Читать книгу The Saxon Brides - Tessa Radley - Страница 11

Alyssa drove through the curving set of white gates of Saxon’s Folly the following morning, nerves tying her stomach in knots. The beauty of the rows of vines stretching away on both sides of the long, oak-lined drive, still bare of the lush green growth of leaves that would come with summer, failed to calm her trepidation about encountering Joshua Saxon again.

At least she had her boss’s blessing. She’d called her editor early this morning, telling him that she needed a few more days off. David’s annoyance had evaporated when he’d found out she was in Hawkes Bay.

“Why didn’t you tell me that last time you called? I heard that Roland Saxon was killed over the weekend. A terrible tragedy. You can do a story on the great loss that he’ll be to the industry. Try get the scoop on who’ll be replacing him as the marketing man of Saxon’s Folly—and how that will impact on Saxon’s Folly’s place in the industry.”

Her breath catching in her chest, she said, “David, I want to take time off.”

“Are you ill? You sound strange.”

To distract her canny editor, Alyssa announced in a rush, “I’ve been invited to stay at Saxon’s Folly.”

There was a short silence. Alyssa could almost hear the cogs turning in David’s mind.

“Get a short obituary on Roland Saxon to me ASAP—if I have it by Friday, it can run in the next issue.” There was a moment’s silence. “You should’ve told me you were on visiting terms with the Saxons.”

She had no intention of explaining about Roland. She’d promised Kay it would remain a secret … and it would.

Alyssa thought about the obituary she’d agreed to write while she walked through the town picking up some toiletries and clothing for her extended stay. She had a horrible suspicion that Joshua would not be pleased when he learned about it.

Typically, as she pulled up in front of the winery, the first person she saw was Joshua Saxon. When she got out of the car, his face hardened, radiating disapproval. Alyssa’s gaze locked with his as he approached.

“The funeral is over.” His obsidian gaze bored relentlessly into her. “I thought you’d be packed and gone by now.”

Alyssa raised her chin. “I brought your jacket back.”

“Oh, thanks.” He had the grace to look slightly shamed as she got out of the car, popped open the trunk and drew out his jacket.

He took it from her and slung it over his shoulder. “Have a safe trip.”

Staring at her overnight bag, Alyssa hesitated. To hell with it. He’d know sooner or later. “I’m not leaving yet. Your mother has invited me to stay for a week.”

“You approached my mother?” He replied, openmouthed. “My mother is grieving the loss of her eldest son. She doesn’t need an interloper barging in at the moment.”

“I didn’t ‘barge in,’ as you so delightfully put it. Your mother invited me.” She drew a deep breath. “Inviting” was stretching the truth. She’d given Kay no choice. “Don’t worry, Joshua, I’ll be very sensitive of her feelings.”

He bent forward and hoisted her overnight bag out, then cast her a disbelieving look. “Right.”

Her heart started to race and apprehension shafted through her as his narrowed gaze raked her. He’d better never discover the truth of how she’d gotten her invitation. Quickly, she said, “Also, my editor has asked me to write a short tribute to Roland. I’ll use this week to research that.” No point hiding that.

“Oh, no, you won’t! You’re not poking around here for dirt on my brother.”

She’d expected his reaction. She lifted out her handbag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m not here to dig up dirt. I’m here at the invitation of your mother. But it’s a good opportunity to talk to people about Roland, about what he meant to them, how he enriched their lives. Think about it, Joshua, there’s nothing sinister about a tribute in Wine Watch to your brother. The wine community is going to miss him.” And so would she.

Terribly.

He paused. She watched him weighing up her words, seeking the worst.

“I don’t trust you,” he said at last. “Don’t forget I’ve been at the sharp end of your poisoned pen before. I want to keep an eye on you, hear the questions you’re asking. You’re coming with me each day.”

Alyssa saw her dream of spending time with Kay, learning about Roland going up in smoke. “But—”

“That’s screwed up whatever it is that you want.” His eyes had narrowed to black slits. “So why did you gate-crash the ball? What is it that you really want, Alyssa? An exclusive interview?”

His derogatory tone caused her to say heatedly, “No, I came to—” Too late she remembered her promise to Kay.

“To what?” He pounced on her hesitation like a mountain cat.

She tempered her response. “I came to see Roland.” Let him draw whatever damn conclusions he wanted from that.

“Why? You still haven’t told me what you wanted with him.”

