A Marrying Man?

Georgia’s eyes widened. ‘Why?’

‘Weren’t you listening to the radio?’

‘No, not particularly.’

‘There’s another severe rain depression around Grafton, and, anyway, the New England is quicker, I think.’

‘Oh.’

‘Does that mean you approve?’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had much choice in the matter.’

He looked at her impassively.

‘Don’t forget I’m the wicked, scarlet, fallen woman in all this, Will,’ she taunted, and tilted her chin at him.

He laughed, touched her chin lightly with his knuckles and said lightly, ‘Bravo, Georgia. That’s exactly how a wicked woman should look—as if she doesn’t give a damn. Ready?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ Georgia muttered, and stalked towards the car while he stowed their rubbish neatly into the carton then into the garbage bin—which annoyed her all the more, for reasons she was unable to identify.

The road was winding and tortuous as they took the Tabulam turn-off and snaked up the Great Dividing Range. Unfortunately, the rain depression they were trying to avoid on the Pacific Highway seemed to be well entrenched up towards the New England, and at times it was hard to see the road. Georgia resolutely said nothing and they passed through Tenterfield and Glen Innes in what should have been pretty, rolling countryside but was now soaked and desolate.

It was just after Guyra, a little town known for its lamb and potatoes, that another set-back occurred—and a rather terrifying one at that. They came across an accident that must have just happened, involving two semi-trailers that looked to have collided head-on and were now both lying on their sides, completely blocking the wet road, with their loads strewn far and wide.

William Brady swore as a police car with siren blaring and blue light flashing raced past them to draw up precipitately. Georgia stared wide-eyed at the scene of chaos and destruction and said shakily, ‘Will…’

But he pulled up beside the police car, turned to her and said abruptly, ‘Stay here.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘See if they need a hand.’

‘I—’

‘You just do as you’re told,’ he ordered, and swung himself out of the Landcruiser.

She did for a bit, then decided she couldn’t stand by and do nothing any longer, for, although one of the drivers was miraculously unhurt, the other was apparently trapped in his cab.

She arrived on the scene to witness an act of extraordinary bravery and strength on the part of William Brady as he crawled into the mangled cab, managed to prise apart with his bare hands the sections that were trapping the driver by his legs long enough for the policemen to pull him out, then retreated swiftly before getting trapped himself.

‘You’re a bloody hero, mate!’ one of the policemen said, and glanced gratefully over his shoulder as an ambulance skidded to a halt beside them. ‘If we’d had to wait for the jaws of life he might have lost his legs, by the look of it.’

It was a sentiment the ambulance driver agreed with rather fervently, while the other driver started to shake William by the hand most emotionally.

All of which he bore with a slight grimace until his gaze fell on Georgia, who was staring at him, transfixed. ‘I thought I told you to stay put,’ he said coolly.

She came out of her daze, set her teeth and stalked back to the Landcruiser.

He joined her a few minutes later, set the vehicle in motion and turned it back the way they’d come.

‘Am I allowed to speak?’ Georgia enquired.

‘Yes, why not?’

‘You seem to feel you can order me here, there and everywhere, Will, so I thought I’d check whether you feel your dominance extends to my verbal processes too. Why are we going back the way we came?’

‘I should have thought that was fairly obvious,’ he drawled. ‘The road is blocked.’

‘There must be other roads.’

‘There are two. One is an unmade road a very long way round and the other is flooded to a depth even a four-wheel drive might have trouble with.’

‘I see.’

He flicked her an ironic little look. ‘What do you see, Georgia?’

‘Nothing,’ she said politely. ‘It was a figure of speech.’

‘Then allow me to enlighten you. They’ve called for a crane to unblock the highway. It should take a couple of hours at the most. We’ll wait here in the meantime.’

Fifteen minutes later, Georgia was standing in the middle of a motel bedroom in Guyra. William Brady was on the phone.

She looked across the room at him expectantly as he put it down.

‘There’s a slight improvement—he’s still critical but stable.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said quietly, ‘but don’t forget I was prepared to go the long way round.’ She glanced around the neat, very basic but painfully clean little room.

William Brady surveyed her expressionlessly for a long moment then he said drily, ‘All the same, why do I get the feeling you’ve put a jinx on this trip, Georgia?’

She stared at him, then sank down wearily onto the double bed. ‘That’s ridiculous. All right! I was being bitchy just now, but I resent being treated like a child—and, in case you feel I didn’t appreciate how brave you were, I did. But I can’t control the weather, air traffic controllers or colliding semi-trailers. And I am here, after all.’

‘In person but not in willing spirit,’ he murmured, still surveying her. ‘And that means we need to talk some more, I think.’

‘What about? There’s nothing to talk about!’ she protested angrily. ‘Aren’t you even a little tired after your Herculean effort out there?’

