Читать книгу The Unconventional Bride - Lindsay Armstrong, Lindsay Armstrong - Страница 9

FOUR days later, Etienne was back.

Four terribly anxious days for Mel, since she’d received advice through her solicitor that, as she had no close relatives, the Department of Family Services would be looking into the situation of her brothers.

This time, she was presiding over coffee and homemade shortbread while trying her best to be composed and as if she’d never been kissed witless by this man.

It was a sparkling day as early spring graced the region, and from the vantage point of Raspberry Hill the waters of the Narrows glinted in the sun and the mock-orange bushes below the veranda were scenting the air.

For some reason she had dressed up for this encounter, well, as much as she ever dressed up, which was to say that she wore a three-quarter flared denim skirt belted into her waist and a fresh white blouse. Her hair was tied back in a white scrunchie.

In contrast, Etienne, in jeans, a khaki bush shirt and short boots, looked much more like a farmer than she did.

He’d greeted her casually and with absolutely no reference to their last encounter. He’d also put a buff folder on the table but made no mention of it, although she couldn’t help her eyes being drawn to it frequently.

So they made small talk while they drank their coffee and Batman made his usual fuss of Etienne.

Then she could stand the suspense no longer. ‘Have you—’ she cleared her throat ‘—have you come up with a plan, Etienne?’

He drummed his fingers on the folder then he put Batman down and got up to stroll over to the railing and stare out over the view for a couple of minutes.

Finally he turned to her, folded his arms and said, ‘I think it would be a good idea if we got married, Mel.’

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Is that the plan?’ she said eventually then added stupidly, ‘Why me?’

He allowed himself a brief smile and from then on divided his attention between her and the sparkling view. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Raspberry Hill needs a lot of help, the boys need a father figure, and you yourself could do with a steadying hand to steer you down the right path.’

Sheer rage glinted out of her deep blue eyes. ‘How dare you?’

He observed her white face and pinched nostrils with, if anything, a trace of wryness.

‘Mel,’ he said, ‘you obviously have no resources to go on.’ He gestured to the folder lying on the table. ‘The only way to deal with that is either to declare yourself bankrupt or sell the place.’

‘No!’

‘Believe me,’ he murmured.

She started to feel icy cold. ‘But—anyway, I don’t see what that’s got to do with me needing a steadying hand!’

He shrugged. ‘You do have a slightly erratic reputation.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Did you or did you not,’ he looked humorous, ‘attempt to ride your horse into the Gladstone Council Chambers last year, thereby causing all sorts of chaos, and what about the famous rum party you gave only six months ago?’

‘Speaking chronologically,’ she replied through her teeth, ‘when I found Rimfire he was just a bag of bones. I couldn’t believe anyone could treat a horse that badly and I didn’t see why they shouldn’t be prosecuted, but getting the council to agree was another matter. So I decided to take it right to their doorstep.’

‘I see. But you not only caused a debacle in the centre of town, you also frightened the life out of the clerk on the door.’

‘If she hadn’t started screaming, Rimfire wouldn’t have spooked. But no one was hurt,’ she pointed out.

‘There could have been an element of luck in that. How about the party?’

‘As I told the magistrate,’ she replied with all the hauteur she could muster, ‘it got gatecrashed by some hoons. They brought the rum and they caused all the damage.’

‘All the same, you’re still saddled with not the Boston tea party but the Raspberry Hill rum-rampage tag—and you didn’t come away without a warning, Mel.’

‘That’s because I…’ she paused and twined her fingers together ‘…well, in the confusion I hit a policeman who was mistakenly trying to arrest me.’

‘I believe you didn’t have permission from your father to hold that party, Mel, because he was away at the time and unable to protect you from hoons and gatecrashers.’

She looked briefly uncomfortable. ‘I’m nineteen. Quite old enough to hold a party off my own bat, I would have thought. OK! I was wrong, but it could have happened to anyone.’

‘They say trouble attracts trouble,’ he observed.

‘And it could be said,’ she responded sweetly, ‘that marriage to you sounds like a term at a reform school. No, thank you, Etienne. I appreciate your concern for Raspberry Hill and the boys but we’ll manage somehow.’

‘What about my concern for you?’

Mel opened her mouth then shut it rather sharply as that cool, alert gaze of his drifted over her. And once again she found herself trapped in his sights, his sole focus, and experiencing the twin sensations of being hunted and quivering inwardly with the memory of his mouth on hers, his hard body against her…

She came out of her reverie with a jolt as he said her name questioningly.

‘Uh—what kind of concern is that?’

He smiled. ‘I think you have the makings of good wife material.’

She raised her eyebrows imperiously. ‘Is that so? Forgive me, but I think you’re quite wrong. Mainly because I have no aspirations to be anyone’s wife but least of all yours.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, that aside, the alternative is to sell off Raspberry Hill and see Justin, Ewan and Tosh go into foster care.’

‘No!’ She said it quite definitely.

