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A Wife At Kimbara
Margaret Way


Taking a job with the Kinross family has catapulted Rebecca Hunt into a world of wealth and privilege.It has also thrust her into immediate conflict with cattleman Brod Kinross. The tough and cynical manager of the family's Kimbara homestead suspects Rebecca of being a gold digger, after his father's money.But Brod couldn't be more wrong. It's not money that Rebecca wants - or Brod's father - it's love and marriage to Brod himself.









“What exactly is it you suspect me of, Mr. Kinross?”


Rebecca’s face was flushed.

“You’re angry with me, and quite rightly.” Brod dropped his hand off the rail and stood straight. Another foot and their bodies would be brushing. “From where I’m standing I think you might be trying to steal my father’s heart.”

It was a mystery to Rebecca how she kept her cool. “All I’m asking, Brod, is you give me the benefit of the doubt before starting to label me ‘adventuress.’”

“Most women can’t resist being the object of desire.”

She felt as if they were engaged in some ritual dance, circling, circling. “That’s something I know nothing about.” Her simmering temper was making her eyes sparkle.

“Quite impossible, Rebecca.” His lips curved. “If you put on your dowdiest dress and cut off that waterfall of hair men would still want you.”

She had the disturbing sensation Brod had reached out and touched her. Run his fingers over her skin.


Dear Reader,

Ever since I can remember, our legendary Outback has had an almost mystical grip on me. The cattlemen have become cultural heroes, figures of romance, excitement and adventure. These tough, dynamic, sometimes dangerous men carved out their destinies in this new world of Australia as they drove deeper and deeper into the uncompromising Wild Heart with its extremes of stark grandeur and bleached cruelty.

The type of man I like to write about is a unique and definable breed—rugged, masculine and full of vigor. This Outback man is strong yet sensitive, courageous enough to battle all the odds in order to claim the woman of his dreams.

A Wife at Kimbara is the first of three linked books where I explore the friendships, loves, rivalries and reconciliations between two great Australian pioneering families. They are truly LEGENDS OF THE OUTBACK.






Margaret Way


Look for:

The Bridesmaid’s Wedding #3607

The English Bride #3619




A Wife at Kimbara

Margaret Way















CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE




CHAPTER ONE


BROD strode from the blinding light of the compound into the welcoming gloom of the old homestead’s hallway. His whole body was sheened with sweat and his denim shirt covered in dust and grass stains. He and his men had been up since dawn driving a herd of uncooperative cattle from drying Egret Creek to Three Moons, a chain of billabongs some miles off.

It had been a long hot slog filled with plenty of curses and frustration as several beasts in turn tried to break away from the herd. Dumber than dumb in some situations cattle had a decided ability to hold their own in the bush.

He could do with a good scrub but there was scant time for that. His schedule was as hectic as ever. He’d almost forgotten, the station vet was flying in this afternoon to give another section of the herd a general check over. That was about three o’clock. He had time to grab a sandwich and a cup of tea and return to the holding yard they’d set up under the gum trees.

Now he focused on the stack of mail neatly piled on top of the rough pine bench that served as a console. No Kimbara this he thought with bleak humour. Definitely not the splendid historic homestead of his birth.

His father resided on Kimbara. Stewart Kinross. Lord of the Desert. Leaving his only son to slave his guts out running the cattle chain while he claimed all the glory. Not that there weren’t quite a few people in the know. Not that it bothered him all that much he thought swivelling to throw his black Akubra onto a peg on the wall. It landed unerringly on the target as it always did but he paid no attention. His day would come. He and Ally together had quite a stake in the diverse Kinross enterprises with ancestral Kimbara, the flagship of the Kinross cattle empire the jewel in the crown.

Grandad Kinross, legendary hero, had seen to that, never blind to his son Stewart’s true nature. Andrew Kinross was long gone while his grandson lived a near outcast on Marlu for the past five years. In fact it had been since Alison, hiding her heartache over the breakup of her passionate romance with Rafe Cameron, left home for the Big Smoke, the name the Outback bestowed on big bustling cosmopolitan Sydney.

Alison said then she wanted to try her hand at acting like their celebrated Aunt Fee who had taken off at eighteen full of wild dreams of making a brilliant career for herself on the London stage. And wonder of wonders Fee had actually succeeded despite a well publicised out of control love life. Now she was back on Kimbara writing her sensational memoirs.

Fee was quite a character, too famous to qualify for black sheep of the family but with two big-time broken marriages behind her and the legacy of an exquisite English rose of a daughter. Lady Francesca de Lyle, no less. His and Ally’s cousin and from what they’d seen of her as good as she was beautiful. Couldn’t have been easy with the arty oversexed Fee for a mother.

Now Fee was telling all, convinced her biography would be a huge success in the hands of one Rebecca Hunt, an award-winning young journalist from Sydney with another well received biography of a retired Australian diva under her belt.

Just to think of Rebecca Hunt lit a dangerous flame somewhere inside him. Such was the power of a woman’s beauty he thought disgustedly when he distrusted her like hell. He had no difficulty summoning up her image. Satiny black hair framing a lily cool face, but with one hell of a seductive mouth. The mouth was a dead give-away. Yet she was so utterly immaculate and self-possessed she was darn near mysterious. He could never imagine someone like him for instance mussing that sleek hair or laying a finger on her magnolia flesh. She was way too perfect for him. Brod gave an involuntary laugh the fall of light in the hall giving his lean handsome features a brooding hawklike quality. In reality the patrician Miss Hunt was just another mightily ambitious woman.

It wasn’t his father that had her in thrall. No way would he accept that. Not that his father wasn’t a big handsome guy, assured, cultivated, filthy rich, fifty-five and looking a good ten years younger. Forget the meanness there. No it was the wild splendour of Kimbara that interested Miss Hunt, of the large ravishing grey eyes. Eyes like the still crystal waters of a hidden rock pool, yet he had divined instantly Miss Hunt would discard her promising little career any day to become mistress of Kimbara. From a fledgling career to riches beyond her imaginings. Only one catch: She could only have it all while his father lived. After that it was his turn.

The Kinross tradition had never been broken. Kimbara, the Kinross’s ancestral home was passed directly from father to firstborn son. No one had ever abdicated in favour of a brother though Andrew Kinross had been a second son, surviving the Second World War when his elder brother James hadn’t. James had died in his brother’s arms in a far distant desert, very different from their own. One of the countless terrible tragedies of war.

Shaking his head sadly, Brod moved to pick up the mail riffling through it. It had been flown in that day while he was far out on the run. Wally his loyal, part aboriginal ex-stockman had brought it up. Since he had badly smashed his leg in a fall from his horse, Wally’s duties revolved around the small homestead and the homestead’s vegetable garden, which was currently thriving. Wally wasn’t turning into a bad cook, either. At any rate better than him.

Only one piece of correspondence really caught his eye and somehow he had been expecting it. He ripped it open smiling grimly at the contents. Why would the old man contact him directly when he was so good at letters? He took a harsh breath. No “Dear Brod.” Nothing like that. No enquires as to his health. It appeared his father had arranged a gala event to impress and entertain Miss Hunt. A polo weekend at the end of the month. In other words ten days’ time. Matches starting Saturday morning with the main event 3:00 p.m. Usual gala ball in the Great Hall Saturday night.