Their gazes clashed and she bit her lip and coloured because it seemed she couldn’t help but compound her bitchiness at the moment, and she didn’t like herself particularly for it…‘Oh, hell,’ she said abruptly. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but you do ask for it sometimes. What do you want to talk about, Will? Why don’t we make it ‘“shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—and cabbages and kings” for a change? I might just be able to bear that.’

The faintest glint of amusement lit his eyes briefly, but he said gravely, ‘Why don’t you get comfortable—or at least get your back comfortable? Would you like a cup of tea?’

She sighed heavily, then, with a defeated gesture, because her back really was sore, pulled off her boots, piled the pillows up behind her and swung her legs onto the bed. ‘Go ahead and talk, Will, go ahead,’ she invited tiredly.

But he made the tea first. And not until she was sipping it gratefully did he say, ‘Neil was a bit of a Samuel Pepys—did you know?’

‘No, but I didn’t know a lot about Neil. So he kept a diary? Bully for him.’

‘Yes, although in a thoroughly disorganised, typically Neil manner, and like that other gentleman, not so much to record his appointments but to express his odd, impromptu thoughts.’

‘Well?’ Georgia drank some more tea.

‘Two of his more recent entries were particularly interesting in light of what you revealed this morning. The first one read, “Got disturbed by Harvey Wainwright, of all people. Is the guy for real?” And the other…’ He paused and his hazel gaze captured hers in a way Georgia was unable to resist. ‘The other read, “There’s some mystery to do with David Harper…” And three heavily scored exclamation marks followed.’

Georgia blinked and her mouth fell open. ‘Go on…’

‘I can’t. The entry ended there. Would that be the same David who was on your mind when you woke up this morning?’

‘But…but to my knowledge Neil didn’t know Harvey! And I don’t think Harvey would have wanted to know him—he likes his art all framed and preferably old, so he can rely on other people’s judgement, and he prefers to ignore any vaguely bohemian effort that may have gone into it.’

William Brady smiled unamusedly. ‘It’s not Harvey I’m worried about. On the other hand, David Harper is not…unknown to a lot of people—including me.’

‘Look,’ Georgia said tightly, ‘this is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. In fact I’m beginning to feel as if I’ve been framed somehow!’

‘Why don’t you tell me about David Harper—?’

‘It has absolutely nothing to do with you,’ she flashed back. ‘Why should I?’ But she stopped and ground her teeth as she saw him register the unspoken admission that there was something to tell. Then she said coldly, ‘You can go to hell, Mr Brady.’

William Brady didn’t reply, but he didn’t look greatly disturbed either. In fact it infuriated her to find that not only was he a dangerously attractive man but also, she was beginning to think, a dangerously clever one too, who could toy with her when he chose and then indicate that there was an unbridgeable gap between them—as if they existed on different planes not only physically but morally and mentally as well…

As if I am all the things he thinks I am, she thought. How does he do it? And suddenly it was too much for her.

She leapt off the bed, stifled a groan of pain and snapped, ‘I’ve had enough! Hand over my car keys, Mr Shakespeare; I’m going home.’

‘Georgia.’ William Brady stood up. ‘You—’

‘No! I’m not saying any more, I’m going, and if you don’t let me I’ll call the police. You’ve done nothing but insult me, and play on my finer feelings in between times, and I’m sick to death of it. Hand them over, Will!’

But he didn’t do that at all. He stared down at her flashing eyes and working mouth, her imperiously held out hand, and then, before she could believe what was happening to her, pulled her into his arms and lowered his head to kiss her.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, twisting her head away valiantly.

‘You could call it an experiment,’ he murmured, and added, ‘Don’t fight me, Georgia.’

Of course she did, but all to no avail. He simply resisted, and then something further snapped within her, as if to say, All right, if you won’t let me go, you asked for it. And she said through her teeth, ‘Well, kiss me, then, Will, if you’re so jolly well set on it, and see if I give a damn! Let’s just get it over and done with.’

He laughed softly down at her. ‘That’s my Georgia. I thought you might see it that way.’

What she was quite unprepared for was the way he did it, which was to say that he didn’t even commence until she’d stopped breathing heavily from her exertions.

He held her cornflower gaze captive for a while and she wondered warily what was to come, and began to regret her heat-of-the-moment gesture. At the same time she became aware of other things: the faint scar running to his temple, how tall he was and how wide his shoulders were, the warmth of his body on hers, the sudden urge she had to touch her fingertips to the little lines beside his mouth then slide them down his throat…

Things like that and worse—how his hands felt on her body, strong and knowledgeable, as if he knew just how she liked to be held and caressed, knew all her special places, which were suddenly alive and aching for his touch to be repeated, how she would dearly love to kiss this man and make him feel the same way—aroused by her expertise and desirability…

That was when he lowered his mouth to hers at last, and she found herself trying to do just that. With the result that what should have been a ‘close your eyes and think of England’ response on her part became something quite different—a passionate little encounter of leaping senses and a rather devastatingly intimate and pleasurable experience.

