Wife in Public (14 page)

‘This party is important to me, Mum,’ he confided, appealing for her understanding, as well as her help. ‘I want Ivy to believe she can have a wonderful life with me. Please…will you ask your friends to be especially kind to her? Olivia did quite a lot of damage to her confidence. If you give her your approval…’

‘Jordan, I don’t know the girl. I’ve barely met her.’

‘I’m asking you to do it because it’s important to me. I can handle the rest but I
need
this from you. Use your power, your influence, to make it a great night for Ivy. I know you can do it.’

Reluctance flashed in her eyes. ‘You’re putting my judgement of character on the line. What if she lets you down later?’

‘Do it out of respect for
my
judgement.’

She stared at him, will clashing against will. Jordan poured every atom of forceful energy into his stare back. ‘I’ve never let you down, Mum,’ he said quietly. ‘Anything you’ve asked of me…’

‘All right,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll do it. I just hope she lives up to your judgement, Jordan.’

He smiled.

The groundwork was laid.

All that remained was for Ivy to come to the party.

T
HE
story of Jordan Powell’s engagement to a rose farmer was front-page news in Saturday’s newspapers. Jordan had warned Ivy he’d been asked for a press release, and she was safely installed at his Balmoral home before details of their romance were publicly released, escaping from the attention of the paparazzi, who subsequently swarmed to the farm to photograph everything in sight, and a bunch of reporters wanting more personal stories about her.

Heather and Graham held the fort, declaring she was a wonderful employer, there was no dirt to dig up and everything in the garden was rosy. Sacha was also approached for comment, to which she had no comment apart from saying her beautiful daughter deserved a beautiful man and she confidently expected them both to have a beautiful marriage.

After the umpteenth call telling her what was happening, Ivy rolled her eyes at Jordan and wailed, ‘Please tell me this is a one-day wonder.’

He laughed and drew her into a reassuring embrace. ‘It’s a one-day wonder. Truly. Just the surprise element sparking it off. There’s nothing to get their teeth into. And we’ll be in Europe next week. Nothing to follow up with.’

She sighed and nestled closer. ‘That’s a relief.’

‘There will be a society columnist and photographer at the party tonight, but I’ll be right at your side and they won’t cause you any unpleasantness. They’re my mother’s pet media people. Okay?’

She looked him in the eye and solemnly promised, ‘I’ll do my best to get used to being publicly connected to you, Jordan. I’ll learn how to handle it.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Ivy. The trick is not to let it really touch you. We live our lives regardless of what people print or say.’

She smiled as she reached up and touched his face. ‘I’ll have to grow some armour like you.’

The Ned Kelly paintings in Jordan’s bedroom reflected her comment as Ivy dressed for the party. She’d chosen to wear black, like the armour of the famous bushranger. Black was safe. No one was going to criticise an elegant black dress, and it
was
elegant. The bodice fell from a beaded yoke to a beaded waistband, leaving her shoulders and arms bare. The crepe fabric was cut on the bias for the long skirt so it clung to her hips, then dropped in graceful folds to her feet. She did not have to wear killer shoes with it, which was also safe. And pain-free. It was important to her to feel comfortable tonight. In every sense.

The style of the dress didn’t need a necklace. The long jet earrings she’d bought for the sequinned outfit looked right with it. The diamond and emerald earrings Jordan had wanted to buy her would have looked spectacular, but to her mind, they would have distracted people—perhaps unkindly—from the ring, which was spectacular enough on its own.

A last check of her appearance assured Ivy she was suitably armoured for the role of Jordan Powell’s fiancée.
Black was the best foil for her pale skin and the riot of wavy red hair fluffed out around her bare shoulders. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever looking better than she did right now.

Having fastened a small black beaded evening bag containing repair make-up around her wrist, she headed downstairs to parade for Margaret who wanted to see her in her finery. Jordan’s housekeeper had seen him in a formal black dinner suit many times, but Ivy had always worn casual clothes at Balmoral. Tonight was different in so many ways, Ivy’s heart started skittering nervously as she saw both Margaret and Jordan waiting for her at the foot of the staircase.

They both looked up. Ivy held her shoulders straight and descended with as much aplomb as she could muster, determined to look as though she was born to be at Jordan’s side. Margaret clapped her hands at the performance, grinning from ear to ear in delight.

‘Will I do?’ Ivy asked, wanting to hear their approval in words.

‘You’ll do perfectly!’ Margaret answered emphatically.

‘Perfectly!’ Jordan echoed, the blaze of desire in his eyes flooding her with warmth.