‘Just no?’

‘Even if I have to sell Raspberry Hill, I’ll be able to make a home for them somewhere!’

‘Mel, you’re still only nineteen; I don’t think a court would even consider placing them in your care. And Raspberry Hill is mortgaged to the hilt. There won’t be any money to spare.’

‘Thanks to your sister,’ she shot back.

‘Not entirely,’ he returned coolly. ‘And she may have been my sister but perhaps you should examine your real reason for disliking her as much as you did.’

Mel flinched then opted for honesty with a queer little sigh. ‘OK, I was as jealous as hell. We’d had Dad on his own for so long after our mother died then, well, he was besotted with Margot, but the fact remains that—’ she looked around with sudden tears in her eyes ‘—it did all start to go downhill after he married her.’

‘You wouldn’t have that problem with me.’

Mel wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and stared stonily out to sea as she examined the unpalatable truth of this.

‘It’s still…’ she shook her head in frustration ‘…it just doesn’t make sense. We don’t even know each other that well. Look, I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful—most girls would probably jump at the chance but…I guess I’m not most girls,’ she finished rather lamely, and stood up.

‘And I probably wouldn’t be doing this if you were,’ he murmured and straightened. ‘But I don’t believe there’s any other way for you to go.’ He contemplated her silently.

Mel took an unexpected breath beneath that suddenly authoritative dark glance—it was like running into a brick wall. In a moment, it brought home to her that Etienne Hurst had made up his mind to marry her and would ruthlessly follow it through. Not only that, despite reeling inwardly, she also discovered herself to be in very strange territory on another front.

It was the most amazing sensation. One part of her was outraged to think he believed he could offer her marriage out of the blue and that she would keel over immediately and accept. While the other half was undoubtedly impressed not only by his authority and power but also by him as a man.

What qualities about him, she wondered, were capable of causing her to fantasise about him at the same time as she hated his arrogance?

She wasn’t left to wonder for long. He strolled over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Think about it, Miss Ethridge, but in the meantime perhaps this will help you to see the light.’

He kissed her again, not deeply this time, but lingeringly and quite sufficiently for one of those qualities in him she’d pondered so recently to leap out at her—raw sex appeal.

In fact, everything about him appealed to her in those moments and the feel of his lean, hard body drew a primitive response from her own body. A yearning to be captured by him and brought gloriously alive in the most intimate way, so much so—and so much did it take her by surprise—she gasped beneath his mouth and shuddered beneath his hands.

He lifted his head and looked into her wide, stunned eyes with the faintest smile twisting his lips.

‘I’ll be back,’ he said, and she wasn’t sure whether it was a threat or a promise.

Whatever it was, it kept her rooted to the spot while he strode down the steps towards his car. How long she would have been paralysed like that she was not to know if it hadn’t been for Mrs Bedwell.

With her trademark stalk, reminiscent of a tall, thin bird, Mrs Bedwell came round the corner of the house to waylay Etienne just before he got to his car.

Having had Mrs Bedwell meddle in her life for as long as she could remember, Mel came out of her reverie and slipped discreetly inside. She sprinted down the hall towards the study, from where she would be closest to the drive.

So that, lurking beneath the study window, she heard Mrs Bedwell say to Etienne, ‘Mr Hurst, I think that’s a very good idea of yours.’

‘You do?’ came Etienne’s reply. ‘What idea is that?’

‘The idea of marrying Mel. I’ve been going crazy trying to work out what’s to become of them since their father died. And your sister,’ she added conscientiously.

There was silence and Mel peeped over the study window sill to see Etienne stopped in his tracks by Mrs Bedwell’s eavesdropping habits.

Which Mrs Bedwell took full advantage of to continue volubly, ‘You see, I always did reckon Mel was born one gene short. For that matter, Justin is turning out the same, and as for Tosh…’ Mrs Bedwell threw up her hands and shook her head.

‘I don’t think I quite understand,’ Etienne murmured, as Mel’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

‘They never stop to think, that gene,’ Mrs Bedwell elucidated. ‘Got it from their mother, they did. With all the best intentions in the world she was never out of trouble! I told Mel people wouldn’t take kindly to her taking her horse to the council, I told her not to hold that party—believe me, there’s a million things I’ve told her not to do, but once she gets a bee in her bonnet there’s no stopping her. Where will she end, I keep wondering, without someone strong like you?’

‘I…see,’ Etienne replied cautiously.

‘Then,’ Mrs Bedwell placed her hand on Etienne’s arm and stared confidingly into his eyes, ‘there’s the way she’s grown up. Who would have thought such a skinny tomboy with those awful braces on her teeth and forever scratched and grazed would grow into such a looker?’

Mel ducked her head, grimaced, and awaited Etienne’s reply with bated breath. But he didn’t reply and Mrs Bedwell went on.

‘Not that she knows it. You can accuse her of a lot of things but vanity isn’t one of them. Problem is—there are a lot of unscrupulous men out there and once they find out that all they need is some kind of crazy cause to worm their way into her heart, who knows what could happen?’

