Guardian to the Heiress (16 page)

“Knowing your mother, Carol, she could simply be talking up trouble,” he said comfortingly. “She likes to upset you. You have to speak to your uncle. I can come with you.”

“Ah, Damon! I’ve already spoken to Uncle Maurice. He doesn’t deny the affair. He says it’s ‘blessedly long over.’ He’s adamant Adam was my father. He’s agreed to DNA testing.”

“Well, that’s significant, surely? God what a shock for you, Carol.” Shock after shock. Damon’s brow creased. “If Maurice
is
your father—and we’re pretty sure he’s
not—
it means he can contest your grandfather’s will.”

“I realise that, Damon.” She showed not a great deal of concern. “I might
not
be the Chancellor heiress.”

His dark gaze glittered over her. “Can you tell me how you feel about that?”

Carol didn’t hesitate. “The most important thing is to establish who fathered me. I never have cared about all the money. Money is to be used to do good. When I’m an old lady, I want to be able to say I did my very best.”

“And you will,” he foretold. “I believe in you.”

There was such sincerity in his voice. “So you believe I am who I’m supposed to be?”

His handsome mouth twisted. “Might be easier for me if you weren’t.”

Her heart took off like a bird in joyous flight. “What does that mean?”

He wanted to speak out, but he
knew
he had to keep himself on track. “First things first, Carol. Your mother is a born provocateur.”

“Uncle Maurice said the same thing.” Was it only a dream she had, she and Damon? Yet surely there had been something in his face, something deeply caressing that caught at her heart?

“He knows her well,” Damon was saying. So had Selwyn Chancellor. The old man must have been absolutely sure Carol was Adam’s daughter, the person to grow into the position of wisely administering the Chancellor fortune. Clearly he hadn’t had the same faith in his younger son.

She felt unwilling to meet his eyes now, reined back by intuitive reserve. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass him. “I suppose we’d better go back. There are the presents to be distributed.” She tried to recompose her face, only he suddenly reached out, caught the point of her chin and kissed her, as if the feel of her mouth against his gave him enormous pleasure. He might have been drinking in ambrosia fit for the gods. She closed her eyes so she, too, could record the moment of glowing rapture.

Steady now. Easy now,
warned the voice in Damon’s head, only he was being pulled under by the ever-widening ripples of excitement. Was there a name for this craving?

Of course there was.

It was
love.
Only, cravings were never satiated. They had to be constantly fed.

When he finally let her go, her whole body was quivering. “That was unexpected,” Carol managed with a gasp.

“You have the power to bind, Carol.” His answer was very serious.

The moment was almost painful to her. “I don’t want to lose you, Damon. Not now. Not ever. You’ve become my rock.”

He was so deeply moved he drew her to her feet, pulling the pretty straw hat off her head. “How beautiful you are!” So much beauty, so much delicacy in the porcelain perfection of her skin. He had to try very hard to dissipate the intensity of his desire.

She felt tears spring into her eyes. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

He looked away over her radiant head, the sun picking out gold and amber highlights. “In a sense it is—your beauty, your youth and your wealth.”

“Do you wish it otherwise?” She caught his hand, staring up into his brilliant dark eyes. She was willing him to focus on her. Only his handsome features had drawn taut.

“These are the things I have to remember, Carol.” His tone was slightly gritty.

“Maybe the way you kiss me gives the lie to your words.” She was driven to challenge.

“Maybe it does.” He was breathing deeply to steady his pulse.

Carol unclasped her hand, took her sunhat from him and settled it back on her head. It was essential not to embarrass him but she was sick to death of the supposedly moral hazards.

They began to walk back slowly to the house. Only Carol couldn’t stop the excitement from pouring into her body like the golden sunbeams that were beating down on them. Try as she might, there didn’t seem to be an escape from it. Her confidence soared one moment only to be shot down the next.

He took her hand. “Have I upset you?” He bent his head, trying to see beneath the wide brim of her hat.