She wanted him, too. Which was what all this was about…wanting each other for the rest of their lives. It was easy to keep that in the forefront of her mind as they travelled to Palm Beach. Ray drove them in the Bentley, and sitting beside Jordan in the back seat, his fingers tightly interlaced with hers reinforcing the strong sexual connection between them, Ivy began to feel confident that nothing would separate them.

She had never been to his mother’s home. Jordan’s house was big and impressive but nowhere near on the
same scale as the Mediterranean-style mansion at Palm Beach, with its three storeys of columns and balconies. It screamed opulent wealth, making Ivy super-conscious of stepping into a different world. But she had Jordan as her guide. And partner. She didn’t have to be dreadfully nervous about it.

Security guards flanked the entrance gateway, ensuring that only invited guests passed by them. Jordan had planned to be the last to arrive, preferring an informal meet-and-greet as they moved around the party, which was now obviously in full swing. As they alighted from the Bentley, dance music and a distant babble of voices could be heard. Ivy hoped her friends were enjoying them selves.

A butler met them at the front door. They stepped into a grand foyer where a magnificent display of her red roses stood on a marble pedestal. It put a smile on Ivy’s face, her eyes twinkling at Jordan, who she knew had organised that, too. The butler ushered them in to an incredibly fabulous ballroom: massive crystal chandeliers, mirrored walls, gorgeous sofas, chairs and ornamental tables ringing the dance floor, and doors opening out to a balcony at the end of it.

A live band was playing from a dais in one of the far corners. Most of the younger guests were kicking up their heels on the dance floor. Ivy spotted Heather and Graham amongst them. The rest of the crowd were sitting or standing around chatting, helping themselves to whatever was being offered on the trays of food and drinks being circulated by an army of waiters.

Nonie Powell rose from a chaise longue and came for ward to greet them, her royal-blue satin evening dress adding to her queenly air. Sacha detached herself from a group of people, trailing eagerly after her, very much
the colourful butterfly in a bright orange silk pantsuit with a long split jacket in shades of violet, blue and turquoise and printed with orange and red flowers. She wasn’t actually wearing bells but lots of gold necklaces and bangles were jingling.

The contrast between the mothers was huge.

Totally different backgrounds, Ivy thought, hoping it would never become a divisive issue. Congratulatory kisses were bestowed. Jordan’s mother drew them over to a seated group of her closest friends to introduce Ivy. They were all very gracious to her, amused that Jordan had finally been
caught,
saying Ivy must have many admirable qualities to make him drop his playboy mantle, and wanting to hear their plans for the future. The conversation was easy, fun, and Ivy began to relax and enjoy herself.

After they’d posed for the society photographer for a few happy snaps, Olivia dragged them away, declaring her friends were insisting on an audience with the newly engaged couple. Ivy instantly seized the opportunity to thank Jordan’s sister for her letter, saying she hoped they could be friends in the future, too.

‘Just don’t bring any poison into my brother’s life and you’ll have my respect forever,’ Olivia replied, bubbling over with high spirits.

Champagne was flowing and all the introductions were carried out with good humour. Jordan fed it with his charm, satisfying the curiosity about their relationship with amusing stories of how hard he’d had to work to win her. The women admired the ring. The men admired her as a woman. Ivy felt herself being scrutinised from head to foot by both genders but there was no real discomfort from it. The general flow of approval put her at ease.

‘The pair of you look fantastic together,’ Heather whispered to her in passing. ‘You’re slaying ’em, Ivy. No worries.’

The only worry was in trying to remember the names of so many people. Jordan helped by repeating them throughout the conversations. On the whole, Ivy thought she was coping fairly well, but she was glad when Jordan insisted they be excused because he couldn’t wait any longer to dance with her.

It was a relief to be alone together for a little while, to simply sink into Jordan’s embrace and feel at one with him. The slow beat of the jazz waltz thumped through her heart, giving her a dreamy sense of contentment. This was her man and he was the best partner she could ever have to spend her life with.

‘Happy?’ he murmured, dropping a hot kiss on her hair.

She lifted her head up from his shoulder to shoot him a brilliant smile. ‘Very happy.’

He smiled back, the sexy simmer in his eyes giving her a buzz of pleasure. Making love tonight was going to be extra special. She wished they could leave now, but…

‘Please excuse me, Mr Powell. I have a message for Miss Thornton.’

It was the butler, startling them both with his intrusion on the dance floor. What message couldn’t wait a few more minutes until the music ended?

‘Some problem, Lloyd?’ Jordan asked, frowning at him.

‘Mrs Powell sent me to tell Miss Thornton her father has arrived.’

