Australia's Most Eligible Bachelor / The Bridesmaid's Secret: Australia's Most Eligible Bachelor

She ran her fingers through her short glittering curls. “I’d be honoured. But I have to get my MB first, Corin.” Her brain was ticking over at a million miles a minute. Travel? See the world? She felt exhilarated. And shocked.

“No reason to believe you won’t. I applaud your ambition. But taking a gap year will work out to be a distinct advantage. The more experienced and the more cultivated you are as a human being, you can only enhance your chosen career.”

“So I’m to do what I’m told? Is that it?”

He could see the mix of emotions in her eyes. “I’ve mapped out an agenda for your perusal.”

“Not my approval?” she commented wryly.

He ignored that. “Zara will be happy to keep an eye on you in London. I know the two of you will get on like a house on fire. Dad splashed out and bought a house in London when our mother was alive—an 1840s house in Holland Park. Rather run-down at the time, but in a superb location of beautiful tree-lined streets and gardens, and of course the park itself, which was once the grounds of a vast Jacobean Manor. Anyway, my mother and her English decorator transformed it. Zara is living in the house now. But there’s a basement apartment which I had turned into a very comfortable pied-à-terre for whenever I’m in London. You could live there. It will give you the feeling of independence. You can come and go as you please, but Zara would still be around for you. There’s a very elegant apartment in Paris too, typically Parisian, but Leila doesn’t go there often. She much prefers the villa she talked Dad into buying on the Côte d’Azur. It has a spectacular view of the Mediterranean.”

“So in the years of her marriage Leila has lived like royalty, greedily soaking up all the luxury your father’s billions can buy?”

“It’s not a new phenomenon. There have always been courtesans.”

“You hate her, don’t you?”

“I hate what she did to my mother,” he said tautly. “And how shamelessly. That’s when it all began. She worked to alienate Zara from Dad. These days I’m…indifferent to her.”

Miranda had to wonder about that. Only eight years separated Corin and Leila. “She must have to work very hard to be indifferent to you!” She spoke without thinking.

His handsome face tightened and his whole body tensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She reined herself in quickly. “Leila likes to charm wherever she goes. Men, that is.”

“Well, she doesn’t charm me!” His voice was heavily freighted with hostility.

“Okay, don’t be angry.”

“Maybe you should start thinking about psychiatry?”

She met his dark eyes. “You’ve said that before. I’ve got good instincts, Corin. I let them work for me. Are you going to show me that agenda of yours?”

“I’ve got it right here.” He picked up a sheet of paper, then passed it across the desk to her. He must have been checking it when she arrived. “A bank account will be opened for you. You’ll have all the money you need to travel. See the great art museums of the world, study a language if you like. Go to the opera, the theatre, the ballet. Zara loves the ballet. Buy clothes. I want you to make the best of this time, Miranda. You’ll have a long, hard slog ahead of you.”

Her eyes ran dazedly down the page. “Look, I can’t do this, Corin,” she said eventually. “I’m not family. Yet you’re treating me like family.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, you are family—in a way. Your mother is married to my father. That’s family. Besides, I’m fond of you, Miranda. You must know that. We clicked from the very first moment you near landed in my lap. Your welfare has become important. It’s the least I can do for someone who has taken more than her share of blows. We’re both caught up in this, Miranda, so you must do as I say. This gap year will work wonders. Just see how quickly it goes.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “So a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do? Is that it?”

“I want your promise right now,” he said.

Her eyes opened. Her head flew back. “What if Leila and your father decide to visit London, or the Paris apartment or whatever?” she queried with sharp concern. “I see there’s another apartment in Rome.”

“You wouldn’t need to have contact should they visit. Leila likes the great hotels. Claridges in London, the Ritz in Paris are favourites. Dad does what she wants. She’s an expert manipulator. Anyway, I’ll always know their movements. Leave it to me.”

“Leave it to you?” She drew in a stunned breath. “I’m shocked by all this, Corin. I knew you might spring the gap year on me again, but never an agenda like this! Zara still doesn’t know about me and Leila?”

“I don’t think she could handle it,” he said sombrely. “Not without speaking out. She knows about my clever protégée Miranda Thornton. She knows nothing about the family connection. It’ll have to wait.”

“Until you’re good and ready, Machiavelli. Do protégées usually get world trips and a hefty bank allowance?”

“My sister knows I have a reason for everything I do,” he answered smoothly. “She won’t question it, or you. All she needs to know is that I consider, as does Professor Sutton, you’ll gain a great deal from a gap year.”

Her beautiful eyes glittered like jewels. “I think I knew from the start it might end up like this. You changing my life.”

His mouth twisted sardonically. “Cheer up! Didn’t you once call it destiny?”

“You believe in it?”

Their eyes locked. For the longest moment. “I do,” he said.

Chapter Two

IT WAS more like a fairy tale than real life. She was living a glittering lifestyle, like the most impossible of dreams. She had to remind herself every day that she couldn’t allow such a life to seduce her. Not that there was any real chance of that. Zara was the heiress. She most assuredly wasn’t. The practice of medicine would be her role in life. But for now she was enjoying herself immensely—just as Corin had wanted her to. Days, weeks, months simply flew by in a whirl of pleasure and excitement. She was learning a new way of life, acquiring much knowledge along the way.