His father would naturally captain the main team, read, hand-pick the best players. His son Brod would be allowed to captain the other. His father hated like hell that his son was so damned good if a bit on the wild side. God pity him, his father seemed to hate everything he did even as the chain thrived. If the truth be known his father didn’t look on him as a son at all. Since he had grown to manhood his father had treated him more like a rival. An enemy at the gate. It was all so bloody bizarre. Small wonder he and Ally were emotionally scarred, but both of them had confronted it.

Their mother had run off when he was only nine and Ally a vulnerable little four-year-old. How could she have done it? Not that he and Ally didn’t come to understand it in time. Getting to know their father so well, his black moods, the colossal arrogance, the coldness and the biting tongue they reckoned their mother had been driven to it. Maybe she would have fought for their custody as she swore she would but then she had gotten herself killed in a car smash less than a year later. He vividly remembered the day his father had called him into his study to tell him about the accident.

“No one gets away from me,” Stewart Kinross had said with a chilling smile on his face.

That was Brod’s father.

He shook his head in despair. At least he and Ally, the closest of siblings, had had Grandfather Kinross to turn to. For a while. A finer man had never been born. The best thing that had ever been said to him had come from one of his grandfather’s closest friends, Sir Jock McTavish.

“You have all your Granddaddy’s great fighting heart and spirit, Broderick. I know you’re going to live up to the legend!”

Jock McTavish knew how to size a man up. In the many shattering confrontations Brod had had with his father over the years he tried to hold fast to Sir Jock’s words. It hadn’t been easy when his father had never ceased trying to grind him down.

Brod sighed and thrust his father’s letter into the pocket of his jeans. He had no desire to travel so far, he told himself. It was one hell of an overland trek from Marlu to the Kinross stronghold in the Channel Country in the far south west of the giant state of Queensland. Plus he was too damned busy. If he went at all he would have to fly. His father sure hadn’t offered to pick him up in the Beech Baron. He’d have to call up the Camerons as he did frequently even after Ally’s breakup with Rafe.

He’d grown up with the Cameron brothers, Rafe and Grant. The history of the Kinross and Cameron families was the history of the Outback. It was their Scottish ancestors themselves, close friends from childhood who had pioneered the fabled region in the process turning themselves into cattle barons. Both dynasties had survived. Not only survived, flourished.

Sudden frustration seized him. He remembered as vividly as yesterday the time Ally had come to tell him she couldn’t marry Rafe. She was going away. A journey of self-discovery she called it. Her romance with Rafe was simply too overwhelming for comfort.

“But hell, Ally, you love him!” He could hear his own disbelieving voice. “And he sure as hell is crazy about you.”

“I love him with every breath that’s in me,” Ally had responded passionately, fiercely wiping tears from her face. “But you don’t know what it’s like, Brod. All the girls fall for you, but not a one of them has touched your heart. Rafe squeezes the heart out of me, do you see? I’m sick of him and sick with him. He’s more than I can take on.”

Bewildered he had ploughed on. “So he’s forceful? A man’s man. He’s not in the least like our father. There’s nothing dark and frightening about Rafe, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s one hell of a guy. What’s got into you, Ally? Rafe is my best friend. The Kinross’es and the Camerons are damned near related. We all thought your marriage to Rafe would finally unite our two families. Even the old man is all for it going ahead. Marvellous choice and all that. Couldn’t be more suitable.” He aped his father’s deep, polished tones.

“I can’t do it, Brod,” Ally had insisted. “Not yet. I have to learn a lot more about myself before I take on Rafe. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you. Father will be furious.” Her beautiful clear green eyes darkened at the prospect.

He had taken her in his arms then, hugging her to him. “You could never disappoint me, Ally,” he told her. “My love for you is too great. My respect for your wisdom and spirit. Maybe its because you’re so young. Barely twenty. You have your whole life in front of you. Go with my blessing but for God’s sake come back to Rafe.”

“If he’ll have me.” Ally had tried to smile through her tears.

It hadn’t happened. Rafe had never seriously been drawn to another woman but the one person they never talked about was Alison. That subject was taboo. Tough, self-sufficient as he was giving no sign of hurting, Brod knew. Ally had dealt his friend a near mortal blow.

Momentarily disconsolate he stared sightless through the open doorway. Five years later and Ally still hadn’t returned home. Ally like Fee had developed quite a talent for acting. Something in the genes. Ally had just won a Logie for best actress in a TV series drama playing a young doctor in a country town. She was enormously popular for her beauty and charm, the way she gave such life and conviction to her frequently affecting role. He was full of admiration for her but he really missed her; the comfort and humour of her company. God knows how Rafe, being Rafe, coped with the bitterness of rejection that must have accumulated in his heart? He didn’t take it out on him though Grant, the younger brother had been known to fire off a few salvos. Rafe and Grant were as close as he and Ally. To hurt one was to hurt the other. Both brothers would be certain starters in the main polo match the coming Saturday afternoon. Both excellent players though Rafe had the edge. But neither was going to faze him.

He liked the going tough and dangerous and he didn’t think he’d have too much trouble persuading one or both to join his team despite his father and he’d need their help getting to Kimbara.

The Cameron’s historic station Opal Plains bordered Kimbara on its north-northeast border. Grant ran a helicopter service from Opal that covered their part of Outback while Rafe was master of the vast station. Aristocrats of the Outback, the press called all three of them. They presented a polished front to the world, but there had been plenty of sadness and tragedy in their lives.

No, even if he could cadge a ride with Rafe and Grant he had no desire to confront either his father or the magnolia skinned Rebecca. If the truth be told he couldn’t bear to see them together. His father showing that seemingly flawless young woman all the exquisite care and consideration he had never accorded his daughter, let alone his wife.

Often to amuse as much as torment himself he conjured up the ridiculous picture of Stewart Kinross down on his knees before the luminous eyed Miss Hunt begging for her hand in marriage. His father so rich and powerful he thought he was invincible. So sure of his virility, he thought he possessed such sexual magnetism he could easily attract a woman half his age. If it weren’t so damned likely it would be funny. Women couldn’t resist power and money. Especially not adventuresses.

He’d have to find out a little bit more about Miss Rebecca Hunt, he decided. She was remarkably close lipped about her past though he knew from the blurb on the back of the recent biography she’d been born in Sydney in 1973. That made her twenty-seven. Three years younger than he. The rest went on to list the not inconsiderable achievements of her short career.

She had been named Young Journalist of the year at the age of twenty-four. She’d worked with the Australian Broadcasting Commission, SBS and Channel 9. Two years with the British Press. A book of interviews with the rich and famous. The diva’s biography. Now Aunt Fee.

Next to nothing about her private life, though. It might have been as blank as a nun’s only Miss Rebecca Hunt behind the cool facade was so absolutely fascinating she couldn’t have escaped at least a few sexual encounters. If she was footloose it had to be by choice. Was she waiting for the right man? Charming, clever, rich and powerful.

Most people thought Stewart Kinross was just that, until little bits of him occasionally seeped out. The ego, the self-centeredness, the caustic tongue. But when he set out to, Brod had to admit, his father could be dazzling. A young woman like Miss Rebecca Hunt was bound to be socially ambitious. If she took on his father she would get more than she bargained for, the conniving little witch. He almost felt a stab of pity.

