The English Lord's Secret Son (4 page)

“Would you allow me to take a look?” he asked, mock super
suave. He wafted an elegant hand in the air. The Scarlet Pimpernel dressed like
a gardener, square shoulders, narrow hips, tight jeans, navy jersey, a red
kerchief tied loosely around his neck for a bit of dash, high muddy boots.

Cate didn’t rush to answer. “Know about cars, do you? I didn’t
catch your name?”

“Nosey Parker,” he said, moving to stand beside her. Suddenly
she was dwarfed when she wasn’t all that short: five-four.

She knew she was being terribly ungracious, but her feelings of
hostility were expanding by the minute. “Suits you,” she commented.

From peering into the car, he stood to attention running his
vivid blue eyes over her flushed face. Eyes that sparkled and snaffled her up.
She preferred soft eyes. Gentle, humorous eyes. Brown maybe. “Have you been
drinking?” he asked.

She couldn’t ignore that. “Right! You can smell the fumes, can
you?”

“You could have stopped off at The Four Swans,” he answered,
continuing to study her keenly.

She might have stepped out of a wrecked space shuttle instead
of a beat-up piece of British engineering. Cate’s blonde head snapped up. “Ha,
ha and ha! Apart from being nosey, you’re downright rude.”

“No different from you,” he returned with the arrogance that
had to be bred into him. “Looks like we’ve rubbed each other up the wrong
way.”

“You don’t stand a chance of rubbing up against me,” she said
tartly. “So what’s wrong with the car, or don’t you know? I’d say you were used
to leaving all that to the chauffeur. No doubt you’re the centre of someone’s
solar system?”

“Perfectly true. How did you know?” He got into the car, making
a business of squirming before cranking back the seat as though the car had
previously been driven by a midget. He then switched on the engine, which kicked
over briefly, then gave up the ghost. “The reason for your breakdown—tempestuous
little Aussie that you are—is you’re out of petrol,” he announced as he got
out.

For a moment Cate was seriously embarrassed. “Nonsense! It was
reading a quarter full. Or near enough. And stop staring at me as though I’m
from another planet.”

He laughed. “To be perfectly honest I didn’t know
extraterrestrials came ravishingly pretty.”

Had she blushed? Damn it, she had. “Don’t feel the need to
flatter me.”

“I thought it was a plain statement of fact. As for my opinion
of your manner? Prickly as a rose bush. Now, the petrol gauge is obviously not
reading true. Where are you going anyway?”

She backtracked. “How did you know I’m an Australian?” she
asked as though that created a definite barrier.

“I’d rather not say.” He shut his mouth firmly. It was a very
good mouth, a clean sensual line above his chiselled jaw. The edges were faintly
upturned. She found herself noting all the little details. She really had to
concentrate on something other than his mouth. She felt in her bones he would be
a great kisser. It would be interesting to see what happened if he suddenly
grabbed her.

“Why would that be?”

“Maybe I’m frightened you’ll attack me.” His sapphire eyes were
alive with mockery.

Did her heart turn over? Something in her chest did. Even her
legs were feeling a bit flimsy. Nevertheless she took a step forward. “You find
Australians threatening?”

Instantly he took a step back, holding up his elegant hands in
a gesture of appeasement. “On the contrary, I like Australians. Within
reason.”

Cate gave up. He had a very engaging laugh. It made her want to
laugh back. “I was on my way to Radclyffe Hall. You would know it.”

“Why exactly?” he asked, with an unexpected frown. “Why
Radclyffe Hall?”

Cate’s turn to frown. “Look, can’t we drop the interrogation? I
just want to look at it.”

“Then you’ll have to do it from afar,” he said.

“I never said I wanted to drop in for tea and scones.” She
tilted her chin. God, he was tall! “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Ashe.”

“Ash?” She raised a supercilious brow. “Your parents called you
Ash?” she asked, feigning incredulity. “I’ve never met anyone called Ash. I take
it that’s Ashe with an e?”

“Julian Ashton,” he informed her, looking impossibly,
unbearably superior. “And you are?”

She considered not telling him. Only she could use his help.
“Catrina Hamilton. My family and friends call me Cate.”

“Then I shall call you Catrina.”

“That’s okay. Please do,
Ashe
.
So are you going to help
me out?”

He shrugged a shoulder. His body was perfectly proportioned,
giving the strong impression of superb physical fitness. “How can I? I’m heading
in the opposite direction,” he retorted carelessly.

