, then laughing as she shrunk back wondering seriously if he were mad. Certainly there had been a demon in him.

“Look Belle, I’m not pressing you but I know there’s a heck of a lot you’re not telling me. Just remember, you’re not alone. A lot of people love you. You’re my baby sister. I’d lay down my life for you.”

Tears rushed into her eyes and she turned away.

“So it would mean a great deal to me if you made the effort to come. Jessica likes you a lot.”

Isabelle had composed herself enough to turn back. “We’ve only met a couple of times but Jessica is a lovely person and Samantha is a close friend. Would Jessica have a friend who wasn’t a nice person?”

Ross stood up, shoving his chair beneath the table. “I never said she wasn’t nice.” God, nice hardly described her. “It’s David Langdon we’re there to meet anyway. Say you’ll come, Belle.”

“You need protection?” She gave a glimmer of a smile.

“Nope.” He moved his wide shoulders restlessly. “Getting hooked on a woman like that would be as dangerous as catching a tiger by the tail.”

CHAPTER TWO

THEY slipped into an animated crowd, most with champagne glasses in hand, and waiters circling with delicious looking finger food. There was a buzz of a hundred voices. Isabelle spotted Cyrus Bannerman first because of his commanding height and presence. Half hidden by the breadth of his shoulder was his beautiful wife of several months Jessica, her magnificent mass of ash-blond hair radiant in the bright fall of skylights. The interior of the gallery was divided into three spacious rooms interconnected by wide arches. The lights were trained on a large collection of photographs, most colour some black and white that took on a rivetting quality to rival paintings. Someone had taken the trouble to hang the prints perfectly on the white expanse of walls.

Jessica looked up and waved, a lovely welcoming smile on her face. Cy turned around to follow his wife’s gaze, beaming too. They watched him glance back at the group he was with, obviously making their excuses, before he tucked his hand beneath Jessica’s elbow steering a path towards Ross and Isabelle who were also being greeted on all sides. The big cattle families were outback royalty. The Sunderlands were as well known as the Bannermans though the late Broderick Bannerman, an immensely wealthy man had not scored anywhere near the late Ewan Sunderland’s high approval rating. Mercifully both sons and heirs were held in high regard.

“Hi!” The women brushed cheeks, smiling into one another’s eyes. The men, looking very pleased to see one another settled for affectionate claps on the shoulder.

“I’m so glad you could come, Isabelle,” Jessica said with complete sincerity. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you. So do you.” Isabelle, who appeared so poised was actually quaking inside. She was grateful for the compliment. Jessica’s warmth and friendliness steadied her. It was a long time since she had ventured out. Blair’s death had put such a contagion on her.

Jessica smiled. “It’s a brilliant collection.” She turned her head over her shoulder. “I know you’ll both love it. David is being feted in the next room. Sam is with David’s assistant, Matt Howarth. A very pleasant guy. Come and meet them. David is an extraordinary man. You’ll like him, Ross. We know he’s very keen on meeting you and hopefully having you for a guide.”

“Piece of cake!” Cy assured his friend.

“I don’t know that I’ve made up my mind, Cy,” Ross said, sobering a moment. Sam was with Matt Howarth? What did that mean? What do you think it means he thought a hard knot in his stomach.

“You want a break. You work too hard,” Cy urged him, forging a path through the throng.

“You should talk.”

“It’s not like it’s going to be for long. Belle would love it.” The old Belle, Cy thought. Knowing her from childhood he recognised and understood Isabelle’s fragile state of mind.

Jessica made a little surprised gesture, looking towards Isabelle. “What a marvellous idea!”

“I couldn’t, Jessica,” Isabelle said quickly, touching the other woman’s arm. “I beg you, don’t say anything.”

“Of course not!” Jessica promised hurriedly seeing the tension in Isabelle’s face. She knew Isabelle’s tragic story and she was full of sympathy. How did a woman cope with losing a be-loved husband? Jessica found herself giving an involuntary shudder. Her own days were filled with ecstatic fulfilment. To lose Cy would be like a descent into hell.

Someone came out of the crowd, a stylish, sweet faced woman in her fifties who grasped Isabelle’s arm. “Isabelle dear, what an extraordinary surprise! I’d heard you were home.”

“Mrs. Charlton, of course.” Isabelle’s face lit up. She allowed herself to be detained. “I’ll catch up with you,” she called to the others.

Ross relaxed when he heard the comfortable note in his sister’s voice. He didn’t know the woman, although he was sure he had seen her some place. So many of Isabelle’s so called friends had betrayed her taking the opinion she somehow had played a role in her popular husband’s death.

The next room was even more crowded. A lion of a man with a large handsome head covered in thick tawny waves and strongly hewn features was holding court. The several women around him were staring up into his face, magnetised, their expressions buoyed up, obviously excited.

Jessica laughed a bit, “Starstruck.”

“Extraordinary guy,” Cy answered. In fact very few in life had that impact he thought.