No, he didn’t want to go, he told himself, suddenly realising he wanted to go very much.




CHAPTER TWO


REBECCA was standing on the upstairs balcony looking out over Kimbara’s magnificent home gardens when Stewart Kinross finally tracked her down, as purposefully as a hunter tracks his quarry.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” he smiled indulgently, as he moved to join her at the balustrade. “A bit of news I thought you might like to hear.”

She swung to face him, so lovely he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Then let’s hear it!” Rebecca responded brightly, shying away from the thought her host had taken quite a fancy to her. A thought too embarrassing to pursue. For all his wealth, suavity and charm, Stewart Kinross was of an age with her father. Not that a man as rich and handsome as that couldn’t get just about any woman he wanted. But not her. Involvement, even with a man her own age wasn’t an option. Peace of body, mind and heart were too important. Yet Stewart Kinross was looking at her delightedly out of grey-green eyes.

“I’ve organised one of my famous polo weekends for your enjoyment,” he told her, realising she was making him feel younger with every passing day. “The Matches will be followed by a gala ball, Saturday night with a big breakfast cum brunch in the garden Sunday morning through to noon. After that our guests like to get off home. Most fly, some make the overland trek.

“It sounds exciting.” Rebecca struggled a little to sound enthusiastic. In truth her heart was thumping though none of her disquiet showed in her face. “I’ve never actually attended a polo match.”

“Why do you think I’ve organised this weekend?” he chuffed, his handsome mouth curving beneath a full, beautifully clipped moustache. “I overheard you telling Fee.”

She felt a sudden loss of safety. Stewart Kinross for all his charm was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. It would be a disaster if he wanted something from her she couldn’t possibly provide. “You’re very kind to me, Stewart,” she managed to say. “You and Fiona,” she stressed. “I do appreciate it.”

“You’re very easy to be kind to, my dear.” He tried to keep the feeling out of his voice but failed. “And you’re making Fee so happy with what you’re doing with her book.”

“Fee has a fascinating story to tell.” Rebecca turned slightly away from him, leaning her slender body against the white wrought-iron balustrade. “She knows everyone who’s anyone in the English theatre as well as so many powerful international figures. There’s just so much subject matter. An abundance of it.”

“Fee has lived a full life,” he agreed somewhat dryly. “She’s a born actress as is my daughter, Alison.”

His voice was surprisingly cool for a proud father.

“Yes, I’ve seen her many times on television,” Rebecca said admiringly. “Some of the episodes have been remarkably affecting because of the wonderful quality of her acting. She brings her character, the country doctor, to such life. I’d love to meet her.”

“I don’t think you’ll see Alison back here.” He sighed with evident regret. “She’s well and truly settled in Sydney. She rarely comes home on a visit. Then, I sometimes think, it’s only to see Brod not the father she’s almost forgotten.”

Rebecca looked at him more sympathetically.

“How can that be? I’m sure she misses you. Being the star of a top rating television series must put a lot of pressure on her. I imagine she has very little free time.”

“Alison was raised in the Outback,” Stewart Kinross said his expression judgemental. “On Kimbara which if I say so myself is a magnificent inheritance. She has no need to work.”

“You can’t mean you’d deny her a career?” Rebecca was taken aback.

“Of course not.” He took his cue from her tone. “But Alison made a lot of people unhappy when she left. Not the least the man who loved and trusted her. Rafe Cameron.”

“Ah the Camerons.” Rebecca remembered all the stories she’d heard. “I researched their family history at the same time I was researching yours. Two great pioneering families. Legends of the Outback.”

He accepted her accolade as though she were speaking directly about him. “Our families have always been very close. It was my dearest wish Alison would marry Rafe. A splendid young man. But she chose an acting career just like Fee. I’m telling you because you’ll be meeting Rafe at the polo. I’ve scheduled it for the weekend after next.

“Rafe will never forgive, never forget what Alison did to him and even as Alison’s father I don’t blame him. Rafe is Brod’s best friend, I think a good steadying influence on him. Brod is a rebel, which you might have gathered. Has been since his childhood. A pity because it makes for a lot of friction between us.”

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca responded. “Will he be coming for your weekend?”

“He’s certainly been invited.” Stewart Kinross looked away over her head. “But Brod likes to keep me begging. The thing is he’s needed to captain the opposing team. At least he inherited his prowess from me. I expect I’ll hear from him at his leisure. I’m very keen for this to go well, Rebecca. I want you to enjoy your time out here as much as possible.”

“It’s wonderful to be here, Stewart,” Rebecca said, her heart sinking at the look in his eyes.

“What would you say to a ride this afternoon.” He put his hand on her arm leading her back into the house lest she escape him.

“That would be lovely, Stewart,” she responded, careful to inject a note of regret, “but Fiona has need of me. We’re really moving along with the book.”

He bowed his handsome head powerfully, protectively over her. “My dear, you can’t refuse me. I can do some persuading when I have to. I’ll set it straight with Fee and you and I can take the horses out. It’s wonderful you ride so well. I want you to look on your time with us as part work part vacation.”

“Thank you, Stewart,” Rebecca murmured, feeling trapped and somehow ungrateful as well. Stewart Kinross had been the kindest and most considerate of hosts. Perhaps her early experiences had left her a bit paranoid.



In the early evening Broderick Kinross rang. As it happened Rebecca was passing through the hallway so she backtracked to answer the call.

“Kinross homestead.”

Whoever was at the other end said nothing for a moment then a male voice so vibrant, so unforgettable, it gave her a shock responded. “Miss Hunt, I presume.”

“That’s right.” She felt proud of her calmness.

“Brod Kinross here.”

As if she didn’t know. “How are you, Mr. Kinross?”

“Just wonderful and such a tonic to hear your voice.”

“I expect you want to speak to your father,” she said quickly, feeling the sharp edge to the black velvet delivery.

“I expect he’s enjoying his pre-dinner drink,” he drawled. “No, don’t disturb him, Miss Hunt. Instead could you please tell him I’ll be at Kimbara….

Not home? She listened.

“For the polo weekend. Grant Cameron is giving me a lift should my father decide to send the Beech for me. Dad’s pretty devoted you know.”

Sarcasm without a doubt. “I’ll tell him, Mr. Kinross.”

“I trust in time you’ll be able to call me Brod.” Again the ghost of mockery.

“My friends call me Rebecca,” Rebecca finally said.

“It suits you beautifully.”

“Why must you sound mocking?” She brought it out into the open.

“That’s very good, Miss Hunt.” He applauded. “You know how to pick up nuances.”

A sparkle of anger lit Rebecca’s eyes. She was glad he couldn’t see it. “Let’s say I know how to pick up warning signals.”

“Quite sure of that?” he responded just as coolly.

“You don’t have to tell me you don’t like me.” He could scarcely deny it after that first time.

“Why in the world wouldn’t I,” he answered and rang off with nothing resolved.