“I thought you’d decided that.” Alyssa couldn’t stop the snippy retort as she slammed the trunk shut.

“To get him to break up with Amy?” He didn’t take his eyes off her. “I’m still leaning that way, am I correct?”

“No!”

His eyes held cynical disbelief. “Then what? You had another agenda? Or do you still want me to believe that you and Roland were ‘friends’?”

Joshua gave friends such a mocking intonation that she flinched. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

He tilted his head sideways, examining her. “You wanted something from him. Did you think Roland would feed you the story of a lifetime?”

“No, seeing Roland had nothing to do with any story.”

“You’re trying to tell me that hooking up with my brother meant more to you than the sniff of a story?”

She nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Joshua fell silent, a frown grooved between his guarded eyes. “You know, I’m starting to believe that Roland meant something to you. That you’re grieving for him as much as we are.”

Before Alyssa could respond to his unexpected concession, he’d set off with her bag in the direction of the main house.

They found Kay in the library, working at a big walnut desk overlooking the gardens that rolled down to where the vineyards started.

“Your houseguest.”

“Joshua—”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t stay, I need to get back to the estate.” Joshua set down her overnight bag and slung the dinner jacket onto a leather chair. “Don’t forget that we arranged to go to see Amy tonight.” He glanced pointedly at Alyssa. “It’ll probably be better if you stay here.”

“It would be rude to leave Alyssa. She can come, too.”

“No, it will be too upsetting for Amy—if she ever discovers the truth about why Alyssa was so eager to attend the ball.”

Kay blinked, the only sign that she’d remembered what Alyssa had told her in the cemetery about Joshua’s belief that Alyssa was Roland’s lover. For a moment Kay looked indecisive then she said, “If you think so, dear.”

“I do.” To Alyssa he said, “As soon as you’ve settled in, come find me. I’ll be in the winery.”

“Oh, but … I thought I would get to know Alyssa a little, especially if she and Roland were …” Kay’s voice trailed away “… close.” Her eyes darted everywhere—except Joshua’s face.

But he didn’t notice; he was too busy glaring at Alyssa.

“Behave yourself then,” he growled.

Which she took to mean that she was not to ask Kay too many questions about Roland for the tribute she was writing.

After Joshua had gone, Alyssa turned to Kay. “I know this must be very hard for you. Rather than talk about Roland so soon maybe we can take a walk around the vineyard.”

Kay sniffed but her eyes remained dry. “I want to talk about Roland. It happened so fast. Roland and Amy were due to get married in December. Phillip and I were looking forward to grandchildren—now he’s dead.”

“Children … I’ve never thought of children.” Or a niece. Or a nephew. Or a sister-in-law like Amy. “I hadn’t thought beyond finding Roland. He was the family I’ve been looking for since I learned I was adopted.”

The stark statement hung in the air.

Kay’s eyes darkened until the gray had turned almost black. “Oh, Alyssa….” She hesitated then she opened her arms.

Alyssa walked into them, conscious of the scent of lavender that clung to the older woman. At last she stepped away.

“I feel so … lost.”

“What about your parents? Wouldn’t it help to stay awhile with them right now?”

“My mother—adoptive mother—died of cancer three years ago. That was when I really stepped up my search for Roland. She’d never been keen on my finding my natural parents—or Roland when she learned I had a brother.”

Kay gave her a peculiar look. “Maybe she feared she might lose you.”

“How could she ever lose me? She was my mother, she’d raised me. I loved her.”

“What about your adoptive father?”

“He remarried last year—his new wife wanted to live on Australia’s Gold Coast with her daughter and two granddaughters.”

“So in a space of a few years you’ve lost your mother, your father has gone away … and now your birth brother is dead.” Kay looked quite ill.

“Yes,” Alyssa whispered, the pain of it all closing her throat. “But you’re going to share a little of Roland with me … and that’s so much more of him than I’ve had before.”

Once the Saxons had driven off to visit Amy that night, Alyssa felt strangely deserted. Using the remote to switch off the television, she was plunged into silence and within seconds the vast quietness of the homestead enfolded her. Other than one solitary creak of the beams, the lack of sound was absolute. Picking up the photo album that Kay had shown her earlier, Alyssa started to browse through.

A sharp burst of nostalgia pierced her as she stared at the images. Roland as a baby with only a little ginger fluff on his head. As a toddler, holding a new-born Joshua. A photo of Roland on his first day of school, gap-toothed, his red hair slicked down, with Joshua and Heath in front of him, as different from them as fire from coal. Roland and Heath smiling like little devils while Joshua stared solemnly at the camera, his gaze already self-possessed and direct. No Megan yet. Just the three boys.

