Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (266 page)

As their voices faded, he allowed his mind to conjure Electra as she had looked that night by the fire. His body reacted as if she were once more in front of him, her head back, lips inviting. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shut his eyes, and angrily shook the image from his head. What sort of fool had he been to imagine she would want him? It had been clear he repulsed her to the point of violence. The best they might manage with time was some sort of truce. It would be better that way. Attachment, he reminded himself, brought nothing but pain and wretchedness. At least they were not so uneasy in each other’s company since their encounter in the library.

The natural progression of his thoughts led him to Charlotte. Nine years on, the taste of her betrayal was still bitter on his tongue. And every detail of his disastrous homecoming remained firmly etched on his mind.

It was all exactly as he had imagined throughout the long year he had lain desperately ill in the hospital in Spain. He could hear one of the maids singing as she walked from the stables to the kitchen, and smelt the sweet tang of freshly cut grass. Peacocks strode arrogantly through the gardens and yellow jonquils dipped their heads as he passed. Miraculously, his body was intact, the arm healing nicely, although still unusable. The day of his unannounced homecoming had been warm and familiar until the moment the front door opened.

His father was striding toward his study when the butler admitted William. The Earl stopped in mid-stride, blanching at the voice of a ghost.

“Good God, it can’t be! They said you were dead,” he had stammered, his face the colour of the whitewashed walls.

“Father, forgive me. I should have sent word. This must be a shock for you.”

“But how — ? Where have you been all this time?” The Earl made no move to approach his son.

“They thought I was dead. The others were all killed. I was badly injured and not in my right mind,” he answered, confused by his father’s restraint. As they spoke, he heard quick, light footsteps and a voice so familiar his heart leapt to his throat.

“Darling, did I hear someone at the door?”

And there she stood. The woman whose image had filled his days and haunted his nights. So beautiful, he couldn’t speak.

But something was not making sense. His mind pushed through a quagmire of disconnected thoughts. It had not been him she had called “darling.” There was not joy but horror on her face as she recognised him. She and his father were looking at each other frantically, as if the other held the answer to an intolerable situation.

Then it hit him. He was the intolerable situation. Dear God, could it get any worse?

Apparently, it could.

As they all stood in astounded silence, a nursemaid descended the stairs with a dark-haired, rosy-cheeked child in her arms. In innocent oblivion, the woman curtsied and handed the baby to its mother.

William’s jaw clamped so tightly, he thought it would break. He managed to hiss the words, “How old is the baby?”

This seemed to break the spell and Charlotte ran to him, beseeching him to understand how devastated she had been when she thought he was dead.

He shook her off. “I asked how old the baby is.”

She looked at the Earl, who nodded. “She is nine months,” she said quietly.

William gazed at her unwaveringly, while his mind did the calculations. He had been gone just eighteen months; six months fighting and twelve months in the hospital and village recuperating.

“Who is the father?”

The Earl reached out, pulled Charlotte and the baby possessively to his side and answered, “I am. She is mine. They both are.” Charlotte blushed and lowered her eyes, but remained silent.

“Will, we can sort this out. We are family, after all.” He added smoothly.

William rounded on him, shaking with rage. “Family? A whore and a cradle snatcher?” He turned to Charlotte, his voice breaking. “I was probably still on English soil when you rushed to his bed.”

The punch took him by surprise, cutting open his cheek. His hand curled into a fist as his whole body tensed, but he made no move against his father. The Earl was not stupid enough to test his son’s restraint again and backed away. Charlotte rushed forward, dabbing at the blood oozing from his cheek, pity in her eyes.

He hit her hand away, growling, “Don’t touch me. You both disgust me.”

“Enough! You will not speak to your father or your stepmother in that manner,” said the Earl.

William’s eyes bored deep into his father’s. “I have no father and I certainly have no stepmother.”

Without a backwards glance, he turned and walked out the door. And kept going until he reached New South Wales. He had neither seen nor spoken to either of them for nine years.

