Red Dirt Duchess Page 6

  He shook his head. ‘There’s —’

  ‘Let me finish.’ She started to tick off her fingers. ‘You know about my father, you know I once kissed Miss Piggy, I’ve fed you, served you drinks and taken you out for the day.’

  ‘Finished?’ he asked with a droll intonation.

  Maybe she’d pushed too hard. Maybe she was making too big a deal of it. Maybe – the thought flashed into her mind – maybe he was married. She mentally head-desked herself. Why wouldn’t he be? He was tall, good-looking, urbane – and once you pushed through that prickly façade he was fun. Not to mention an insanely good kisser.

  Damn. What other reason could there be for his reticence? There was only one way to approach it.

  ‘I forgot to tell you,’ she added. ‘I’m single. What about you?’ She quirked her eyebrow, aiming for casually interested.

  ‘I’m single too,’ he said with an air of relief. Then he grinned. ‘I mean I have nothing against marriage per se, I’ve just never got around to it.’

  Jon watched Charlie’s face relax. He might have his faults but he’d never have kissed her last night if he was married. With a family history like his the idea made bile rise in his throat.

  But now they’d got onto the subject it seemed like a good idea to continue. Not about marriage, of course. He swept that aside with hardly a second thought. He’d been watching Charlie all morning, his blood fizzing with need. Every little quirk of her lips, every flash of feigned indignation and playful expression had brought him closer to kissing her again.

  The sun was high but in the shade of the tree, it was cooler. Light flickered across her face, creating intriguing patterns. A leaf fell, resting on the top of her head, and he leaned forward and pulled it off, tossing it away. His hand returned to her face, lifting her hair and pushing it over her shoulder so that the curve of her cheek was exposed. Her lips parted and he leaned in, covering them with his own. Soft, hot, sweet. Impressions crowded into his mind, one on top of the other. He probed with his tongue and she opened wider, enough for her tongue to tangle with his. His pulse pounded, sensation overwhelming him. His mind shut down and his body took over.

  He pulled her towards him and his hand dropped to her breast. Through the thin material of her T-shirt he felt her nipple harden, and she moaned against his mouth. This wasn’t last night’s playful banter, between a stray kiss or two. This was heading straight to the bedroom. Well, the rug.

  He deepened the kiss as he dropped his hand to her waist, reaching under her top to get closer to her breasts. A thin scrap of lace covered them. He pulled her gently back with him onto the rug, their mouths still locked together. She was sweet and searching. Willing.

  Within a few short moments he could have everything he wanted. They could make love under this tree, with the dappled light playing over their bodies. They could take time exploring each other, creating memories. He was rock-hard. Ready.

  And then he looked down into Charlie’s eyes. The desire was clear but there was something else, a sadness that made him pause. She’d give herself to him, he knew, but like this? When he’d be jumping on a plane and disappearing forever this afternoon? It would be just sex, a release for both of them. He couldn’t do it.

  He pulled away a little and she didn’t reach for him. Instead she gave him a wry smile that hinted at regret, sitting up and rearranging her clothing.

  He’d never pulled back like that before, and he’d probably be cursing himself all the way home to England. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured.

  Her smile widened as amusement lit her face. ‘Don’t be sorry. I forgot to tell you about burrs. We’ve got the biggest, nastiest burrs in the world here. I don’t know about you, but the idea of spending the rest of the day digging them out of your backside is not high on my list of priorities.’

  They travelled in silence back to the hotel, each seemingly locked in their own thoughts. When they arrived, Charlie immediately took over from Rhonda behind the bar, glad to have something normal to do. She’d barely been able to look at Jon as her mind went over the morning. She’d been ready to surrender, to make love, even though her desire was shadowed by the bittersweet knowledge he was leaving.