The next page showed Roland on a bay horse, grinning as he held a great, big silver trophy aloft while Megan and Joshua stood on either side of the horse’s head, looking proud and pleased.

When she’d finished paging through the album, Alyssa set it aside and made her way to the kitchen, which Kay had asked Ivy, the friendly housekeeper, to show her around earlier. There was a tray set out for her. In the fridge was the slice of quiche and bowl of salad just as Kay had promised. But Alyssa didn’t bother to nuke the quiche in the microwave. She set the empty wineglass to one side and made herself a cup of cocoa instead and, picking up the tray, made her way out.

At the foot of the stairs Alyssa paused. Her room lay upstairs, along with Megan’s quarters, and Kay and Phillip’s suite. Downstairs was the wing that housed Roland’s rooms—and Joshua’s. A wave of shame swept her at the memory of what had so nearly happened in Joshua’s bedroom the night of the ball.

Curiosity propelled her down the stairs. At the base of the stairs the area opened up into an airy sitting room furnished with a large plasma-screen television, two brown leather sofas and a pair of armchairs. She’d caught only a glimpse of it on the night of the ball when Joshua had hauled her through.

An immense kauri bookshelf covered one wall that closer inspection revealed was filled with books on viticulture and a couple of rows of crime novels interspersed with classics. The opposite wall was filled by an abstract study of an incoming tide that looked like a John Walker. A narrow arch led to a sleek, streamlined galley kitchen gleaming with stainless steel appliances and beside it lay a cosy dining area.

Leaving the sitting room, Alyssa glanced both ways down the passage that led off the sitting room. At one end, a door stood ajar, at the other, the door was firmly closed. With soft footsteps she made her way to the closed door at the far end. The handle twisted under her touch. As she stepped through the doorway, her throat closed.

Without a doubt this was where her brother had slept.

It hurt too much to stand beside the double bed that he would never waken in again. Through an archway she glimpsed a desk. A few steps took her to what had clearly been his private domain. His trophy room. Two glass-fronted cabinets held an impressive array of silverware. A closer look revealed schoolboy medals for athletics, awards for rugby, while trophies for eventing were prominently displayed, holding pride of place.

She made her way back into Roland’s bedroom, and stopped at the sight of a door leading off into a bathroom en suite. An electric razor lay on the marble slab, charging, awaiting its next use. Alyssa picked up the wooden-backed hairbrush. There were short strands of red hair in its bristles. She disentangled a hair, then pulled one from her own head. Laying them side by side, she compared the texture and colour. Hers was darker, his was coarser. She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook the two hairs free.

Closing the door behind her had a certain finality.

At the other end of the corridor the open door beckoned. She couldn’t resist the call. Joshua’s rooms. She stepped past a study, papers neatly stacked on a desk, past the walk-in dressing room with the bathroom that lay beyond. The instant she stepped into his bedroom, she smelled his scent. Familiar. Taunting. The dinner jacket she’d returned hung draped over a chair, and she lifted it to her face, inhaling the rich, living male scent that had surrounded her outside the chilly hospital. She dropped down onto the navy bedcover and fought back tears. She sat there for what seemed like an age. Finally she rose and returned the jacket to the chair. Collecting her tray, with the now-cold cocoa, from the landing, she made her way upstairs to her own room.

The silence of the empty house was suffocating.

A hollow emptiness pressed down on Alyssa. Here, in the heart of the Saxon family’s home, she felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her life.

Joshua had swept Amy—along with his parents and Megan—off to dinner. It was good for Amy to get out. His eyes rested on his parents—and good for them, too. Yet as they sat at the window table of an upmarket-café overlooking Napier’s Marine Parade, an unaccountable sense of guilt nagged at Joshua at the thought of Alyssa alone in the great house.

“Why so pensive?” He found Megan staring at him curiously as he set his knife and fork down.

“Just thinking.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “About a woman?”

“No comment, wench.”

She laughed. Then her cell phone pinged to announce a new message and she looked down at the screen with a secret smile.

“New admirer?”

A slight stain of uncharacteristic colour tinged his sister’s cheeks. “Maybe.”

“When do we get to meet him?” Kay leaned forward, looking interested, while beside her Phillip shook his head and laughed.