“
Everything
about me is wrong,” she said with a little laugh. “How very perverse.” They were rounding the southern end of the garden. Innumerable buds of the Little Gem magnolias were bursting into flower, a waxy, creamy white against the glossy dark-green leaves with their purple undersides. Further on, arguably the most gorgeous of all tropical plants—the
Medinilla magnifica—
made a fantastic display with its hanging flower clusters, deep-pink flowers, mauve-pink bracts and purple-and-yellow stamens. She stopped to admire them. She wasn’t ready yet to go into the house. Her pulses were still throbbing, at odds with her feigned composure.

“How easy it is to exalt in such beauty and profusion,” Damon said.

His hand fell on her shoulder. It seemed like a very intimate gesture. She could feel the
heat
of it burning through to her skin. She heard him sigh. There was such a
silence
between them, yet it was crowded with unspoken words. She thought she could detect the strong beat of his heart.

“What are we doing, Damon?” She turned fully so she could stare up into his dark eyes.

He sighed again. “I can’t tell you. The main thing, Carol, is keeping you safe.”

“Safe?”
She did something foolish then; she wasn’t strong enough to resist. She turned her head so she could lay her cheek against his hand. Butterflies rose all around them in swarms, drunk on the flowers: the electric-blue Ulysses; the Golden Cruisers; the Lace Wings; the huge Bird Wings, Australia’s largest species of butterfly, the female with a wing span of twenty centimetres. So big were they, they were slower in flight than the gorgeous Ulysses. The warm breeze shook out the myriad scents. It was so soporific, they might have fallen into a dream pocket where they were hidden from the world.

Discipline was proving far too exhausting for Damon. He drew her supple body fully into his arms, bending his gleaming dark head to kiss her so deeply it was as if he sought to imprint himself on her heart and her soul. There was no space between them, no indecision... This was a profoundly
private
moment, just for the two of them.

Carol had no idea how much time passed. It could have been moments, hours, a lifetime with one’s deepest feelings unmasked. Desire had drawn them out and beyond themselves. But there was a greater desire—the desire for
more.

* * *

The Christmas presents were distributed later on to the usual ooh’s and aah’s. Carol presented Damon with a very expensive rollerball pen. He had bought her a late-nineteenth-century Meissen model of Venus and Cupid, a lovely piece he’d had the good fortune to source.

“I love it, love it, love it!” She stood on tiptoes to kiss him on both cheeks. That apparently was acceptable to the rest. Such lightness of being! Only Damon could give her that.

* * *

It was nearing two o’clock and Amanda and Summer still hadn’t returned.

“We’ll have to start without them,” Dallas said, sniffing her displeasure. “Have they no manners, no consideration? Why weren’t
you
with them?” It sounded for all the world like she was deeply disappointed.

“If you must know, Dallas, it was an on-the-spot decision.” Carol stared back. Dallas was positively pulsating with rage. It was becoming something of a defining characteristic. Obviously she was furious her adored son, Troy, had been sent on his way. Dallas had seen him off, no doubt heaping dire imprecations on Carol’s head. Carol had the feeling Dallas hated her almost as much as she hated her mother, Roxanne.

Only, where
were
Amanda and Summer? They should have been back well before this.

“I’m going to tell the cook to serve the entrée,” Dallas said like a woman who brooked no opposition.

“I suppose you should.”

* * *

It was another half hour, when the guests were well into a lavish Christmas feast, when Mrs Hoskins came into the dining room, heading for Maurice, who sat in the seat of honour as host, with Carol at the other end.

Damon, to Carol’s right, waited to see how she would handle this. “I believe you might have a message for me, Mrs Hoskins?” She raised her voice only slightly. Probably Amanda would have lost sight of the time. Time didn’t mean a thing to her friend.

Mrs Hoskins took heed of the tone. She continued on to where Carol was seated. “The police are at the gate. They want to come in.”

Carol’s lovely skin blanched. She stared back at the housekeeper, panic rising. “Well, what are you waiting for, Mrs Hoskins? Let them in.” Carol’s eyes flashed to Damon’s. “Something is wrong. They could have had an accident.”