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face as if that would erase the memory. His finger traced the scar under his left eye: a constant reminder of those last moments in his family home. As he raised his eyes, the fields of Riverside, visible through the window, changed his mood. This land meant a thousand times more than the estate he would have inherited. His life was satisfactory and would continue to be so, provided he kept his emotions in check.

He moved his attention back to the letters on his desk and inserted the letter opener into what looked annoyingly like an invitation.

• • •

“William! Where are you?” said Electra bursting into the library.

“I’m busy, Electra. What is it?”

She stopped at the tone of his voice. “I’m sorry; I should not have disturbed you.”

“No, no come in. I just had my mind elsewhere. Tell me what you want.”

“Mrs. Grenville has sent a messenger. All the garments are ready to be collected and — ,” she looked away, still not used to being kept by William.

“And she wants her money. Is that what you’re going to say?”

“Yes, it was,” she said. “What shall I tell the lad?”

“We can go tomorrow if you like. It will be quite timely.” She raised her eyebrows in question. “Come back after you speak to him and I will explain.” Electra left the room wishing she knew more about William. His face had looked drawn and his eyes heavy, but she could not ask for his confidence.

The messenger was soon sent on his way and Electra climbed the stairs again with Shi Liang behind her carrying tea and biscuits. She poured the tea and handing William a cup, she waited expectantly. William sighed, held out an embossed invitation, and sat back while she read it.

“A formal dinner dance at the governor’s house? Oh, Lord.” She put the invitation down, feeling wretched. “I can’t go, it would be too awful.”

“Of course you must come. I wouldn’t go myself if it wasn’t a political necessity, but I will certainly not go without you.”

“The likes of Mrs. Cameron will be there with their claws sharpened. I imagine I will be the main course.”

He chuckled. “That’s what they’ll be hoping. However, we will be forced to disappoint them. We will go with our heads held high and you will be magnificent.”

A warm flush rose at his words and despite the fear already clamping her stomach, Electra decided she would meet the challenge, for them both.

• • •

Mrs. Grenville greeted her like an old friend and once again ushered William out the door while they had final fittings. She held Electra at arm’s length, narrowing her eyes as she looked at her. Something akin to recognition flickered in her eyes but she seemed to dismiss it.

“Tell me to mind my own business my dear, but I don’t see the bloom of love on your cheeks.”

Electra drew in a short breath, swallowed, and turned away.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.

“I mean I don’t see in your or Mr. Radcliffe’s eyes that spark of shared secrets, if you get my meaning.” She put her hand up to stop Electra’s protestations. “Now he’s a man and they don’t say no to a woman coming into their bed. So all I can surmise is that you haven’t tried as yet.”

Electra tried to stammer a response but could not find the words. The woman had no right to pry. But Electra could not find it in herself to berate her. For a start, she had seen the truth of her marriage and seemed genuine in her concern. Electra frowned and lowered her eyes.

“It’s all right, love, but don’t wait too long. From what I hear, he’s a man worth having. Now let’s make sure his eye doesn’t rove elsewhere,” she said, laying out the gowns for Electra’s approval.

Yes, thought Electra, any woman in this small colony would do no better than William Radcliffe. A ripple of jealousy and possessiveness went through her at the thought of another woman laying claim to him. He is my husband, she reminded herself. It still felt strange on her tongue.

At least there was some comfort in looking like the wife of a man of William’s standing. Her fingers caressed the silky undergarments laid out before her and when Mrs. Grenville draped the two ball gowns across the counter, she gasped. They were exquisite and either would be perfect for the upcoming function at the governor’s residence. The difficulty would be in choosing.

• • •

To keep her mind off the impending dinner dance, Electra spent much time riding her chestnut mare, and familiarizing herself with the vast property. William had introduced her to a native worker named Billy, who cared for the sheep. She found she was curious to know more of these dark people who had been the only inhabitants before the English came. William warned her that most of the English settlers treated the natives with either fear or contempt and made no attempt to learn from, or understand, them. Electra had never let others influence her opinions. As she had little respect for many of the countrymen she had met so far, their views meant little to her.