Cate didn’t know what to make of that. “I understood Englishmen
were gentlemen,” she said with sudden dismay. “You must be a rare species.”

He shook his head, loosening the satiny black wave that had
stuck to his forehead. “Our womenfolk are much sweeter and more persuasive than
you.” He sounded deeply grateful for the fact.

“You must know only quiet, controllable creatures. Does this
mean you’re going to leave me stranded on a lonely country road?”

He considered a while, looking this way and that. “An apology
might be in order,” he suggested.

“We take it in turns, do we?” she asked. Goodness, he could
only be a handful of years older than she, maybe twenty-three or four, but with
an imperiousness well beyond his years.

“Okay then. I’m off.” From nonchalance he was energised,
turning purposefully towards his parked four-wheel drive.

“So much for being a gentleman, then,” she called after him
severely. “Go on. Drive away.” He looked very much as if he was going to. “All
right,
sorry
.
” She only
said it because that was what he wanted.

Immediately he swung back, beckoning her towards his vehicle, a
dusty banged-up Range Rover. “Come along,” he called briskly as though it were
possible he’d change his mind. “I’ll run you up to the hall, then send someone
back with a can of petrol to pick up your old bomb. The only thing that
surprises me is you didn’t finish up in a ditch.”

Cate swallowed a put-down. No need to antagonise him further.
Maybe his turning up was an omen?

Good or bad she couldn’t yet tell.

Courteously he held the door for her. His fingers brushed
against hers, setting off such an explosion of sparks it almost had her crying,
“Ouch!”

Inside the battered Range Rover, the sparks continued to jump
the distance between them. It radiated a heat through her body, to her arm, her
breasts, her stomach, working its way lower. Every last nerve ending seemed to
be on fire. What she had to do was separate her body from her mind.
Difficult.
She was experiencing the sort of dizziness
one had when in the company of someone overwhelmingly attractive. He was
definitely
not
gay. She had gay mates. Love was love
wherever cupid’s arrow fell was her reasoning. This guy was powerfully
heterosexual. Married? She found herself hoping he wasn’t. He was too young for
a start.

* * *

He stopped the Range Rover at a certain point. She could
see why. It offered a sublime view of Radclyffe Hall. It sat high on a hill
overlooking the beautiful countryside and the rolling hills.

It was an extraordinary moment for Cate. She felt a
disconcerting prick of tears, blinking them back before he saw them. Whatever
she had been expecting, the postmistress’s “great white elephant of a house” in
an advanced state of decay, it surely wasn’t this. She couldn’t remain in the
vehicle. She threw open the door and jumped out onto the lush green verge,
holding a hand to her sunstruck eyes.

He joined her, staring down at her as though faintly perplexed.
“Not what you expected?”

Her tone was soft, almost reverent. “Wow, oh, wow! To be honest
I’m a bit in shock.”

“Why exactly?” He sounded as though he really wanted to
know.

She almost told him why. It was on the tip of her tongue. The
moment when she would confide her adoptive mother was Stella Radclyffe that was.
Only caution, grounded in childhood, took over. She didn’t know it then but her
secret history was in the making.

“Well, it’s some house, so
grand
.
Georgian, I think. The symmetry, the balance, the adherence to
classical rules. Chimneys rising to either side of the gabled roof.” One-storey
wings had been built to the left and right of the imposing central building most
probably at a much later date.

“Correct,” he said briefly, his eyes glittering. “The hall was
built in the late fifteen hundreds by Thomas Willoughby-Radclyffe of Cotswold
stone. It’s stood for over four hundred years but for a long time now it’s been
in great need of repair. The house and the estate—it’s been reduced to around
three hundred acres with tenant cottages—belong to Lord Wyndham. He hasn’t
enjoyed good health for some time now. In fact he’s quite frail.”

Four hundred years?

Shock wasn’t too strong a word. Why had it been so important to
Stella to cover up her past? “Do you know Lord Wyndham?” she turned to ask, her
eyes on his profile. Oddly enough she was getting used to that aquiline
beak.

“I’m working on a large project there at the moment,” he said
by way of a response. An evasion if ever there was one. “The restoration of the
hall’s once famous gardens, particularly the rose gardens. It had become
something of a wilderness, quite a challenge, but Lord Wyndham hired a
world-famous landscape designer, David Courtland.”

She was fortunate she had grown up with a passionate gardening
team, Stella and Arnold, who had passed on their passion to her. “I’ve heard of
him.” She nodded. “I’m assuming you’re the gardener?”