What was he getting at? Rebecca let out a short pent-up breath, replacing the receiver rather shakily. Their one and only meeting had been brief but disturbing. She remembered it vividly. It was late last month and he had flown in to Kimbara unexpectedly…



She had put on her large straw hat before venturing out into the heat of the day. Fee had had a slight headache so they had taken a break. Every chance she had she liked to explore this fantastic environment that was Kimbara. The sculptural effects of the trees, the shrubs and rocks, the undulating red dunes on the station’s south-southwestern borders. It truly was another world, the distances so immense, the light so dazzling, the colours more sun-seared than anywhere else. She loved all the burnt ochres the deep purples the glowing violets and amethysts, the grape-blues that made such a wonderful contrast to the fiery terracottas.

Stewart had promised her a trip into the desert when the worst of the heat was over and she was greatly looking forward to it. It would be too much to expect she would be granted the privilege of seeing the wild heart burst into bloom. No rains had fallen for many long months but she had seen Stewart’s collection of magnificent photographs of Kimbara under a brilliant carpet of wildflowers and marvelled at the phenomenon. Not that localised rain was even needed to make the desert bloom, he had told her. Once the floods started in the tropical far north sending waters coursing southward, thousands of square miles of the Channel Country could be irrigated. Swollen streams ran fifty miles across the plains they were so flat. It was such a fascinating land and a fascinating life. Stewart Kinross had to live like a feudal lord within his desert stronghold.

She had just reached the stables complex, which housed some wonderful horses, when she heard the clash of voices. Men’s voices not dissimilar in timbre and tone. Angry voices that made her go quiet.

“I’m not here to take orders from you,” Stewart Kinross was saying in a rasping voice.

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do unless you want to scuttle the whole project,” the other younger voice answered none too deferentially. “Face it, Dad, not everyone likes the way you operate. Jack Knowles for one and we need Jack if this enterprise is going to succeed.”

“That’s your gut feeling is it?” There was such a sneer in it Rebecca recoiled.

“You should have some,” Stewart Kinross’s son quipped, sounding to Rebecca’s ears convincingly tough.

“Don’t lecture me,” his father came back thunderously. “Your day is not yet and don’t you forget it.”

“Not with you on about it all the time,” the son retorted. “An argument, Dad. That’s the best reward I ever get. But hell, I no longer care. In case you’ve forgotten I do most of the work while you sit around enjoying the benefits.”

At that Stewart Kinross exploded but Rebecca waited for no more. She turned abruptly shocked by the palpable bitterness of the exchange. She had heard Stewart Kinross and his son weren’t close but she hadn’t been prepared for the depth of that disaffection. She had heard as well Broderick Kinross at the age of thirty ran the Kinross cattle empire from distant Marlu. Something he seemed to have confirmed. It was all very disturbing. Even as an outsider she felt the emnity. It was a new insight into Stewart Kinross as well. Fee had assured her her nephew and niece, Brod and Alison, were wonderful young people. Not that Fee had seen a great deal of them with a life based in London. But she spoke of them both with great affection.

It occurred to Rebecca for the first time, though Fee was a great talker, she was remarkably reticent about her only brother. Certainly Rebecca felt appalled by the cold venom of Stewart Kinross’s tone. She would have thought he would be immensely proud of his son.

Troubled by what she had overheard Rebecca walked quickly away. The last thing she wanted was to be seen but her efforts were doomed to failure. Both men must have moved off in her direction because a few moments later Stewart Kinross’s commanding voice required her to stop.

“Rebecca,” he called in a nice mix of authoritarian and genial host.

She turned watching them emerge from the stables complex, probably on their way back to the house.

“Stewart!” Even with her large shady hat she had to put a hand to her eyes against the brilliant sunlight.

Two men in silhouette. Both very tall, a couple of inches over six feet, one with the full substance of maturity, the other a whipcord rangy young man, both wearing the standard Akubra, the younger man with a decidedly rakish tilt. He had a great walk, she thought, putting her in mind of some actor, a kind of graceful lope.

She felt little tears in her eyes at the near unendurable light and wondered why she hadn’t brought her sunglasses.

They caught up with her easily and she had her first sight of Broderick Kinross, heir to the Kinross cattle and business empire.

She didn’t know how she had pictured him. Handsome certainly, given the family good looks but not this. He literally blazed. The blue eyes so vivid they trapped her gaze. For an instant she had the extraordinary sensation something had cut off her breath.

“Rebecca, may I introduce my son, Broderick.” Stewart Kinross looked down at her, sounding as though he preferred not to. “He’s here for an interim report to me.” He continued more briskly. “Brod, this is the very clever young woman who is writing Fee’s biography as I’m sure you’ve heard. Rebecca Hunt.”

Rebecca gave Broderick Kinross her hand perturbed by the adrenaline that was pouring into her body. She looked up into a lean, striking face, beautiful glittering blue eyes. For someone who had laboured long and hard to maintain a fail-safe cool facade she now felt bathed in heat.

“How do you do, Miss Hunt.” He was perfectly courteous, on the formal side, yet she felt the shock and hostility that was in him. Why? “When I last spoke to Fee she was very happy with the start you’ve made on the book. Obviously she has confidence in you.”

“I’m very grateful that she thought of me at all,” Rebecca said, subdued by the tingling in her hand. “I’m not terribly well-known.”

“Don’t be so modest, my dear,” Stewart Kinross responded in a voice like warmed syrup. He draped a proprietorial arm around her shoulder. Something he had never done before. “I read your biography and thoroughly enjoyed it.” Very gently he turned her around, enchanted by the way the large straw brim of her hat shadowed her face. “You really shouldn’t go wandering around in the heat. For all that charming hat you risk burning that lovely skin.”

Why the hell don’t you hug her, Brod thought with black humour.

He never thought he would live to see adoration in his father’s eyes, but this was coming mighty close. Fee had confided to him on the side “your father is quite taken with Rebecca.” More like infatuated.

Brod felt a bit shell-shocked himself and he’d had more than his share of girlfriends.

She was lovely in a way that didn’t appeal to him at all. The hot-house flower. Good bones, but delicate like a dancer. A little scrap of a thing. No more than five-three. Big light-filled grey eyes, satin near-black hair that fell almost to her shoulders and curved in under her chin and that fabulous skin. All the girls he knew had a golden tan, were tall and athletic and they didn’t wear beautiful silly hats with brims that dipped and flowers and ribbons for a trim. Miss Rebecca Hunt was no wildflower. She was an exotic. A vision of cool beauty.

“I take it we’ve finished our business for the day, Brod.” Stewart Kinross turned his handsome head with its immaculate cream Akubra to address his son.

Brod took his eyes off Miss Hunt for a moment to answer. “Please, Dad, give me a break. I can’t go away without speaking to Fee.” The words were said with gentle irony, but Rebecca could see he had no intention of going.

“Well then, come along,” Stewart Kinross answered pleasantly, but with a certain glint in his eye. “I’m sure Mrs Matthews—” he referred to Kimbara’s long time housekeeper “—can provide you with some afternoon tea.”

“So have you had sufficient time to form an opinion about our world, Miss Hunt?” Brod asked, falling back into line with the petite Miss Hunt in the middle. He was glad his father had at last removed his arm from her delicate shoulders. He felt like flinging it off himself.

“I love it.” Her charming voice was filled with sincerity. “It may seem strange but I don’t know my own country as well as I know some places overseas.”

“There is the fact Australia is so big,” he offered dryly, indicating the vastness around them.

“And you can’t be all that long out of university?” He glanced down at her meaningfully.