But Ross saw no one but her. The same galvanising jolt passed through him as the first time he’d laid eyes on her. A sensation he had tried—how unsuccessfully—to erase from his mind. And then, tensing, the man standing too close at her shoulder. Early thirties, slight of build, thin sensitive face, nice smile. Matt Howarth. It had to be. His attitude, the way he was standing flashed an unmistakable message. They shared a relationship, or at the very least an understanding. Surely he hadn’t imagined she would be unattached. A beautiful creature like that! Hell he couldn’t even allow himself to think of her, but the knowledge he wouldn’t succeed was there.

Tonight she was wearing a slip of a dress of a golden hue that complemented her colouring. High heeled gold sandals were on her feet. Her beautiful hair was centre parted falling like a bolt of bright copper satin down her back. Even her skin looked gilded. He could actually feel its smoothness under his hand. Cool and satiny when the very thought of touching her heated his blood.

You want her. You know you do.

He heard that inner voice, the voice that wouldn’t be silenced, whispering in his ear.

Their eyes met. He realised with a sense of crushing mortification he’d been standing once again transfixed. Hell! Acting foolish wasn’t his style. He found himself wondering if the others had noticed he was rooted to the spot. Yet she too, seemed shocked, her beautiful doe’s eyes widening, as if electrified by the intensity of his hunter’s gaze.

Immediately he was seized with the fierce desire to turn around and leave. This woman was temptation. The sort of challenge any smart man would step free of it. No way could he guide this expedition if Samantha Langdon was to go along. He hadn’t the slightest desire to allow a woman to play him like a clown. Woman magic. Sometimes he thought he could never wipe away the bitter taste of his father’s betrayal at the soft hands of his mother. That’s what lay behind everything he thought, abruptly sobering. A man could be shackled by adoration. His beloved father had gone about his life but both of his children had known inside he was shattered. That’s what women were capable of. Leaving a trail of destruction.

He looked away at the brother, David Langdon, thinking with a vague sense of astonishment he liked the man on sight. Brother and sister shared a resemblance—not as marked as his and Belle’s—mostly the colouring. She looked very delicate beside him, ultra feminine. Long, light beautiful bones. The brother was a big man, well over six feet like himself, but strapping rather than lean, very fit and strong looking. His hair was a tawny mix of dark blond to bronze, his eyes a pronounced shade of topaz. Both had generous well defined mobile mouths.

Cy introduced them. The two men shook hands then Langdon speaking easily—he exuded charisma—introduced his assistant, Matt, who regarded Sunderland somewhat warily as if he thought this was someone who could turn dangerous and he was already aware of it.

“I’m looking forward to us all having dinner together,” Langdon said after a few minutes of exchanging social pleasantries. “Meanwhile I hope you enjoy the showing. I have to circulate, it seems.” Cy’s stepsister, Robyn, the owner of the gallery, looking very glamorous in black and white was beckoning to him pushing forward a distinguished looking elderly man. “Excuse me, won’t you?” Langdon’s manner was so warm and charming Ross thought the man would have no difficulty selling heaters to the nomads in the desert. David Langdon had every appearance of a man you could trust with your life.

They all began to study the remarkable array of photographs, moving about the room in procession. Ross listened to the comments of his friends as they talked. Jessica, the creative one, was very knowledgeable. She was just right for Cy he thought. Lucky guy! He wondered where Belle had got to. Ah, there she was, standing with a red-haired woman, seemingly at ease. He stopped for a moment to read a CV of Langdon’s work. Very impressive. He’d spent time in the war zones, East Timor, Afghanistan, Iraq. He was very widely travelled. A great deal in South East Asia. Thailand, Cambodia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Papua New Guinea. Ross had seen his marvellous impressions of that little known country although it lay on Australia’s door step. Separated momentarily from the others—so many people wanted to meet Jessica—he studied the shots of the Great Barrier Reef and the glorious tropical islands. Langdon must have spent hours and hours flying around trying to find the exact spots. Probably in a helicopter or a light plane, door open, strapped in tightly so he could film. Perfect crystal clear waters, cobalt skies, pure white sand ringing jade islands.

He wouldn’t mind a few weeks on a tropical island. He could almost feel himself there. His eyes dwelt with pleasure on a magnificent shot of the Outer Reef shot from the air. The deep channel was a deep inky blue, the waters a deep turquoise, with channels of aquamarine. The fantastic coral gardens were in the foreground, an anchored boat and a group of snorkellers swimming off the reef wall lending perspective. Moving on, he recognised Four Mile Beach at Queensland’s Port Douglas, the purple ranges in the background, luxuriant palms and vegetation wrapping the wide beach, sun worshippers like little colourful dots on the sand. A marvellous, marvellous shot of a small sand cay covered with nesting crested terns, the deep turquoise waters rippled with iridescent green like the heart of a black opal. He felt like he was in the middle of the ocean.

“These are good,” he found himself murmuring aloud.

“You sound surprised?”

He straightened and turned slowly before answering, giving himself time to suppress the involuntary electric thrill that flared along his nerves. As a consequence his voice came out in that strange arrogant fashion. “That wasn’t my intention. Your brother is more than a fine photographer. He’s an artist.”

“He is,” Samantha said with complete conviction, her cheeks flushing a little at the curtness of his tone. Her powerful attraction to this man shocked her. Not Mr. Nice Guy that’s for sure. Formidable. “I run the Sydney gallery for him. Of course you know that. We’re thinking of opening another one here in Darwin.”