The Cattle Baron's Bride

“Are you telling me it’s not true?” Sad if he was giving himself away.

“I’m not telling you anything,” she said crisply, knowing with every passing minute getting involved with this intoxicating man would be a terrible mistake. “I’d like to see you less sure of yourself and your opinions.”

“And you’re the one hoping we can be friends?” he scoffed.

Think, Sam. Try to clear your head.

Yet all her pulses were drumming in double time. “Not friends so much,” she successfully mustered her poise. “I don’t believe we could ever be friends, not unless you undergo a radical change, but colleagues of sorts. I know you’d prefer Men Only, women being such nuisances, but I’d endeavour to keep out of your way.”

“Fine,” he drawled, staring down at her mouth with her small teeth like prize pearls. Her lips were full, luscious, incredibly tempting. He’d like to crush their cushiony softness beneath his. Teach her a lesson. “But not exactly easy if we had to share a tent?”

She battled the shock wave. “We wouldn’t have to do that. Would we?”

For the first time there was genuine amusement in his jewelled eyes. “Not your idea of fun? It could get worse.”

She was still seeing them sharing a tent. “Like dodging crocs and pythons that devour you at a gulp?”

“Lady, there’s so much I’m not telling you.” It came out with a flicker of contempt.

Use your head. Go!

She had to make her escape before she said something she would regret. Ross Sunderland was dynamite. Exciting yes, but one of the dangerous men of this world. He drew her so much it was scaring her badly. “Anything to put me off,” she managed lightly. “I think I’ll have a word with Isabelle if I can find her. You’re a terrible man.” She half turned away.

“Knowing that at the start will save you a lot of trouble,” he called after her.

“To be frank I knew it the instant I laid eyes on you.” She turned back to confront him, long silky hair swirling, flame bright in the strong lights.

His mouth curved in a challenging smile. “Then you know we’re not fated to be friends.”

“That sounds so much like a dare?”

They were caught in a tableau, neither moving until a very pretty brunette dressed in show stopping red broke it up by rushing between them, ignoring Samantha as though she weren’t there. “Ah there you are Ross, darling!” She grabbed his arm. Held on for dear life. “I didn’t think this was your scene. Mum and I have only just arrived. Come and join us. We were just saying we should have a good party. It’s seems like ages since we got together.” She began to pull him away.

Samantha didn’t wait to see them move off. She was cursing herself for allowing Ross Sunderland to get to her. No way either was he going to block her path. Her company and contribution were important to her brother. She was determined not to be left behind.

David Langdon took a long slow breath then decided to catch up with the woman he’d spent so much time watching. Albeit out of the corner of his eye. A beaute fatale. Of course he had known she was beautiful. In fact she was more beautiful in the flesh than she was in the photographs he had seen in the papers and the few times they had captured her on television always hurrying away, head bent, one hand trying to cover her face like the tragic Princess Diana. For a while the media had hounded her. That must have been a bad experience. He knew who she was of course. Isabelle Hartmann, Blair Hartmann’s young widow. She couldn’t be more than mid-twenties and her beauty hadn’t even reached its zenith. She still looked as though she was hurting badly.

David hadn’t even told his sister how much he had learned about this near notorious young woman over the past months. Mostly from people supposedly in the know. Little of it good. It seemed to him a shocking thing to condemn her out of hand. Who knew exactly what went on within a marriage? Closer to the truth he’d been seized with a fierce desire to protect her which was quite odd since he had never managed to meet her. Not that he wasn’t in and out of Sydney all the time but he made a point of avoiding the big social functions unless they were in aid of charity. His deep seeing eyes, trained eyes, had divined the torment in her.