“I’m twenty-seven.” She gave him a shimmering cool glance.

“My dear, in that hat you look seventeen,” Stewart Kinross complimented her.

“Scarlet O’Hara,” Broderick Kinross murmured, sounding none too impressed. “You didn’t once travel Outback?”

“As I say, oddly no.” Rebecca gathered her defences around her. “My work kept me in Sydney for the most part. I spent two wonderful years overseas, based in London, though I never got to meet Fee. I’ve visited all the state capitals, tropical North Queensland many times. I love it. I’ve holidayed on the Great Barrier Reef, but this is another world after the lushness of the coastline. Almost surreal with the vast, empty landscape, the monolithic rocks, and the extraordinary changing colours. Stewart is going to take me on a trip out into the desert.”

“Really?” Broderick Kinross shot a glance at his father, his cleanly cut mouth compressed. “When is this?”

“When the worst of the heat dies down a little,” Stewart Kinross said with almost a bluster.

“Magnolias wilt in the heat,” Broderick Kinross lowered his head to peer at the curve of Rebecca’s cheek.

“Trust me, Mr. Kinross.” Rebecca’s head shot up as she gave the sardonic Broderick a brief sidelong glance. “I don’t wilt.”

“I’m holding my breath until you tell me more about yourself,” he retorted, a faint catch of laughter in his voice. “I’m sure any young woman as beautiful as yourself has a boyfriend somewhere.”

“Actually, no.” She wanted to cry out, “Please leave me alone.” He was getting to her as he obviously meant to.

“What is this, Brod, an interrogation?” his father asked, drawing his thick black eyebrows together.

“Not at all. If it seemed like that I apologise,” he said. “I’m always interested in your visitors, Dad. Miss Hunt seems more interesting than most.”

Interesting wasn’t the word. A true femme fatale.

They had just reached the main gate of the compound, a massive wrought-iron affair that fronted the surrounding white-washed walls when a nesting magpie shot out of a tree, diving so low over their heads Rebecca gave an involuntary cry. She was well aware magpies could be a menace when they thought the nest was under threat. The bird wheeled with incredible speed clearly on the attack but this time Broderick Kinross, with a muffled exclamation, pulled her against him with one arm and made a swipe at the offending bird with his black Akubra.

“Go on, get!” he cried, with the voice of authority.

The bird did, keeping just out of range.

To Rebecca’s searing shame her whole body reacted to being clamped to his. It was a dreadful weakness that she thought long buried.

“It can’t hurt you.” He released her almost immediately, staring up at the peacock-blue sky. “They’re a damned nuisance when they’re nesting.”

“You’re all right aren’t you, Rebecca?” Stewart Kinross asked, genuinely solicitous. “You’ve gone rather pale.”

“It was nothing, nothing,” she began to laugh the moment off. “It’s not my first magpie attack.”

“And you’ve told us you’re pretty brave.” Broderick Kinross caught her gaze. A moment that spun out too long.

“I told you I don’t wilt,” she corrected, a tiny blue pulse beating in her throat.

“No.” A ripple of something like sexuality moved like a breeze across his face. “Wasn’t she magnificent, Dad?” he teased.

“You must understand that Broderick likes a little joke, Rebecca,” Stewart Kinross said, a crack appearing in his grand manner.

“Then I generously forgive him,” Rebecca spoke sweetly even though her breath still shook in her chest.

What she wanted out of life was peace. That she intended to guard fiercely even against a cyclonic force. Broderick Kinross had the dark, dangerous power to sweep a woman away.



On the Saturday morning of the polo match, Fee woke late, still feeling weary from insufficient sleep. She turned on her back easing the satin pads from her eyes. Living so long in England she had all but forgotten the brilliant light of her homeland. Now she had these eye pads on hand for the moment when the all powerful sun threw golden fingers of light across the wide verandah and into her bedroom.

She was a chronic insomniac these days. Nothing seemed to cure it. She’d tried knock out pills—get up in the morning and have a good strong cup of coffee advice from her doctor—but she hated drugs, preferring herbal cures, or relaxation techniques, not that she had ever been a great one to relax. Too much adrenaline in the blood. Too many late, late nights. Too many lovers. Too many after performance parties. Too many social events crammed into her calendar. She thought she might be able to unwind once she returned home but it wasn’t happening.

Of course she and Stewart never did get on, as children and adolescents. Stewart so absolutely full of himself. Since birth. Fiona had taken herself out of the jarring environment of playing second fiddle to her swaggering brother, The Heir, by setting sail for England. Of course her beloved dad, Sir Andy, shocked out of his mind at the prospect of losing his little princess had tried to stop her but in the end when faced with her shrieking virago acts sent her off with enough money to keep her in great style while she studied drama in preparation for her brilliant career. She’d managed this through a combination of beauty—let’s face it, even at sixty she could still make heads swivel—lots of luck, the Kinross self-confidence and a good resonant speaking voice, possibly from all that yelling outdoors. She had the lung capacity to fill a theatre like her good friend La Stupenda. And the Gods be praised, native talent. If you didn’t have that you had nothing.

The thing that was really niggling away at her was this new potentially destructive situation with Stewart and Rebecca. God knows she’d seen enough of ageing men wearing pretty things young enough to be their daughters even granddaughters on their sleeves, but she wasn’t at all happy about Stewart’s interest in this particular young woman she’d become so fond of. Apart from the big age difference, part of her wanted badly to warn Rebecca against her brother’s practised charm. How could any young person, a near stranger, know what lay beneath the superbly self-assured manner? No wonder little Lucille, her dead sister-in-law had run off. Lucille so gentle a spirit would have fared badly trying to withstand Stewart’s harsh nature. In the end she’d shrunk from it.

And there was the way Stewart had treated his children, especially Broderick, who had his mother’s glorious eyes although he was clearly a Kinross. Sir Andy had written to her often about his concerns and she had seen for herself Stewart’s coldness towards his children whenever she returned home. Those were the years when her darling Sir Andy was still alive. She wouldn’t be here now much as she loved the place of her birth only for the fact Stewart was trying to talk her into selling her shares in several Kinross enterprises. There were many family interests to discuss. No need for her to run off. This was the home of her ancestors.

Oddly enough it had been Stewart who had begun all the talk about her writing her biography. He had even suggested a possible candidate for the job. A young award-winning journalist called Rebecca Hunt, already the author of a successful biography about another family friend, opera singer Judy Thomas. Dame Judy lest any of us forget. Stewart had read Judy’s autographed book and been impressed. He’d also seen the young Hunt woman being interviewed on one of those Sunday afternoon programs about the Arts.

“Ask her out here, Fee,” Stewart had urged her, laying a compelling hand on her shoulder. “If only to see if the two of you could get along. After all, my dear, you’ve had a dazzling career. You have something to say.”

She’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker, closing her eyes to the past, gratified by his interest, thinking Stewart could be very charming now that he’d mellowed. Clever, clever, Stewart.

She’d done what he wanted. Lured Rebecca into his trap. Stewart had obviously fallen in love with her. On sight. She was just the sort of patrician creature he had always liked with her pure face and haunted eyes. Oh, yes, they were haunted for all Stewart thought they were cool as lakes. Rebecca had a past. Behind the immaculate exterior, Fee suspected Rebecca had her own story to tell. A story involving some very bitter experience. One that lay hidden but not buried. Fee knew all about the wilderness of love.