  She watched him covertly as he sat at a table in the corner, tapping at his laptop. When the loud noise of the Cessna flying low directly overhead shattered the peace, he looked up. She tried to read his expression, pleased that he didn’t instantly rise and race for the door. She walked around to the front of the bar. ‘I suppose you’d like a lift this time, Princess.’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’ He rose and flipped the laptop closed and smiled.

  ‘C’mon then.’

  He walked past the mural, giving it one last sidelong look, before picking up his bag and following Charlie out to the front. It was good that they’d gone out early this morning because the day had turned out as blisteringly hot as yesterday. Jon grimaced. ‘Just another day in Paradise, huh?’

  She was glad he was keeping it light, because her brain was in overload right now.

  They climbed into the truck and Charlie started it up, and turned the wheel sharply to head across the road and jolt out towards the airstrip.

  She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He kept his eyes straight ahead as they drove, his jaw tense, seemingly focused on getting on that plane. That was fine. He’d stirred up too much already. Last night had left her itching with need and cursing herself for her cowardice. And this morning, she’d nearly succumbed to that need. She had to remind herself that he was the one who’d hesitated and finally done the sensible thing.

  And his revelations about the mural had awakened a previously unknown curiosity, teasing at the edge of her recollections. It was as though Cliff had drawn a line before which their family hadn’t existed, a line that had just been pointed out to her.

  The Cessna had landed and as they approached Charlie could see the pilot leaning against the fuselage in the shade of the wing. So this was it.

  She pulled up a little distance away and, keeping the engine running, wound down the window and shouted to the pilot. ‘Nothing for me today, Steve?’

  He gave his head a shake.

  ‘Okay, just a minute then.’ She rewound the window. Cool air gusted from the air conditioner, fanning her hair back from her face and cooling cheeks she knew were flushed. How did you say goodbye to a man who’d nibbled your jawline, who’d pressed every one of your buttons in a slow build of attraction from the moment he’d arrived? Who’d awakened a gnawing curiosity that was going to eat at you for a long time to come?

  After a moment’s hesitation she thrust out a hand. ‘Well, take care. Nice to meet you.’

  He stared at her hand for a moment, then lifted his gaze back to her face. He seemed to want to say something. Instead he leaned across and cupped her neck, his large hand soft as he pulled her gently towards him. The kiss was nothing like their previous ones. It was sweet with regret and could-have-beens. And maybe something else; the awakening idea that they hadn’t even started, that they had more to say to each other.

  But that wasn’t to be.

  He drew away slowly, keeping his eyes lowered and focused on her lips, as though deciding whether to zero in again. It gave her the opportunity to search his face, committing every detail to memory. His breath was hot as he raised his eyes to look at her. She could kiss him again, but what was the point? One kiss would lead to another and then another. And they were at the end of the line.

  From the corner of her eye Charlie could see Steve watching. No doubt it would be all over the outback tomorrow, chatted about at every stop he made and passed on from property to property by bush telegraph.

  The English bloke who’d stayed overnight at the Bin had been farewelled with a kiss the next day.

  Normally it would have worried her, but just now she didn’t care. Jon pulled away and leaned back against the door, his gaze shuttered. ‘Well, this is goodbye, then.’

  ‘I guess so.’ De
ep inside a pulse thudded so hard she could barely think. It seemed wrong. She wanted more. Much more.

  Before she could speak, he opened the door and got out. He stood a moment, and although she couldn’t see his face she knew he was looking at the plane. Then he turned to look back at the hotel. Several long seconds passed before he leaned into the four-wheel drive to drag out his bag.

  ‘It may be goodbye, but you know, if you really wanted to know about your father’s painting, you’d come and check it out for yourself.’ He slammed the door and hauled the bag over his shoulder then strode towards the Cessna without looking back.

  He climbed into the plane, the pilot closed the door and in less than a minute, it had bumped along the landing strip and soared into the air.

  Charlie sat for a long time, watching as it disappeared from sight. Already the whole thing felt surreal, as though Jon were a phantom from another world who’d dropped into hers, shaken it up and disappeared. She stared at the empty sky then dropped her forehead until it rested on her hands as they gripped the steering wheel.