She loved London—perhaps not the climate, not after the blue and gold of Queensland, but she worked around that like everyone else. London was one of the great cities of the world. It embraced her. It allowed her to trace its illustrious history, to see its magnificent historic buildings, the art galleries, the wonderful antiques shops, markets, to shop at the legendary Harrods, visit the beautiful parks. She was doubly blessed by being billeted in very swish Holland Park, just west of Notting Hill. More than anything she loved living in Corin’s elegant apartment, with its French Art Deco furniture and a basic colour scheme of brown, bronze and white enlivened by cinnamon and gold. It was definitely a male sanctum, but it welcomed her.

Though fourteen thousand miles separated them, she somehow felt Corin very close. That could have had a lot to do with the fact that she was sleeping in his huge Art Deco bed!

Zara was largely responsible for the lovely time she was having. She had quickly found Zara was the most beautiful, gracious creature on earth. And the kindest. A true lady. Miranda knew from the photographs of their mother—Corin had one lovely silver framed study he kept on his desk—Zara was fashioned in her mother’s image, but she did see a lot of Corin in her. The sharpness of intellect, the generosity of spirit, the sense of humour that happily they all shared. Just like Corin, there was something utterly irresistible about Zara. Yet Miranda sensed a deep sadness that lay in Zara’s heart. From time to time it was reflected in her huge dark eyes. Zara had some pretty serious stuff stacked away in the background.

Over the months Zara had taken the place of the big sister Miranda had never had. She had been so lonely for siblings that had never arrived. How could they? Her real mother, Leila, had fled, desperate to get away from her parents and her child. She now claimed she couldn’t bear children. Maybe, just maybe, it was true. Leila would surely have wanted to cement her new position by producing a male child? It was possible it was Dalton Rylance who didn’t want or need any more children. He had Corin and his daughter, even if she so painfully brought to mind his first wife. Was his cold disregard a by-product of his guilt? Miranda found herself both fascinated and repelled by the whole story.

Kathryn Rylance had died when she’d crashed her car. Had it been an accident? She would never dare ask. But surely such a loving mother would never have deliberately left her children? Not to such a father. Or the covetous young woman waiting in the wings. The potential stepmother. There could have been a single moment when Kathryn had become careless and lost control of the wheel. She could have been blinded by tears. Miranda realised she wouldn’t be the only one to ponder such things. There were the grieving grandparents, the De Laceys, and Kathryn’s clever, perceptive children, her close friends. Talk must have been rife!

But no one knew what really happened. Nor would they ever.

Often she wanted to break her own silence and confide in Zara, but she had given her promise to Corin. He would decide when it was time. In the meantime, Zara was always on hand with support and advice. She took Miranda everywhere—parties, functions, art showings—and introduced her to many highly placed people who seemed to like her. She was now included in many invitations. Zara arranged weekend trips to Paris, the fabulous City of Light, where they crammed in as much sightseeing as they could. All for her benefit, of course. Zara had visited the city many times before.

Back in London they lunched together whenever Zara could make it from work, went shopping together, loving every moment of it. But Zara never interfered or asked too many questions. It was as if she knew Miranda wasn’t too sure of the answers. The great thing was they had become the best of friends. Miranda valued that friendship greatly. For a young woman with a billionaire father Zara was remarkably down to earth. But Miranda, acutely attuned to Corin and now to his sister, knew Zara wasn’t happy at heart. It wasn’t as if she brooded or was subject to mood swings, nothing like that, but Miranda felt right in her judgement. Beautiful, privileged Zara, for all the money behind her and a long list of admirers, wasn’t happy or fulfilled. A melancholy lay behind the melting dark eyes that those who looked beyond the superficial clearly saw.

Miranda had written to Peter well in advance of her arrival. He had been thrilled to know she was coming. He thoroughly agreed with Corin, whom he referred to as his saviour, a gap year was an excellent idea.

“You don’t want to end up a burnt-out old wreck like me.”

These days they met up frequently for coffee and conversation, took in a concert or a movie. On good days, like today, when the sun was shining, they packed a picnic lunch and sat on the grass in either Hyde Park or St James’s, with its wonderful views of Buckingham Palace in one direction and Whitehall in the other. There was just so much history to this great city! Currently Peter’s teacher had entered him in a big European competition and convinced Peter if he worked hard and continued to show progress he would make his mark in the world of music.

“You’re in your element at last, aren’t you?” Miranda said, glancing over at her friend with affection. Peter had made a complete recovery now that he had been granted his wish to pursue a musical career.

“Absolutely!” Peter lolled on the green grass, tucking into a ham and salad roll. “I’ve never felt so at home in my life. I love London. All the action is here. And there’s no culture gap to contend with. Even the family has settled, knowing I’m making a success of myself over here. Life’s strange, isn’t it? I wouldn’t be here except for Corin. My parents actually listened to him. But then he has enormous presence and—what?—he’s not even thirty.”

“Twenty-eight.” Miranda took the last bite out of her crunchy apple.

“Still in love with him?” Peter leaned on an elbow to peer into her face.

“Why ever would you say that?” She feigned nonchalance though her heart had started to hammer. Was she that transparent?