She threw back the silk coverlet, putting her still pretty bare feet to the floor. Much as she adored the company of her nephew, secretly revelled in watching him outplay his father in all departments on the polo field, she just knew this weekend was going to bring plenty of tension and heartache.

Why had Stewart invited Brod in the first place? He had to know by now Brod outstripped him as a polo player. Then there was the tantalising presence of the beautiful, unusual Rebecca. What middle-aged man, however wealthy, would set out to woo a young woman then expose her to the likes of Brod for goodness’ sake. It didn’t make a scrap of sense unless Stewart was applying yet another test.

Stewart was a great one for putting people through hoops. Such an arrogant man. Perhaps if the seemingly perfect Rebecca didn’t pass the test she would fall from her golden pedestal and be made so uncomfortable she would be forced to leave. Fee was now certain her brother had marriage on his mind and it wasn’t out of the question. Even after all these years. Not that they had been womanless. Stewart had had his affairs from time to time but he had obviously never found the woman he wanted to keep for himself. The prize possession. Lucille lovely as a summer’s day had been that for a time but somehow Lucille had found the courage to run away. The next one wouldn’t be given the opportunity.

Fee didn’t like to think it could be Rebecca. She was worried Rebecca might be someone who’d been hurt so badly she could settle for security. An older man, rich, social, establishment, grounded in the conventions. Rebecca could easily mistake an impressive facade for safety.




CHAPTER THREE


HOURS later, in the golden heat of mid-afternoon, Rebecca found herself watching the main polo match of the day with her heart in her throat. She’d enjoyed the morning matches played with such high spirits and comradeship but this was another league again.

All the players were exceptionally fast and focused, the ponies superbly trained especially with all those clubs swinging near their heads and the competition it seemed to her anxious, dazzled eyes exceptionally fierce.

Once she thought Stewart charging at full tilt would come off his horse trying to prevent his son driving the ball through the goal posts. He didn’t succeed but it appeared to Rebecca to be too dangerous an effort. For all his fitness and splendid physique, Stewart was in his mid-fifties. No match really for the turning, twisting, speeding Broderick, the most dashing player on the field, though the commanding Cameron brothers ran him close. But for sheer daring, Brod Kinross had the added edge if only to beat his father. They certainly acted as if they were engaged in a highly stylised joust.

“That was close,” Rebecca, a little frightened, murmured to Fee who was lounging in a deck chair beside her. “I thought Stewart would be flung out of the saddle.”

Trying to impress you, my dear, Fee thought. “It’s a dangerous game, darling. I had a dear friend, Tommy Fairchild, killed on the polo field. That was some years ago in England but I think of him almost every other day. Brod’s a dare devil. I think it’s important to him to even up a few scores.”

“Meaning?” Rebecca turned her head to stare into Fee’s eyes, finding them covered by very expensive sunglasses.

“Good Lord, Rebecca, I know how perceptive you are,” Fee said. “Didn’t it strike you that afternoon you met Stewart and Brod that they don’t get on.”

“Perhaps a little.” She kept the fact she’d overheard them quarrelling to herself.

“Darling, you can’t fool me. You’ve noticed, all right. Both of them were trying but it’s just something they have to live with.”

“But you said Brod has to even up the score?” Just to speak his name gave her a peculiar thrill.

“Brod has been on the receiving end for a long time,” Fee confided. “I dote on him as you know. And Alison. I’m going to make sure you meet her. Stewart became very withdrawn after the children’s mother left. Brod, despite the fact he’s a Kinross through and through, has his mother’s beautiful eyes. Perhaps looking into them brings up too many painful memories for Stewart.” After all it wasn’t inconceivable.

“Do you really think that?” Even Rebecca sounded sceptical.

“No.” Fee delicately grimaced. “The truth is Stewart wasn’t cut out to be a father. Not every man is.”

“Then Brod and his sister must have suffered?” Rebecca rested back in the recliner prepared to listen.

“Assuredly, my dear,” Fee agreed. “Money can’t bring everything to life, not that I’ve ever been without it,” she had the grace to admit. “But so far as Brod is concerned his upbringing has only made him tougher. Unlike his little mother. Petite, like you. Lucille was her name. Pretty as a picture.” Fee’s mind instantly conjured up a vision of Lucille on her wedding day. Young, radiant, madly in love with her Stewart. She’d flown home to be Lucille’s chief bridesmaid. Her little pal from their schooldays but she’d never been around to lend Lucille her support. She’d been too busy becoming a celebrity.

“She didn’t last long,” Rebecca observed sadly, echoing Fee’s own thoughts.

“No. It was all quite dreadful. You can’t imagine how shocked I was when I got the news. Sir Andy rang me. I always called my father that. He was knighted by the Queen for his services to the pastoral industry.”

Something Rebecca already knew. “Stewart didn’t ring you?” she interrupted gently.

“No,” Fee answered rather grimly, then remained silent for a time.

Sensitive to her pain Rebecca changed the subject. “I have to say I’ll be relieved when the match ends,” she confessed with a wry laugh—Brod’s team had scored another goal. “I can’t really enjoy it with my heart in my throat.”

“You’re a tender little thing.” Fee moved to pat her hand. “Though at this level I agree it’s pretty lethal and Stewart and Brod are going at it hammer and tongs. Half-time coming up. Ten minutes usually. Stewart is bound to want to know if you’re enjoying yourself. If I were you, my dear, I’d tell him you’re finding it all terribly exciting.”

“But I am.” Rebecca twisted to smile at Fee, marvelling as ever at her glamorous appearance. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Ah, look at Brod,” Fee broke in gleefully. “Isn’t he luv-er-ly,” she cried, Eliza Doolittle style. He was indeed. On the other side of the field Broderick Kinross was stripping off his polo shirt to exchange it for another. His jet-black hair, thick and waving, gleamed in the sunlight with a matt of dark hair spreading across his darkly tanned chest then narrowing down to his close fitting jodhpurs.

He was an incredibly handsome man. So much so Rebecca felt a sudden uprush of desire that alarmed her. Not that he was flaunting his splendid body or paying any attention to the heated glances of the female spectators enjoying the spectacle from around the field. He was too busy sharing a joke with his friend, Rafe Cameron.

Rebecca wished for a moment she had a camera. She’d like to photograph these two magnificent young men together. Of a height, wonderfully fit, perfect foils. Brod for all his brilliant blue eyes was dark, deeply tanned by the sun whereas his friend had a thick mane of pure gold hair that was quite stunning. The other brother, Grant, busy chatting up a pretty girl, shared the family fairness, but his hair was more tawny with a touch of red. Both she had remarked when introduced had hazel-gold flecked eyes.

“Quite something aren’t they?” Fee hooted, following Rebecca’s gaze. “A pride of lions only Brod is the panther among them.”

“They’re all very handsome,” Rebecca agreed. “I’m surprised they’re not all married.”

Fee shook her beautifully coiffured head. As dark as Rebecca’s until her fifties she was now close to blond. “But surely you know?”

“Know what?” Rebecca stared directly at her. More revelations?