“Let’s wait and see.” Damon rose to his feet, pulling Carol’s chair back with one hand. “We’ll see to this, Maurice.” He looked towards Carol’s uncle, who hadn’t made a move. Neither had Dallas, who nevertheless had gone extremely pale. So she had some heart after all.

“I do hope everything is okay.” Maurice Chancellor spoke earnestly, at the same time lifting his wineglass to his mouth. Dallas continued to sit like a monument made out of granite.

* * *

It was as they had thought. The police gave them a full account: Carol’s car was as good as totalled. Neither of them paid heed to that. People counted; cars could be replaced. The young women—the driver and her female passenger—had been taken by ambulance to the district hospital. They had been in a deep state of shock, blood pressure up because of it, but both were conscious, if fuzzy. They had been checked over by paramedics. Mercifully their necks, backs and sternums had not received injury. Probably there was bruising. They would know more once the victims were safely in hospital. The young women could be airlifted to Sydney, if their injuries proved more serious than at first thought.

Both young women had been wearing their seat belts in the correct position, the police told them. Both airbags had been deployed, functioning just as the manufacturer had intended. It appeared the car had taken the worst hit. It had ploughed into a tree at the bottom of a windy downhill stretch of road. The cause of the accident wasn’t known. No other vehicle had been involved. There had been no smell of alcohol on either girl’s breath or clothing. There had been a delay because most people were at home for Christmas and the wreck had not been spotted until some time later.

“I have to go to them. You’ll come with me, Damon?”

“Or course.” He rested his hand on the fine-boned curve of her shoulder, wondering what possible explanation there could be for the accident. He just couldn’t see Amanda losing control of the car. He couldn’t really see her speeding either, although he thought her very impulsive. Something must have gone badly wrong.

But what? The girls were very lucky they had done the right thing, strapping themselves in. He had known of horrific cases brought about by the non-use of seat belts, defective airbags or both.

* * *

In the coming week all was revealed. The brakes of Carol’s car had been tampered with. They hadn’t got very far into their journey to the nearest town. The reason for the “accident”—no accident at all—had been quickly established: the brake-fluid hose had been injected with water. The girls hadn’t travelled many miles because when the brake fluid heated it had turned to gas. As Amanda hit the brakes harder and harder, the gas would have compressed.

“I did the only thing I could,” Amanda told them later from her hospital bed. “The car held the road, but I had to make a quick decision. I drove into a tree. Not a
big
one. Just enough to stop us. Both of us were braced. The airbags did the rest.”

Enormously relieved for all their sakes, Carol offered the girls a holiday in the Whitsundays, all expenses paid.

“Damn nearly worth it!” Amanda crowed.

Summer was not so sure, but she wasn’t about to knock back a free holiday in a luxury hotel in one of the most beautiful parts of the world.

Amanda and Summer were interviewed by the police. Satisfied with their statements, the police let them go off on their travels. The police investigation had come up with the theory that it wasn’t Amanda or Summer who had been the target. It was Carol Chancellor, the heiress.

“Who do you think might want to kill you, Ms Chancellor?”

Carol shuddered every time she considered the question, which was many times a day. Everyone at Beaumont had been questioned. Dallas had worked herself up into apoplexy. “How dare anyone suggest I would know anything of it?”

“Whoever it is, he’s a psychopath,” Damon had reasoned.

“Why’s it got to be a
he?
” Carol hazarded a guess.

“Got to be a he, wouldn’t you think? Most women know little about the mechanics of cars. It wouldn’t have been terribly clever for either your uncle or Troy to try such a thing. Dallas saw Troy off, I believe, so she was with him. No motive whatever for the guests. It had to be someone who broke in. Remember I spoke about updating security? There were obvious places where someone could get into the grounds.”

“Someone
did.
”

“Someone who knew you were spending Christmas at Beaumont.”

“Maybe my mother’s a likely suspect.” Carol made the sick joke.

“Highly unlikely,” Damon said. “She would have absolutely nothing to gain. And she
is
your mother.”

“And she would never get her clothes dirty. The police seem to have come to a dead end. They even interviewed Tracey’s ex-boyfriend, when you put them on to him. He had an alibi: he was with Tracey. Incredibly, they’ve moved back in together.”