“You could say that.”

“A pretty posh one, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Her
amazing lime-green eyes flashed mockery.

“Don’t mind in the least. If you’re very good between here and
the hall I’ll let you see over the garden. It has a number of ‘rooms’ but Dave
has begun a new project. He’s in London for a couple of days.”

“Leaving you in charge? Call him Dave, do you?” she asked
provocatively.

“The first strike against you,” he clipped off.

“Ah, come on.”

“Get back in the car.”

“Certainly, m’lord.”

And so it began. The great star-crossed love affair of her
life.

CHAPTER THREE

The present.

H
UGH
S
AUNDERS
stood up to perform the introductions, a delighted smile on his lean, tanned face. Each member of the team and their specific function was acknowledged. Handshakes all round. Murphy Stiller’s habitual glare was replaced by a sunburst. When it came to Cate’s turn she actually considered fleeing the room, like a woman teetering on the brink of a major crack-up. For all the little niggles of nameless anxiety the last thing her mind had focused on was this momentous blast from the past. Would he now confound her and say, “But I know you, surely? It’s Catrina Hamilton, isn’t it?” all the while pinning her with his blazing blue eyes?

He did no such thing. Not a muscle on his striking face moved. He calmly took her hand. God, was she bound to him for ever? Even that brief, cool contact evoked such grief, such remembered pain she almost moaned. This time it seemed he had no mind to be cruel. All that came was the usual rhetorical “how do you do?” requiring no answer. Somehow she was able to resume her seat. She had to cast out her devils. And fast. At least her blood was coursing around her body again. A few fraught moments, then she was able to regain enough composure to not put her job in jeopardy.

As CEO, Hugh Saunders dealt with matters mostly but when he turned for her input she was able to contribute from a wealth of research. Her brain was on autopilot. Not for the first time in her career but never when she was in such a high emotional state.

“Absolutely right, Cate.” Hugh spoke with approval. Always rely on Cate to give clear concise answers, he thought. Nothing routine. Outside the box. She was one classy young woman, with high-grade diplomacy skills. He admired her capacities and shrewd gut instincts. Gut instincts he considered important. They provided an edge. Even more importantly, never once in his experience had she attempted to capitalise on her beauty.

For some reason Murphy Stiller had suffered a collapse of her usual supreme confidence so Cate was invited to speak out more often. It might have been a triumph despite Murphy’s periodic grunts. Murphy was looking a bit as if she wanted to kill someone, preferably Cate. Cate for her part was falling back heavily on experience. Wyndham’s questions when they came were brusque, very explicit. It was obvious to everyone seated around the table he was well acquainted with big business, Money Business. They all knew it was conducted in a certain way, bland enough on the surface, underneath extremely tough. He wasn’t relying on his advisors. He was managing his own negotiations. While the team was taking the fifth Baron Wyndham’s measure he was taking theirs. In the course of the meeting it was revealed he had substantial investments in the mining sector of Chile and Canada. Although the vast State of Western Australia was the usual target for their investors, Cate suggested Queensland as an excellent alternative. Mining drove the Queensland economy just as it did W.A. The traditional bases of wealth created over several generations were being overtaken by mining magnates, some of them surprisingly young. These men were fast rising to the top of the Rich List, rubbing shoulders with the multibillionaires.

* * *

Eventually the meeting broke up. Discussions had been intense. A follow-up meeting was scheduled for midweek.

Cate was still concerned he was going to expose her. As what, for God’s sake? No one on the planet outside Stella knew Lord Wyndham was the father of her child. Not a single soul since dear Arnold had passed away after two very painful years of battling lung cancer. Her adoptive father always had smoked too much.

Hugh’s up mood was infectious. They were moving out of the boardroom, when he suddenly brought up Wyndham’s other interest. Buying land on some beautiful Whitsunday island.

“Just a moment, Cate.” For some reason Cate was moving away too fast.

“Yes, sir.” She turned back.

“Cate here might very well have the answer to your Barrier Reef island retreat,” he told Wyndham.

“No.” Wyndham responded suavely.

“Cate works hard at everything she does,” said Hugh. “She has managed to build a very good relationship with a lady, Lady McCready actually, now in her mid-eighties, who owns a small but fabulous Whitsunday island called Isla Bella
.
”

“After one of Italy’s great gardens perhaps or simply a beautiful island?” he asked without looking at Cate.