“I thought Stewart might have mentioned it,” Fee said. He certainly spent enough time chatting to Rebecca. “At one time we all hoped Rafe and Alison would tie the knot. They were very much in love but somehow Alison got cold feet. Product of a broken home perhaps. She ran off to Sydney much as I ran off to London, though I left no great love behind.

“As we know she’s become highly successful. So life goes on. Wild horses wouldn’t get it out of him but I believe Rafe was devastated. At any rate he won’t allow Alison back into his life.

“As for Brod. He’s a hot favourite. Always has been. But Brod will make darn sure he picks the right woman. Grant is a couple of years younger than both of them. He’s been working terribly hard establishing his helicopter business. All three are big catches for the girls.”

“I’ll bet!” Rebecca smiled. “Stewart did tell me a little about Alison’s broken romance.”

“So are you interested?” Fee pulled herself up to capture Rebecca’s luminous gaze.

“My career is important to me, Fee,” Rebecca answered lightly.

“A woman can’t do without love in her life.”

“So I’m learning from your biography,” Rebecca quipped instantly.

“Cheeky.” Fee smacked at Rebecca’s slender arm playfully. “Don’t leave it too late, darling. That’s all.” She spread a beringed hand. “Here comes Stewart. He doesn’t look quite as enthusiastic as he did at the start of the match.”

“Brod didn’t exactly give him any quarter,” Rebecca pointed out dryly.

“Each man for himself on the polo field, my chick,” Fee drawled in her distinctive voice, which still had so much sex appeal in it. “How’s it going, Stewie?” she called a little tauntingly, entirely on her nephew’s side.

Stewart Kinross studied his sister rather stonily for a moment then said with slight indignance. “We’re doing fairly well. Anything can happen in the second half.” He switched his glance to Rebecca, dressed like Fee in a silk shirt and narrow cut linen pants only her outfit was pristine white whereas Fee was a kaleidoscope of colours and patterns with a lot of glitter he didn’t find attractive. “You’re loving it aren’t you, Rebecca.” He smiled at her, a remarkably handsome, mature man.

“I’m a little worried for you, Stewart,” Rebecca admitted truthfully. “It’s a dangerous game.”

As a response it was a disaster. “I like to think I keep up, my dear,” he answered, looking a bit huffed.

“Oh, Stewart, you do know what I mean,” Rebecca protested softly.

He looked deep into her eyes seeing God knows what. “That’s fine then, my dear. It’s Brod who’s putting himself at risk. Maybe you could tell him to his face.” He looked back towards the field. “Though I must have done something right…I taught him all he knows. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Ah well.” He glanced back to smile at Rebecca. “I must be off. Time’s up.”

Rebecca realised she shouldn’t say, “Take care.” Instead she gave a little encouraging wave while Fee, enjoying every moment, bit back a laugh. “Darling, were you really suggesting Stewie is over the hill?”

A soft little cushion was to hand. Rebecca used it.

“Hey, hey.” Fee leaned forward and caught it. “Stewie doesn’t like to think he’s settling into the twilight zone. For that matter neither do I.”

In the end Brod’s team won and Rebecca watched as a tall, good-looking blonde in skin-tight jeans and a blue T-shirt that showed off her shapely breasts, went up to him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with much relish.

“Liz Carrol,” Fee said with a grin. “She likes him. Can’t you tell? Then again, why hide it?”

“Is she his girlfriend?” Rebecca found herself asking, though she hadn’t intended to.

“What do you think? Brod sees a few others but most of the time he’s just too darned busy. He’s got a big job—for life. When he picks a wife he’d better pick well.”

Eventually it was Rebecca’s turn to congratulate the winning team, standing before the captain wondering why she felt so terribly perturbed by a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? What kind of look was it? Whatever it was it acted like a magnet.

“Fee told me you were a little anxious at the action,” he said leaning back against a rail, looking down at her. Oh, yes, she was beautiful.

Rebecca nodded unapologetically. “Today was my first experience of polo. I have to admit some of it scared me. I thought Stewart would be thrown from his horse at one stage during the first half.”

“You were concerned.”

She stared up at him, revealing nothing. “Why not?”

He shrugged and flung an arm up to rest on the rail. “He’s been thrown before and survived. We all have. I’m curious to know, what do you think of my father?”

“I’m sure I’m not supposed to say I hate him,” she said coolly. “I think he’s many things. As are you.”

“Include yourself in that, Miss Hunt,” he answered sardonically, studying the way her dark satiny hair curved around her face. What did she do? Polish it with a silk scarf? “Even Fee knows remarkably little about you.”

“Have you asked?” she challenged, her rain coloured eyes widening.

“Indeed I have.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d be interested in me.”

Yet she bit her lovely full lower lip. “I’m sure you have many a dramatic revelation to divulge,” he drawled. “I’m just blunt enough to point out you’re turning my father’s head. It’s not often I see him take such glowing pleasure in a young woman’s company.”

“I think you’re exaggerating.” Perhaps she, too, would have made an actress.

He laughed. “Then why is that magnolia skin stained with colour?”

“It could be your lack of discretion,” she countered.

“Actually I’m trying to be frank. You’ve only been on Kimbara a short time yet you’ve made a considerable impact on my father and Fee.”

“Obviously not you.” She was still managing to speak with perfect calm even if she couldn’t control the fire in her blood.

A taut smile crossed his striking face. “I’m not as susceptible as Dad or as trusting as Fee.”

“Goodness you ought to set yourself up in the detective business.” She kept her voice low in case anyone was watching. They were.

“Come on, all I’m suggesting is you tell me a little more about yourself.”

“You won’t find my face in a rogue’s gallery if that’s what you’re thinking.” She stared back at him.

“How about an art gallery?” he suggested. “Your style of looks is incredibly romantic. In fact they ought to name a flower after you.”

“No artist has offered to paint me so far,” she told him. “What exactly is it you suspect me of, Mr. Kinross?”

Her face was still flushed, her eyes as lustrous as silver. “You’re angry with me and quite rightly.” He dropped his hand off the rail and stood straight. Another foot and their bodies would be brushing.

“I think so.”

“But from where I’m standing I think you might be trying to steal my father’s heart.”

She felt so affronted she tossed her silky mane in the air. “Part of it might be because you’re screwed up.”

He stared back at her for a moment then threw back his handsome head and gave a genuine peal of laughter. A warm seductive sound. “I’m not hearing this,” he groaned. “You think I’m screwed up.”

“It must be a very heavy load to carry,” she said without sympathy.

He laughed again, white teeth dazzling against dark copper skin. “Actually you might be right.”

“We’ve all got our hang-ups to disengage,” she pointed out with clinical cool.

“I can hardly wait to hears yours.”

“You’re not going to hear them, Mr. Kinross.”

“Pleez,” he mocked. “If we’re going to have these conversations you’d better call me Brod.”

It was a mystery to her she was keeping her cool. “Thank you for that. I’d love it if you called me Rebecca. All I’m asking, Brod, is you give me the benefit of the doubt before starting to label me ‘adventuress.’ From what I’ve seen, your father is perfectly charming to women in general.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” he answered, his voice dangerously gentle. “Charming, yes. Possessive, no.”

“Is that how you read it?” She kept the worry out of her tone.

“Most women can’t resist being the object of desire.”