A lot of the rumours and gossip had their origins in plain jealousy. He’d come to that conclusion. Men he’d found were far more reluctant to put any blame at all on her though all were in agreement Blair Hartmann had been a nice easy going guy, maybe a little light weight, spoiled outrageously by his wealthy mother. Everyone knew that. It was women, especially Evelyn Hartmann’s circle, fuelled by envy and resentment and fearing to cross such a formidable figure in society as Isabelle’s ex-mother-in-law, who claimed Isabelle was an altogether different person from the one who appeared in public. For one thing she had been near arctic to the husband who had adored her. There was even talk she had refused him a child no doubt to preserve her willowy figure, selfish creature. She was terribly vain they reported, obsessed with herself and her clothes.

At least they couldn’t say she had married Hartmann for his money. The Sunderlands were a highly respected pastoral family wealthy in their own right as the press had easily uncovered. The fierce argument between the two, husband and wife had of course found its way into print. Speculation had been rife. Something Isabelle Hartmann had said had caused her late husband so loving and appreciative of her, to storm out of the party. Worse, perhaps caused him to be careless of his own life.

Whispers still followed her. He had overheard a few this very night. Blessed or cursed by such physical beauty she was bound to be a cynosure of attention. But no one he had noticed had been so careless as to give rein to gossip with her brother in earshot. Ross Sunderland was a man with fire in his remarkable eyes. Even the way he stood near his sister, sometimes with his arm carelessly around her, told the world not to be surprised if he retaliated on his sister’s behalf. Langdon had been told and had since witnessed the two were very close. My God, didn’t he feel the same about his own little sister, Samantha, nearly seven years his junior who had borne the brunt of their parents’ undeniably bitter break up with Sam the pawn in the middle. On his world travels at the time he had since done his level best to make it up to her.

Seeing Isabelle Hartmann alone for a moment that beautiful face cool, passionless as a statue, he made his way towards her, gesturing with a smile he’d get back to a couple who surged across the room to gain his attention.

“Good evening, Mrs. Hartmann. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself for some time. David Langdon.”

She turned to him quickly, staring up into his face. “Of course, Mr. Langdon.” Some emotion stirred in her, swiftly crossed her face, then disappeared. She gave him her hand, silky soft, slender quite lost in his bear grip. He fought down the powerful urge to carry it to his lips.

“My pleasure.” She smiled, finding something incredibly mesmeric about this big, dynamic man. “And it certainly has been. I’ve so enjoyed your showing.”

“I’m glad.” Was it his imagination or was she trembling?

“I’d have met you much earlier only I got caught up by friends who haven’t seen me for a while. You’ve been so much the centre of attention I didn’t want to intrude.” The fact was both Cy and Jessica, then a little later Samantha followed by Ross had insisted they introduce her—it was high time—but for some reason she had made the excuse she would wait a while until all the adulation died down. It still hadn’t stopped.

“The gallery shuts its doors at ten.” He glanced over her satin smooth dark head. She wore her hair in a style he particularly liked if the woman could get away with it. A classic chignon that emphasized her enchanting swan neck. “I sincerely hope you’re going to join us at dinner?”

She pressed her fingers to her temple.

“Please don’t claim a headache,” he begged, smiling into her eyes. “I promise you you’re going to enjoy yourself. I’ve already met Ross, of course. I feel already he’s just the right man to lead our expedition.”

She allowed her eyes to appraise his height and his broad shoulders. A gentle giant but she had no doubt he could be incredibly tough when he had to be. “You don’t strike me as the sort of man who needs anyone to lead him.”

He gave her another charming smile. “As much as I hate to say it I’d definitely need an expert to guide me through Kakadu. This is your part of the world.”

“Yet you’ve visited other extremely remote places. Very dangerous places as well.”

“And I’ve counted on good people who know what they’re about for survival.”

She braced herself a little. He was very close, towering over her. So big, so solid, but marvellously nonthreatening. She had made a horrendous error in judgment with Blair but she knew in her bones this man would always deal with women gently. “I’m not exactly sure Ross has made up his mind, Mr. Langdon,” she warned him.

“David, please.”

“Isabelle.” She spoke almost shyly, her creamy white skin colouring slightly. It was enormously appealing. Rumour had painted her a vain self centred creature who lived only for her own pleasure and conquest. He saw none of it. Perhaps tragedy had destroyed her confidence.