  Cliff had said she’d know when the time was right. Maybe it was now.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  London, three weeks later

  Jon peeked out of the lift doors and satisfied himself that Caro wasn’t prowling Aristo’s large open-plan office. He walked down the corridor, skirted some partitions and slid quietly behind his desk, hating himself for being a coward, but he just didn’t need a confrontation with her at the moment. He’d paid a high price for their affair and no doubt she wasn’t finished with him yet.

  He’d arrived back in London a week ago. After Bindundilly, he’d headed east and spent a few days big-game fishing off the coast of New South Wales. It would make an exciting story, just the sort of thing for the huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ set. He’d visited some new resort hotels near the Great Barrier Reef and wineries in the Hunter Valley. But nothing stuck in his mind as much as the old brick hotel, hunkered on a pad of baking soil in the middle of the outback.

  And the intriguing woman who ran it.

  The image of Charlie had followed him through the days. Several female tourist executives had flirted outrageously with him and he’d returned the favour. They’d all been expensively dressed and beautifully made-up. Not one had possessed Charlie’s uncomplicated, fresh appeal. But that was behind him now. Coming home had reminded him of the problem he’d left behind.

  He needed to get married.

  He let out a deep, shuddering breath, feeling every fibre of his being recoil at the blatantly aristocratic nature of that need.

  The Hartley-Huntleys needed an heir.

  He hadn’t been down to Hartley Hall since his return, too rattled to face the galleries and corridors full of ancestral portraits, each representing one of the twenty generations that had ensured the continuance of the family bloodline. His own mother had been one of the fabulous Warrington sisters, and had brought to the family, in addition to her beauty and breeding, several hundred thousand pounds, a small mews flat in London and a seventeenth-century Meissen tea service.

  It wasn’t even as though he was the elder son. His brother Jeremy was the earl and there was no one more suited to the role. Jon was just a plain old Honourable, a title he rarely used.

  But a year ago it had been confirmed that the earl was shooting blanks. And suddenly all those ancestral eyes, whether they’d been rendered by Van Dyck, Holbein or Reynolds, had swivelled in unison in Jon’s direction.

  He rested his chin on one hand as he switched on his computer.

  He was just a bloody sperm donor, the family’s only chance. Which in itself was not the problem. He was sure he could oblige. It was the expectation that his wife, for marry he must, be of impeccable lineage, suitable for the wife of a Hartley-Huntley and, most of all, possess the gene pool required as mother of the next earl.

  All those ancestors had made their choice based on pedigree, wealth and a frank assessment of child-bearing potential that would have done a bloodstock manager proud.

  No one had been seduced, at least not in the marital stakes, by an actress with pretty ankles or by an irresistible Regency milkmaid. Not even a Spanish or Italian aristocrat had spiced the family blood with their fiery and very un-English passion.

  No, the Hartley-Huntleys had scoured Debrett’s assiduously, the pages of each edition no doubt marked by whatever version of Post-it note existed at the time. Wives had been selected and duty had been done.

  And at thirty, it was considered that Jon’s time had come.

  Whenever his mother came up to town, she gave him meaningful looks while enquiring about his social life. He was thankful that he was out of the country so much that he rarely featured in the social pages. And he knew that he was considered a little louche in the very highest circles. With neither a country estate nor a City career, he had little to offer but his ancient name. Oh, and his sperm.

  No doubt his mother laid awake at night worrying about all the aristocratic seed that was being dispersed everywhere but where it was needed the most: for the begetting of a little earl.

  Which brought him back to Caro. While no one could argue that she’d initiated their affair, he’d hardly been backward in coming forward. But her reaction afterwards led him to believe, at the distance of some weeks and after shifting his man-brain into a more perceptive gear, that she may have been working out how well their names looked together. Caro Hartley-Huntley. It certainly had a ring to it.

  Bloody hell.