‘My father?’ Ivy cried in astonishment. ‘There must be some mistake. My father died over two years ago.’

The butler shook his head in dismayed confusion. ‘I have no knowledge of this. The man was not on the guest list but he showed identification and explained that he’d been in Melbourne on business and didn’t think he could make it to the party on such short notice. However, he’d managed to get an evening flight and didn’t want to miss such a special occasion for his daughter. It seemed reasonable…’

‘He’s an imposter,’ Ivy insisted, appalled that anyone would try such an offensive stunt.

‘We’ll very quickly sort it out,’ Jordan assured her. ‘Thank you, Lloyd. Not your fault you weren’t aware of Ivy’s family situation. Though my mother should have been. I told her.’

His frown deepened as he steered Ivy off the dance floor. ‘Let’s find Sacha first,’ he muttered. ‘Confront the guy with both of you.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, her stomach churning at having to face the disgusting con-man. She wanted her mother there for back-up.

They found her out on the balcony with a group of her friends. Ivy quickly collected her for a private discussion with Jordan. As they joined him she was anxiously explaining, ‘A man has come here claiming to be my father, presenting some identification that has to be false. I need you to…’

Sacha stopped dead, shock draining the colour from her face. ‘No! No!’ The fierce denials exploded off her tongue. Her eyes glazed over.

Ivy grabbed her around the waist to support her, worrying that she was going to faint. It was awful, someone stepping into a dead man’s shoes to make some sensational situation, especially when her real father had been dearly loved. ‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out. ‘It was
a shock to me, too. He’s with Jordan’s mother, and we have to denounce him, Sacha, before he makes more mischief.’

A shudder ran through Sacha. The limpness was shaken off by a surge of outrage. ‘How dare he!’ She looked at Ivy with wildly ferocious eyes. ‘How dare he after all these years! The rotten snake in the grass!’

‘Who?’ Ivy asked, feeling a flutter of fear.

Sacha turned to Jordan in fighting determination. ‘We have to get rid of him. For Ivy’s sake. Order your security people to take him away and keep him away.’

‘But who is it?’ Ivy pleaded, not understanding anything.

‘Your father’s brother! Dick Thornton! Tricky Dicky!’ It was a snarl of hatred. ‘I haven’t seen him since before you were born, Ivy, but I know him to be a total bastard without any conscience whatsoever. You can bet he’s come to try and make some capital out of your connection to Jordan. It’s the kind of lousy thing he’d do.’

An uncle! Her father had never mentioned having a brother. His parents—her grandparents—had died before she was born, and he’d told her they were on their own, just the two of them, plus Sacha when they had weekends together.

‘Right! Let’s go and undo the mischief he’s already made,’ Jordan said grittily, his handsome face instantly settling into a look of formidable power.

He hooked his arm around Ivy’s to carry her along with him. She felt too dazed by the idea of having a wicked uncle to even begin to comprehend what it might mean to her. Sacha marched ahead of them, the panels of her split jacket flying out with the furious energy driving her forward.

The man standing beside Nonie Powell near the en
trance to the ballroom had the gall to smile at their approach, not the least bit alarmed at the prospect of being unmasked as an imposter. He cut quite a fine figure in his formal black suit. He’d certainly made himself presentable. There were still some threads of ginger in his greying hair. The straight line of his nose was very similar to her father’s, as was the distinctive slant of his eyebrows. Ivy sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes—green eyes—targeted her with dancing delight.

It was easy to understand why Nonie Powell had not denied him entry to the party. The family resemblance, the name of Thornton, would have given her pause for further investigation. However, she had discreetly held him aside from the known guests, waiting for confirmation of his claim, for which Ivy was intensely grateful.

‘Well, well, I didn’t know what a beautiful daughter I had,’ the man rolled out as they arrived to deal with him.

‘She’s not yours! She was never yours!’ her mother declared in towering outrage.

‘Still as exotic as ever, Sacha,’ he tossed at her, his smile broadening, not dimming at her rebuttal of his claim. ‘You make me remember now why I couldn’t resist you.’

‘Don’t think you’ll get away with anything this time,’ she fired back at him. ‘Robert’s gone so I don’t have his feelings to consider.’

‘Poor Robert, who was left sterile from his stint in Vietnam,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘You must have had to ’fess up to him that it was me who got you pregnant. And you know and I know that DNA will prove it. So let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Our lucky daughter has hit the jackpot and I’m here to collect my share of it or the skeletons will come out of the closet with a vengeance.’ He
smiled at Jordan. ‘I can’t imagine the high and mighty Powell family would like that.’