William Brady ended it, however, when he lifted his head, looked into her stunned cornflower eyes and drawled with a wryly lifted eyebrow, ‘You’d make a very troublesome nun, Georgia.’

CHAPTER THREE

GEORGIA opened her mouth as his arms relaxed around her, then closed it again because she could not find words contemptuous enough to express her feelings. She went to step away but tripped, and then tried to stand upright, only to find she couldn’t, and she clutched her back, this time with a heartfelt groan of pain.

‘Georgia?’ he said in an entirely different voice. ‘Is it your back?’

‘Of course it’s my back, you blithering idiot,’ she retorted with an effort. ‘What does it look like?’

‘Here, let me help you.’ And he picked her up and put her gently down on the bed against the pillows.

She groaned again and bit her lip.

‘May I make a suggestion?’

‘What?’

‘Do you think some heat would help?’

‘I suppose so,’ she said ungraciously.

‘Then why don’t you have a hot bath? We’ve got at least an hour and a half to fill. And I’ll try and rustle up a hot-water bottle or something for you to take with us.’

She couldn’t hide what the thought of soaking in a hot bath did for her, and without further ado he went into the small bathroom and started to run it. He also brought her bag in from the car and helped her across to the bathroom with it when her bath was ready.

‘Thanks,’ she said briefly at the door.

‘Can you manage?’

She glanced up at him and her eyes said it all.

He smiled with some irony but said nothing, and she locked herself into the bathroom.

She soaked for a good half-hour, and when she climbed out her back felt better. She decided to change into something more comfortable and less constricting and put on her blue tracksuit. It was still raining outside and looked cold and miserable.

What greeted her when she left the bathroom came as a bit of a surprise. There appeared to be a minor feast laid out on the Formica-topped table: a cooked chicken, some rolls, a bucket of coleslaw, some cornish pasties, some apples and oranges and a bottle of wine. And there were plates and glasses and utensils from her own picnic hamper, which she’d forgotten was in the car.

‘I hope you don’t mind.’ William Brady rose as she emerged.

‘You’ve been busy shopping, Will!’ she commented. ‘Why should I mind?’

‘I found your hamper in the car.’

‘Good work,’ she said drily.

‘I also got this,’ he said, and held up a tube of embrocation. ‘In case you didn’t have any.’

‘Super! I haven’t. I suppose you’re proposing to rub it all over my back yourself?’ she said witheringly.

‘It’s probably easier for me to do it,’ he replied gravely, ‘and it might just give you some relief.’

‘Now look here, William Shakespeare—’

‘Georgia, after the way we kissed each other just now,’ he said patiently, ‘this would be nothing. You wouldn’t even have to undress, just push your top up—why don’t you stop behaving like a spoilt child?’

She smiled at him through gritted teeth, hobbled over to the bed, lay down on her front and said, ‘Off you go, then, Will, but take one liberty and you’re liable to get a black eye this time.’

‘There,’ he murmured a few minutes later, and pulled her top down modestly. ‘How does that feel?’

Georgia opened her eyes. She could still feel his hands gently massaging the cream into her back and had to admit—to herself, that was—that it had been heavenly. ‘Better, thanks,’ was all she said briskly, and she turned around to sit up.

He put the lid on the tube. ‘You’ve got a couple of spectacular bruises.’

‘I thought I might have.’

‘Par for the course, I suppose,’ he commented.

‘Yep!’

‘Why don’t you stay there? Are you warm enough?’

She gazed at him, then leant back against the pillows. ‘Yes, Mum. Thank you, Mum,’ she murmured, and looked blandly into his hazel eyes as he handed her a plate of chicken and salad. ‘So, Will,’ she went on, ‘want to tell me why you did it? I really thought I wasn’t your type.’

He poured wine into two of her gaily spotted plastic glasses, handed one to her, then sat down at the table and looked meditatively across at her. ‘Why I kissed you? It amused me to do it, I guess. Why did you kiss me back, Georgia?’

She nibbled at a chicken leg, then said thoughtfully, ‘I can remember thinking at the time that I might as well give back as good as I got. I wasn’t getting anywhere doing anything else, now was I?’ She took a sip of her wine and gazed at him challengingly.

He said nothing and his expression was enigmatic.

‘And I suppose,’ she continued, waving the drumstick, ‘it amused me to think that someone like myself, so fallen and wicked, could tempt you out of your ivory tower, Will. Or at least—well, you can’t feel quite so superior now, surely? I mean, we did get a bit carried away together, didn’t we?’

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