Megan rolled her eyes at Joshua. “See what you’ve started.”

He grinned. “Serves you right for being so secretive.” And she wasn’t alone. Roland had been keeping secrets, too. A lover who no one knew about, for one. His gaze rested on Amy. She hadn’t spoken much, but he thought she was looking happier since leaving her solitary cottage. Joshua had no intention of letting her find out about Alyssa’s relationship to her fiancé.

Amy was the reason Alyssa wasn’t here tonight. There was no need for him to feel guilty about not inviting her. But nor should Alyssa’s presence at Saxon’s Folly be kept secret. Amy worked as a PA at the winery. She’d find out soon enough.

“Did my mother tell you that Alyssa Blake, the wine writer, is staying with us?”

“Alyssa Blake?” Amy bristled in disbelief. “Really? After that article she wrote?”

“She wants to write a tribute to Roland for Wine Watch magazine.” Joshua held his breath, waiting for Amy’s—and his parents’—reaction.

To his surprise, Amy nodded. “It would be a nice way for Roland to be remembered.”

His mother perked up. “I have some photos she can use … I’ll have to find them.”

Neither of them had fallen apart at the idea. Joshua started to feel as though he’d overreacted by telling Alyssa he’d be keeping her under his scrutiny … yet, from past experience, he felt he couldn’t trust her.

What would she be doing right now? Eating in the salon, settled in front of the large picture windows that overlooked the garden? Or would she be in the bath, soaking out the stresses of the past days? He liked the idea of Alyssa naked in the bath, covered with frothing bath foam. He liked the idea far too damned much.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and censored the provocative images. How had this happened that thoughts of the woman could reduce him to a state of hot and bothered?

Restlessness drove him out of the café on the pretext that he had a call that he needed to make. Once outside, he stood on the pavement surrounded by smokers who had come out the restaurant for a quick smoke after their meal.

He fingered the keypad of his phone. He wanted to call home, speak to Alyssa and reassure himself that she was okay. His mother was right. It had been rude to take off and leave her alone. However much he disapproved of her relationship with his brother she, too, must be experiencing grief over his death—much like Amy was. And that disturbed him.

He stared at the phone. What reason would he give for calling her? It was unlikely that she’d even answer the homestead phone.

Finally he pocketed his phone. For the first time in his life he wished that he smoked. It might’ve helped to ease this unsettling tension inside him.

By the time he got back to the table, everyone was talking about one of the scandals in local politics. Joshua signalled for the bill. He wanted to leave. The feeling that he should not have left Alyssa alone on her first night at Saxon’s Folly, with nothing but grief to keep her company, grew stronger.

As they drove up the long drive to the house, Joshua saw that the wing where Alyssa was staying was in darkness. He’d worried for nothing. She was already fast asleep.

It was the siren that woke Alyssa from a restless slumber and confused dreams full of disturbing, disjointed encounters with Roland and Kay and Joshua.

Disorientated by the shriek, uneasy from the aftermath of the nightmare, she swung her legs out of bed.

Men’s voices filtered in through her window. Quickly Alyssa pulled on her robe, grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Kay had told her there had been a fire in the past, but the homestead had survived without great damage. Could it be happening again?

Downstairs the house was empty, the doors of the salon flung wide onto the verandah. No smell of smoke. No red haze to signal a fire. But Alyssa could hear the sound of motors. Fire engines? To the left she could see floodlights. Moving outside, she made her way down the stairs, toward the vineyards where she could hear the commotion.

It took the sound of the helicopter overhead to alert her.

Frost.

Of course. The siren had been a frost warning.

Alyssa glanced at her watch. Four o’clock in the morning. The roar of motors morphed into the drone of tractors. As she came closer she could see the giant fans hitched behind and whirring as the tractors drove up and down between the rows of vines. Overhead the rotors beat the warmer air down, desperate measures before the frost settled on the vines.

A figure materialised out of the murk.

Joshua.

“Did the siren wake you?”

Instantly she was aware of her hastily pulled on robe, which must look incongruous with her bare feet and the handbag slung over her shoulder. As he came closer she saw that his hair was mussed adding to the impression that he, too, had risen in a hurry.

“I thought it was a fire alarm.”

“Not fire, only frost.”

Only frost. There was little to be dismissive about frost. She knew the dangers of frost at the delicate budding stage. “Did you catch it in time?”