“Lady McCready did confide she and her husband named their island after a trip to Italy,” Cate said. “They loved Italy and the wonderful gardens.”

Now he looked down his blade of a nose at her. “The island is for sale?”

“Could be. Could be,” Hugh broke in, somewhat puzzled by a certain tension in the atmosphere. He had an instinct for such things.

“You have doubts, Ms Hamilton?” Wyndham asked, his tone faintly brittle.

“Up to a point, yes. Lady McCready is very much against exploitation of her island. No boutique hotels for the rich and their...friends. Certainly no tourist destination. The island has been her home since the death of her husband. She would never be budged on an investment.”

Before Hugh could intervene Wyndham pre-empted him. “Let me make it quite clear, Ms Hamilton. It’s a private home I wish to build. A tropical retreat for me and my family. Hopefully a few friends will be allowed. I’m a very busy man. Occasionally I like getting away from it all. This is the first trip I’ve been able to make to Australia. I very much like what I see. The Great Barrier Reef is one of the great wonders of the world. I intend to see it while I’m here.”

“Wonderful!” Hugh said, giving Cate the beginnings of a sharpish look. “If you are seriously interested, perhaps Cate could contact Lady McCready. She trusts Cate, you see.”

For a fleeting instant Wyndham looked as though he wouldn’t trust her for a minute. “Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner this evening,” he suggested, as though formalising the matter, making it a business call.

“Cate?” Hugh prompted, his grey gaze turning faintly steely.

Hugh was as near to perturbed as she had seen him. Her behaviour, she knew, wasn’t being consistent. She always did what was expected. The intelligent, indeed the only, thing to do.

Her training took over. “Certainly, Lord Wyndham,” she said, demonstrating her loyalty to the firm. “That would be lovely. I could in the meantime see if I can contact Lady McCready.”

“With that happy thought in mind,” he said smoothly, “perhaps you can recommend a restaurant. You know Sydney. I don’t.”

“C’est Bon!” Cate and Hugh said together.

“I could pick you up at your hotel,” Cate said, trying hard to be charming for Hugh’s sake. “Shall we say eight o’clock?”

“Are you sure I couldn’t pick you up at your home?” Wyndham asked, a glitter in his sapphire eyes. “A limo has been put at my disposal.”

“It’s quite a drive,” said Cate quite untruthfully. “Really, Lord Wyndham, it suits me perfectly to pick you up. No trouble at all.”

“Well, that’s settled!” Hugh made the emphatic announcement while wondering at the same time what was going on. The fact Cate and Lord Wyndham were antagonistic hadn’t been lost on him. It wasn’t as though Wyndham didn’t approve of career women. He had caught the gleam of respect in his razor-sharp glance as Cate demonstrated her expertise. Perhaps they would settle down over dinner. He sincerely hoped so. This was a big deal for Inter-Austral. Wyndham was prepared to invest a heap of money. Obviously the man was massively rich. Cate was right: Queensland was emerging as
the
hot spot. The state had huge potential expanding on the back of the resources sector. Australia for that matter had one of the highest concentrations of wealth in the world: one super-rich individual per eight thousand or so as opposed to around thirty-seven thousand globally. Lord Wyndham had come to the right place.

* * *

Stella, an exceedingly observant woman, saw the upset in Cate’s face the moment she walked through the door. It was as still as a marble carving. “Cate, what’s up? Are you going to tell me?” Stella, whose whole background had been a gigantic puzzle, perversely demanded she know everything in Cate’s life. It had taken Cate many long years to realise Stella in her own quiet way was very controlling.

Cate put her expensive leather handbag down on the marble-
topped console in the entrance hall, wondering how best to break the momentous news.

Stella took her silence for refusal and began to walk away, obviously offended.

Cate followed Stella, taking hold of her arm. “Where’s Jules?” she asked urgently.

Stella turned to stare at her. “Why, he’s in his bedroom playing the video game you bought him. He’s done his homework. Never have to tell him. He really is a remarkable child.”

“Come into the living room.” Cate kept her voice significantly lower. It was their favourite room, furnished with a mix of Asian and Western antiques. Three plush white leather sofas faced the magnificent view across the sparkling blue satin water to the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. The wide covered deck to the rear was the only major structural change they had made. It had been worth every penny.