She felt as if they were engaged in some ritual dance, circling, circling. “That’s something I know nothing about.” She’d been determined to play it cool but her simmering temper was making her eyes sparkle.

“Quite impossible, Rebecca.” His lips curved. “If you put on your dowdiest dress and cut off that waterfall of hair, men would still want you.”

She had the disturbing sensation he had reached out and touched her, run his fingers over her skin. “I don’t think you’ve reckoned on whether I want them,” she answered, too sharply, as her heart did a double take.

His blue eyes filled with amused mockery. “Now where is this leading us?”

“Probably nowhere.” She managed a shrug. “The whole conversation was your idea.”

“Only because I’m trying to learn as much about you as I can.” He realised he was getting an undeniable charge out of what amounted to their confrontation. It was like being exposed to live wires.

“I’m thoroughly aware of that,” Rebecca said, “but I do hope you’re not going to start checking on me. I might have to mention it to your father.”

Ah, an admission of power. Why had he ever had one minute’s doubt? His eyes narrowed, lean body tensing. “I’ll be damned, a threat.”

She shook her head. “No threat at all. I’m not going to allow you to spoil things for me, that’s all.”

“I can do that by checking you out?”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Her voice went very quiet. “I’m here in one capacity only. To write your aunt’s biography. Both of us want it done. It’s a pity you’ve made up your mind I’ve more on the agenda. It’s almost like you’re waging war.”

“Isn’t it,” he agreed.

“Perhaps you’ve got nothing to win.” She threw out the challenge, suddenly wanting to hurt him as he was hurting her.

“Well we can’t say the same for you then.”

The sapphire eyes gleamed.

Both of them were so involved in the cut and thrust, neither noticed Stewart Kinross approach until he was only a few yards away. “I was trying to make out what you two were talking about?” He smiled, though it never quite reached his eyes.

“Why don’t I let Rebecca tell you,” Brod drawled.

“Clearly it was something serious,” his father said. “Everybody else seems to be laughing and relaxed.”

“Brod was taking me through the technicalities of the match.” Rebecca was worried her voice might tremble but it didn’t. It sounded very normal. “I’m hoping to understand the game better.”

“But, my dear, I could have explained all that,” Stewart Kinross assured her warmly. “Sure it wasn’t something more interesting?”

Rebecca twisted round to look at Brod. “Nothing except a few words about my work.”

“I’m sure it will be so good you’ll have people dying to read it,” Brod said suavely. “Ah well, I’d better circulate. Some of my friends I haven’t seen for a long time.”

This caused Stewart to frown. “You can see them anytime you want to, Brod.”

“I guess I’m too damned busy, Dad. Especially since you promoted me. See you later, Rebecca.” He lifted a hand, moving off before his father could say another word.

Stewart Kinross’s skin reddened. “I must apologise for my son, Rebecca,” he rasped.

“Whatever for?” She was anxious not to become involved.

“His manner,” Stewart replied. “It worries me sometimes. I’ve had to deal with a lot of rivalry from Brod.”

“I suppose it’s not that unusual,” Rebecca tried to soothe. “powerful father, powerful son. It must make for clashes from time to time.”

“None of them, I assure you, initiated by me,” Stewart protested. “Brod takes after my father. He was combative by nature.”

“And generally regarded as a great man?” Rebecca murmured gently just to let him know she had read up extensively on Sir Andrew Kinross and liked what she had learned.

“Yes, there’s that,” Stewart agreed a little grudgingly. “He positively doted on Fee. Denied her nothing that’s why she’s so terribly spoiled. But he expected a great deal of me. Anyway, enough of that. What I really wanted to know is did you enjoy the day? I organised the whole thing for you.”

“I realise that, Stewart. It’s something I’ll always remember.” Rebecca tasted a certain bitterness on her tongue. Remember? But for wrong reasons. Most of the time her eyes had been glued to Broderick Kinross’s dashing figure. She could still feel the rush of adrenaline through her body.

“You know, sometimes I get the feeling I’ve known you forever,” Stewart Kinross announced, resting a hand on her shoulder and staring down into her eyes. “Don’t you get that feeling, too?”

What on earth do I say? Rebecca thought, suffused with embarrassment. Whatever I say he seems to misinterpret it. She allowed her long thick lashes to feather down onto her cheeks. “Maybe we’re kindred spirits, Stewart,” she said. “Fee says the same thing.”

It was far from being the response Stewart Kinross wanted, but he knew damned well he would never give up. Many good years remained of his life. Maybe Rebecca was a little young. It didn’t strike him as too young. In their conversations she sounded remarkably mature, in control. Besides, as his wife she would be well compensated. He was definitely a very rich man and if that had to do increasingly more with Brod’s managerial skills he wasn’t about to admit it.

Meanwhile half-way across the field Brod, the centre of an admiring circle, continued to observe this disturbing tableau. They could have been father and daughter, he thought with the cold wings of anger. Only he could read his father’s body language from a mile. Her dark head so thick and glossy reached just about to his father’s heart as it would his. Her face was uptilted. She looked very slender and delicate in her outfit, boyish except for the swell of her breasts. His father’s hand had come up to rest on one of her fine-boned shoulders. He was staring down into her eyes. God, the utter impossibility of it but it was happening. His father had fallen in love. The thought shocked him profoundly. He turned away abruptly, grateful that his friend, Rafe, was approaching with a cold can of beer. A black fairy story this.



Rebecca stood before the mirror holding two dresses in front of her in turn. One was lotus-pink, the other a beaded silk chiffon in a dusky green. Both were expensive, hanging from shoe-string straps and coming just past the knee rather like the tea dresses of the early 1930s when women looked like hot-house blooms. It was the sort of look she liked and one that suited her petite figure. Fee had told her much earlier their guests liked to dress up so now she studied her reflection trying to decide which dress looked best. She was glad she’d packed them, though again Fee had advised her at the outset to bring a couple of pretty evening dresses.

“Stewart likes to entertain whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

Hence the polo weekend. And all for her. Only a couple of weeks ago it would have given her the greatest pleasure. Now the fact that Stewart Kinross had somehow become infatuated with her raised a lot of anxieties. Not the least of them Broderick Kinross’s attitude.

Knowing his father better than anyone else he had immediately divined the exact quality of Stewart’s interest. She would bet every penny she had Brod believed she had gone along with the situation. Even encouraged it.

Becoming involved with a much older man was one thing. Becoming involved with a very rich older man was another. It happened all the time and society accepted powerful influential men could get anything they wanted. Lots of money, it seemed, made a deep impression on everyone.

Stewart Kinross, if he suddenly remarried, could even father another family, increasing the number of heirs to the family fortune. It all left Rebecca feeling freezing cold. Life had been terrible when she had had a man in her life. She’d been so young and she had had no idea what jealousy and obsession meant. But she had learned. How she had learned!

Rebecca stared at her haunted eyes in the mirror. She was standing absolutely still, holding the lovely dusky green dress in front of her like a shield. She told herself she didn’t care what Broderick Kinross thought. His suspicions understandable maybe were absolutely groundless. From her first day at Kimbara she had considered Stewart Kinross to be an exceptionally charming and generous man. Now she saw that might not be the case. The only thing that was becoming increasingly clear was he was smitten. She had seen that look of possession in a man’s eyes before. She didn’t want to see it again.




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