“It suits you,” he remarked, his voice deep with more than a polite veneer. If he had to visualise Shakespeare’s Dark Lady of the Sonnets, it would be Isabelle Hartmann. He surprised within himself not only fascination but a curious tenderness for this young woman with the purity and loveliness of a lily. She was wearing white to enhance the effect, one shouldered, a fluid column, no jewellery except for pendant earrings. Lustrous South Sea pearls appended from a diamond cluster. She wore no rings on her long fingered hands. No engagement ring. No wedding ring. Pearl painted nails. There again a puzzle. Would a woman so recently widowed remove clear evidence of her marriage? What did it say? She had gained no comfort there?

His topaz eyes glowed like a cat’s without giving anything away, but Isabelle was aware he was noting every last little thing about her. Extraordinarily she welcomed it. One of the paradoxical facts of life. As big and masculine as he was, he didn’t threaten her. Rather she felt in the presence of some powerful creature who for his own reasons had taken her under his protection. She had already noticed there was something distinctly leonine about him even to the tawny mane. She realised she too was taking stock, wondering how those thick waves would feel beneath her hands. To grasp them! To tug gently. It would be quite wonderful.

My God, she had to be mad!

“That’s great! You two have finally met.”

Each was so engrossed in the other they actually started when Samantha appeared at her brother’s side, smiling her pleasure. She glanced at her watch excitedly. “Ten minutes to go then we can all get to know one another better. I have to admit I’m hungry. What about you, Isabelle?”

It was her moment to say she had a slight headache and would be returning to the hotel only someone as radiant and friendly as Samantha Langdon was hard to resist. David Langdon said nothing, quietly waiting for her answer. She was forced to admit the fact he was going to be there had a huge bearing on her decision. She couldn’t bring herself to ask why. Better that way.

“Perhaps a little,” she smiled. “But I warn you. I’m not going to talk. I’m going to listen.”

They all sat round a circular table, paired off as if it would have been obvious to an onlooker that Isabelle and Ross and David and Samantha were closely related. David’s assistant Matt had a previous engagement to meet up with a friend staying at the Holiday Inn so the numbers were even. The restaurant was nowhere near as opulent as the restaurants Isabelle had frequented with Blair and their circle of friends. His friends really, part of the Establishment, grown up together, gone to the same schools and University, but the food was every bit as good. Over the last dreadful months it had been difficult just trying to swallow enough to stay alive but tonight sitting between David Langdon and her brother Isabelle found herself surprisingly hungry. Even the air around her had taken on a different quality. Maybe sanity wasn’t staying away from people but joining them.

They all had different things for an entrée, though she and Jessica shared a range of appetisers, crudités and quails eggs and a beautiful Haloumi that came from Kangaroo Island and was much better than the imported. Samantha had sea scallops wrapped with bacon with a red wine sauce, David, pan fried prawns in potato waistcoats, Cyrus decided on abalone with shiitake and young salad leaves served in its beautiful ovoid shell and Ross stayed with one of his favourites, rice noodle cannelloni stuffed with the superb blue swimmer crab meat.

It was difficult not to mellow under the influence of such beautiful food and the excellent chilled chardonnay that accompanied it. Seafood figured heavily for the main course, magnificent lobster caught that very morning, coral trout off the Reef, and the superb eating fish barramundi for which the Top End was famous.

Ross glancing across at his sister found it deeply heartening to see her eating with apparent enjoyment, smiling frequently at something David Langdon said to her, obviously at ease with him. It was almost as if he had brought her to life. There was colour in her cheeks. She looked very beautiful but still dangerously vulnerable. Well, Langdon was a kind man. He could see that. A gentleman. He was also very amusing, very knowledgeable, and Ross had had ample evidence women found Langdon extremely attractive. David Langdon had to be one hell of a catch. It didn’t occur to Ross that people said exactly the same thing about him.