  He leaned forward and beat his forehead silently on his desk. How could he have missed it? How could he have been so thick? He raised his head and glanced around. What was she thinking now? That she’d tamed him? She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that, but in a mildly terrifying way. The thought of her in the context of ‘wife’ was one that made his fine hairs prickle.

  He needed to get out of the office before she cruised past and buttonholed him, maybe invited him for another round of potential-husband nooky. He could work more easily at home. He shut his laptop and slid it into his bag, grabbed his coat and scarf and headed for the lift.

  Downstairs, he hit the green release button on the front doors and they slid open. The pavement was wet and shiny with reflected light. At four p.m. it was already dark and wind howled along the street, picking up dried leaves and old papers.

  He wrapped his scarf around his neck and hunkered down into his coat, hands thrust deep into his pockets. He kept his head down, hoping not to hear his name called imperiously from a taxi by a redheaded, perfumed crocodile with marriage on her mind.

  ‘Jon.’

  His head snapped up. The voice wasn’t the least bit imperious. It slammed into him, redolent of heat and dust and with just enough of that flat pronunciation to make him smile. Charlie stood in front of him in a ridiculously inadequate coat while the crowds swirled unheeding around her. She wore a multicoloured beanie with a large pompom on top and long earflaps, the sort of cheap hat bought from vendors outside Tube stations. Below the rim her hair lifted in the breeze, then fell back against her pale cheek.

  She held the business card he’d given her three weeks ago, her huge eyes sparkling as though she couldn’t believe she’d found him so easily. All thought of Caro disappeared as he felt the kick of excitement inside him. This was capital.

  But a peevish, insistent inner voice called time on the excitement. He was supposed to be looking for the right kind of bride. He couldn’t keep putting it off, always finding distractions. And despite her undeniable appeal, Charlie was about as unsuitable a distraction as they got.

  Doubt clouded her eyes as she looked at him, clearly sensing his mood. He forced a thin smile, hating himself. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  She faltered and her smile slipped. ‘You said I should come.’

  Maybe she’d been mistaken.

  Back home if someone said you’d be welcome, you were. And to drive past an acquaintance’s property with
out calling in was downright rude.

  With a kiss or two added to the invitation, she’d have said it was almost a royal command.

  But maybe it was different here. Maybe invitations were carelessly issued without any expectation they would ever be taken up: just another meaningless social nicety. Maybe she had a lot to learn.

  Charlie shivered in her thin coat, wishing herself back in the poky little hotel room with the paper-thin walls covered in a floral print. Anywhere but on this bleakly cold, windy street, feeling more alone amongst the rush of humanity than she’d ever been in Bindundilly. The cacophony of car horns unnerved her, as had the Tube, commuters standing, wired to devices, none making eye contact. Jon was watching her, his expression guarded. Despite the coolness of his welcome she couldn’t stop looking at him, cataloguing every gorgeous feature. His hair was longer, curling onto the raised collar of his coat. His skin was tanned, as though he’d spent time outdoors after Bindundilly.

  Finally, he seemed to reach a decision. ‘Well, let’s get you somewhere warm, for a start,’ he said.

  She pointed at the doorway he’d just exited. ‘That’s your office, isn’t it?’

  He took her elbow and steered her away. ‘You don’t want to go in there, believe me.’ His lips tightened in a grim line. ‘Come on, there’s a good bar around the corner.’

  It felt strange to be walking with him along a London street. She matched his stride, glad to get her legs working again, and stole a glance up at him. Perhaps that stiffly set jaw was just because of the cold: it was enough to make her bones ache and the tip of her nose almost numb. But his hand under her elbow brought her close enough to his side to soak in his delicious warmth.

  They turned into a narrow side street where, several doors along, a tiny frontage with glass windows spilled golden light into the afternoon. Jon pushed the door open and warmth enveloped them. Low jazz played in the background, haunting sad notes that hung in the air, hinting that things wouldn’t go well.