Joshua nodded. His eyes glinted in the light from the house behind her. “We’ve got good equipment. And all the local helicopter companies are on standby. Heath usually does a flyover once he’s finished his yards—he’s a qualified pilot.”

The air beat down on them, Alyssa’s hair whipped across her face. She rocked on her feet and almost fell against Joshua.

His hands shot out. “Steady.”

Pulling out of his grasp, she pushed her windswept hair off her face and gave a strangled laugh. “Sorry, it’s the wind.”

“You can go back to bed now, there’s no emergency. You’ll only get chilly standing out here.”

She was conscious of his gaze taking in her dishevelled hair, her sleep-mussed face and the comfortable terry robe that was a world away from the glamorous, sophisticated image she preferred to present.

As the self-consciousness spread within her, she became aware of how isolated they were from the rest … how hidden and sheltered under the cover of night. Her pulse picked up, she breathed slowly, trying to hide her agitation. How could this man have such an effect on her?

“Okay, I’m going.” Her voice was hoarse, a croak of sound in the night.

His gaze darted over her wind-ruffled hair, to where the robe gaped in front. Alyssa yanked the sash tighter. He stilled. She sensed his tension, knew he’d picked up on what she was feeling. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you were woken.”

“It’s not a problem. I should catch another couple of hours sleep if I go back to bed now.”

Immediately she wished she hadn’t used the word bed. It brought an intimacy that she didn’t want. And Joshua was aware of it, too. The utter stillness that surrounded him told her that. For one wild moment she felt herself swaying toward him, inching closer. Then she caught herself.

This was madness.

Joshua believed she’d been his brother’s mistress.

Spinning away, she hurried back to the homestead, nerves of apprehension fluttering like drunken butterflies in her stomach when she heard his footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind her.

Alyssa set her bare foot on the first step and paused, not daring to look back. “See you at breakfast.” She tried for a casual, throwaway tone, and knew she’d fluffed it up when he stepped closer.

“Not so fast.”

She froze. Her chest rose and fell, and her toes curled into the cold stone stairs. She was eternally grateful for the fans, for the drone of the rotors. Hopefully Joshua wouldn’t hear the thunder of her heart.

He stopped beside her. And touched her face. Gently. His fingertips cupped her cheek, turning her head toward him.

The thunder of rushing blood grew loud in her ears. She caught a whiff of his aftershave, the same scent that clung to his jacket. To her intense horror all the emotion she’d experienced in his bedroom welled up inside her. Joshua grew blurred. The tears she’d been suppressing since Roland died spilled over.

“Hey, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” She wiped frantically at her eyes. “I’m not.” She faced him, blinking furiously.

His features softened in the light from the salon behind her. “Come here.”

“I’ll be okay,” she choked out.

“Hush.” He reached out and took her into his arms.

The storm of sobs caught her unawares and caused her shoulders to shake and her stomach to ache. His arms were strong and he cradled her against his chest, rocking her slightly. The merino lambswool sweater he wore was soft and warm under her cheek, and she could feel his heart beating steadily under her hand. It was comfortable and safe. Alyssa wished she could stay in his arms forever.

The tears fell faster.

Simply holding her, he let her cry, saying nothing.

The tempest subsided. Her sobs quietened.

And in the silence of the pre-dawn it all changed. Suddenly Joshua’s hold wasn’t only about comfort. There was something else, too. In slow degrees she became aware that the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips had picked up, that his breathing had become irregular. A sense of expectancy hung over them.

A moment of indecisiveness. To snuggle closer? Or push him away? She was desperately tempted to move closer.

Whatever she did now would change their relationship irrevocably.

But he made the decision for her, easing his grip. “My touch has never had that effect on a woman before. I’ve never made a woman cry before.”

Alyssa knew he was trying to lighten the moment, trying to make her smile. But she couldn’t.

She hiccupped. Mortification set in. How could she have dissolved into weak, womanly tears in his arms?

After a little silence, she said awkwardly, “I’m sorry, I’m crying like a baby.”

“It’s been a hell of a week.” He pulled her closer again and rested his cheek against her hair. The unexpected contact was achingly tender. The pulsing sensuality had evaporated. “Cry all you want.”

She regretted the loss of whatever it was that had stirred between them. She ached. But his tenderness made the tears flow afresh. Alyssa sniffed, furious with herself for appearing so vulnerable. “You must think I’m so dumb.”

His arms tightened around her. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all.” After a moment, he added huskily, “I miss him, too.”