One morning, after stopping to watch the men round up the sheep and move them into new pastures, she turned the chestnut mare toward the west. As the forest thickened, the mare stepped carefully through the underbrush, weaving in and out through the eucalypt, wattle, and mulga trees. Electra listened for the mimicking cry of the lyrebird, which Callum had described in humorous detail. He told her the bird would mimic anything it heard, including the cry of a baby or the whinny of a horse. How would she tell it from the real thing?

Electra dismounted and walked away from the horse, looking for wildflowers. As she knelt to pull a bright purple flower from the ground, she heard the soft voices of women. She stopped to listen but could discern nothing of their conversation. To her ears, it was gibberish. The voices came closer and she dropped to a crouch, peering through the bushes. No drawing room discussion prepared her for the three figures that entered the clearing. Their skin was as black as the night. Dark, alert eyes set deep in their skulls glinted with ancient pride. Large, generous mouths dominated their faces below broad, imposing noses. They were shamelessly naked, their breasts swinging free while on their heads masses of dark hair sat coiled like tight springs. These were the native people she had been warned about, her legs trembled like jelly and her throat closed in terror.

The women stopped suddenly, awareness of her presence flashing in their liquid eyes. They turned their heads, sensing her position, and looked straight at the bushes behind which she crouched. Her fear almost strangled her but as her eyes were drawn back to the women, she saw the same fear etched on their faces. In a moment of courage or madness, she was not sure which, she showed herself.

Two of the women screamed and ran into the bushes, but the third stood her ground, her dark eyes riveted on Electra. Remembering the flowers in her shaking hands, Electra held them out to the woman as an offering. The woman nodded and Electra moved forward, placed them on the ground, and stepped back.

The dark eyes flickered from her face as the native woman reached into a bag made from tree bark and pulled out a small wooden bowl. She bent, like a sapling, from the waist, picked up the flowers, and left the bowl in their place. Electra looked down at the bowl and when she lifted her eyes, the woman had gone. In disbelief at this wondrous contact, she picked up the precious bowl to examine the burnt markings inside. Then she edged back to her horse, her skin prickling in awareness of watchful eyes. She mounted and carefully made her way out of the bush. Once clear, she pushed the mare into a gallop, her sense of elation bursting from her in a loud “whoop.”

She couldn’t wait to tell William.

• • •

There had been no sign of her for hours. William imagined any number of accidents until Shi Liang casually revealed she had taken a piece of pie, fruit, and a small container of water some hours before and disappeared on horseback. Information from one of the stockmen pointed him toward the western boundary.

When Electra’s mare broke free of the bush and crossed the first paddock, he let out a ragged breath of relief. Her face, flushed with excitement, broke into a smile as she drew near.

It was clear there was something she needed to share but William, too angry to listen, yelled, “Good God, Electra, where on earth have you been? Half my men are out searching for you. All Shi Liang could tell me was that you took food and disappeared hours ago.”

Instead of showing remorse, she became indignant.

“Do I have to report every movement to you? I’m quite capable of looking after myself. Besides, what is so dangerous about exploring the bush?”

William shook his head, exasperated. “You know nothing about the Australian bush, woman.”

She cocked her head, challenging him to explain.

“I could remind you of your unfamiliarity with the land, or your lack of bush skills, but let’s start with the deadly snakes.” Her eyes widened. “Then there are the poisonous spiders. Oh, and if you come across a large kangaroo, one kick with his hind leg and that’s the end of you.” Her jaw dropped open. “Not to mention spear-wielding natives.” He saw her eyes flick sideways. “Those, however, are the minor dangers — ”

“William, now you are exaggerating,” she said, frowning.

“No, let me finish. The worst are the bushrangers and their numbers are increasing by the day.”

“I did hear of them at the factory, but don’t they just rob banks and stagecoaches?”