“So what is it, then?” Stella set a silk cushion aside as she continued to study the face of her adopted daughter. Both of them had kept Annabel’s secret and agreed they would continue to. Cate, however, had stopped calling Stella Mum. Whether she was aware of it or not she had never really
thought of Stella as her mum. Jules called Stella Nan. Maybe it wasn’t going to stay that way, Cate thought with a funny little stab of premonition.

“Something extraordinary happened today,” she announced, collapsing beside Stella. “I have trouble even getting it out.”

“You might try,” Stella said, a formless anxiety starting to spread through her. “You’ve lost your job?” She squeezed her eyes shut. Cate lived such a high-powered life. She handled incredible sums of money. Could something have gone wrong? Big mistakes happened.

“That might have been easier.” Cate impatiently kicked off her high-heeled shoes. “I can’t put off telling you—”

“But you
are
,
dear,
”
Stella stressed somewhat impatiently.

Cate had seen that coming. “All right! You have to know. Of all the men in the world—you’re not going to believe this, so steel yourself—Julian Carlisle, the present Baron Wyndham, walked into the boardroom this very morning.”

Stella threw up her arms as though she were going to dive into water. “For God’s sake!” Now she bent over as if in pain, winding her arms tight around her body like some form of shield.

“Exactly,” Cate seconded grimly. Since the revelation that Annabel was her mother, not Stella, Stella’s penchant for secrecy loomed large in Cate’s mind.

“Has he come in search of you?” Stella asked, as though sensing big trouble ahead. “Has he come in search of Jules?”

“How could he? He knows nothing about Jules.” Cate was sorry for the way the colour had faded out of Stella’s face. In her early fifties, Stella was still a fine-looking woman. She had kept her slim figure; her thick dark hair was stylishly cut. She had excellent skin and lovely dark eyes. There was no physical resemblance between aunt and niece. For that matter, Cate didn’t even resemble her biological mother, Annabel. Annabel never had confessed who Cate’s father was, but he had to have been blond with light eyes. “He doesn’t know Jules exists,” Cate said so harshly, she might have been willing it to remain so. “I’m certain he hasn’t found out anything in all these years. He had his own life then. He has it now. I’ve been no part of it. Probably a vaguely unpleasant memory.”

“You hardly came from the wrong side of the tracks,” Stella burst out indignantly. “I never did understand why you didn’t tell him about us.”

“My God, Stella, that’s good coming from you.” Cate couldn’t help ramming that point home. “How would I have known about
us
when you told me nothing? It was as if it was none of my business.”

Stella flushed. The truth was hard to take. “I was trying to protect you.”

“Protecting your little sister was your main priority,” Cate responded bluntly.

“I loved her.” Stella spoke as though Cate was lacking in sensitivity for not understanding. “I looked after her all my life. My mother certainly wasn’t interested in us. Neither was my father.” Stella’s calm face was suddenly bitter. “They mourned the loss of our brother instead.” Stella’s mind was racing ahead, envisaging a monumental disturbance to her world. “Is Wyndham a potential client?” she asked with faint hope.

Cate nodded, sure a reckoning was in the air. “Apparently he’s got truckloads of money. He wants to invest in our mineral resources. Hugh was over the moon.”

“I bet,” Stella said acidly, struggling to take it all in. “He recognised you, of course.” In maturity Cate was even more beautiful than she had been as a ravishingly pretty teenager.

“Of course.” Cate reached out to pat Stella’s hand. “You know how Hugh likes to put me forward?”

“I’ve told you before, Cate, the man is in love with you,” Stella said with distinct disapproval. Why, Hugh Saunders was even older than she was.

Cate pulled a wry face. “Be that as it may, I have no such interest in Hugh. I’m sure he’s got the message.”

“They never get the message,” said Stella flatly. “Anyway, go on.”

“Apparently Lord Wyndham, that relative of yours—”

“And
yours—
”
Stella drew her attention to the fact.

“I refuse to acknowledge that,” said Cate. “Anyway, he wants to buy or build a tropical hideaway in North Queensland, specifically the Whitsundays. Hugh immediately seized on Lady McCready’s retreat, Isla Bella.”

“But surely she doesn’t want to sell?” Stella asked. “I remember you told me how adamant she was when Keith Munro, the developer, wanted to buy it. She’s probably deeded it to a relative. She’s a good age.”

“Eighty-five. I spoke to her this afternoon.” Cate’s voice, another of her assets, turned low and ironic. “She’s prepared to meet Lord Wyndham.”

“Oh, capital!” Stella cried, throwing up her hands. “The
Lord
Wyndham did it, I suppose?”