‘Mrs Bedwell, I could strangle you,’ Mel said through her teeth. Unfortunately, this caused her to miss what Mrs Bedwell said next and consequently she had no idea what it was that prompted Etienne to reply that he had become increasingly aware of it and would certainly take it into consideration.

‘What?’ Mel muttered, severely frustrated.

But Mrs Bedwell only said then, ‘Good, well, I can leave it up to you?’

‘You may, Mrs Bedwell,’ he answered as he shook her hand then got into his car and drove off.

It was not in Mel’s nature to bottle things up so she accosted Mrs Bedwell immediately and asked her what she thought she was doing by encouraging a man they barely knew to marry her.

A short, sharp argument ensued on who had the right to eavesdrop when. Then Mrs Bedwell announced that it so happened her nephew worked for Etienne Hurst so she knew quite a lot about him and all of it good. She also added pithily that if Mel hadn’t so resolutely distanced herself from her stepmama, she’d know a lot more about the man herself.

‘He’s made a fortune with his own hands,’ she stated. ‘He’s an excellent employer, a darn good businessman and he’s very highly thought of in the community.’

‘He may be,’ Mel shot back, ‘but he’s also extremely arrogant, and what’s that got to do with me marrying him? There’s no love lost between us, I can assure you!’

‘Love!’ Mrs Bedwell echoed with consummate scorn. ‘I married Jack Bedwell for love and five years later he walked out on me never to be seen again, leaving me with three kids to rear on my own. Love,’ she repeated bitterly; ‘what good did it do me? Here I am not even in my own home and a slave to a family that’s half-mad!’

They were in the kitchen during this exchange, and Mel suddenly changed tack.

‘Sit down, Mrs B,’ she ordered. She poured her a cup of coffee and took it along with some shortbread over to her.

Then she sank on her knees in front of her and said softly, ‘You do know this whole place would fall apart without you, don’t you?’

Mrs Bedwell pursed her lips.

‘You do know,’ Mel continued, ‘that we love you and consider you part of the family and we’d be devastated if you left and went to the Calders up the road who are always trying to pinch you from us?’

Mrs Bedwell’s face softened.

‘And who,’ Mel smiled up at her with a teasing glint in her eyes, ‘is the real authority in this house?’

Mrs Bedwell sighed then smiled herself. ‘You’re a sweetie, Mel. Just promise me one thing—you think seriously about Etienne Hurst. Because I know you well enough to know that losing the boys and Raspberry Hill on top of losing your dad would nearly kill you.’

So Mel thought about it until she could have screamed.

So many pros, she had to marvel. Just take the boys. There was no doubting Justin could be a handful at times, and what no one knew, because she’d chosen not to reveal it, was that he had been responsible for the notorious Raspberry Hill rum-rampage.

He’d got in with a dubious crowd of older boys whom he’d invited to the party with such disastrous results. She was pretty sure the fact that she’d had to front a magistrate had brought home the error of his ways to him. But she couldn’t deny that he might need a strong hand to steer him through his late teens.

Then there was Ewan. Thin and dark, at twelve, he was a chronic asthmatic with little interest in school and whose sole ambition in life was to paint. And Tosh, who had no redeeming chestnut in his hair—it was plain ginger—and if someone up there had set out to create another Just William, they’d succeeded in Tosh.

Her father’s favourite saying about his youngest child had been that he got into more trouble than Flash Gordon.

All the same, she loved them all desperately and couldn’t even begin to think about losing them.

So why do the cons seem to be overwhelming when there are so many pros? she asked herself as she tossed and turned one night.

Don’t be thick, Mel, she answered herself, using Mrs Bedwell’s favourite put-down. This is a marriage of convenience you’re being offered, that’s why it’s sticking in your throat! He may have kissed you and he may look at you as if he’d like to sweep you onto his charger and make off with you whether you like it or not, but his reputation is not consistent with Etienne Hurst suddenly falling in love with a girl like you…

She punched her pillow and tried to get more comfortable. It was well-known in the Gladstone area that for his recreation he’d leased and renovated an abandoned lighthouse keeper’s house on top of a craggy headland and that he spent some of his free time there, fishing and crabbing the waters of a protected lagoon at the base of the headland.

It was rumoured that there was no more fulfilling an experience for a woman than to be bedded by Etienne Hurst in his lighthouse eyrie then treated to a seafood banquet. It appeared to be a fact that there were plenty of willing women but—here lay the rub—mature, sophisticated, glamorous women who were a very far cry from nineteen-year-old Melinda Ethridge, whom, no one could deny, he often treated like an exasperating kid.

So, what did he really want from her? Was it only out of a sense of responsibility towards his sister’s stepchildren that he’d proposed marriage? Surely not. But then, despite sounding and acting like the quintessential Australian, had his French mother instilled old-fashioned notions about arranged marriages in him?