It Happened in Sydney: In the Australian Billionaire's Arms / Three Times A Bridesmaid... / Expecting Miracle Twins

He laughed briefly. “I have to let that one go at the moment, Sonya. But I can tell you a hell of a lot about wanting a woman.”

“Marcus wants me but his kind of love I can’t return,” she said, torn by pity and sadness.

“Then you have to tell him.”

His voice cut like a lash. “You want I should do it in the morning?” she challenged with a return of spirit. “Then you could all breathe a great sigh of relief. You don’t fool me, David. It’s not the time to upset Marcus. You know that as well as I do.”

The truth of it made him angry. Yet desire for her was becoming something ungovernable. How could he be so uncaring of his uncle? “I have to go, Sonya,” he rasped. “In another minute I’ll pick you up and take you to bed.”

“What, and betray Marcus?”

She threw up her head in a way now familiar to him. “That’s why I’m going,” he bit off. “I’m not proof against your witchcraft.”

“So go, then.” A soft poignancy replaced the anger in her voice. “How will it end, David?”

Abruptly the wild clamour that was in him turned to an even odder tenderness. He found himself turning back to cup her face in his hands. “I can’t think about it right now, Sonya. I truly can’t. We have to find out what’s going on with Marcus.”

“He was so excited! It was a flag signalling trouble.”

She was the very image of lamentation. It caused his anger to flash back. “Has Marcus ever kissed you? I mean, really kissed you?” There was conflict here. The disloyalty associated with having to ask; the fear of how he would handle it if the answer was above and beyond yes.

She threw up her head. He would never give his trust. “This love affair is in Marcus’s head. His life has been so lonely, for a woman, I mean. I know you all love him. It’s extraordinary when you think about it. A kiss on the cheek, dinner, a few outings, one day on his yacht, and suddenly he can’t part with me.”

Holt forced his hands to drop to his sides. “Look at you! Why would he?” he asked harshly. “That’s what falling in love is all about, Sonya.” He moved with purpose to the door. He had to get away from her fast. Hunger for her was at cyclone-force, a headwind that could drive him back to her.

“I am not going to marry Marcus,” she called after him.

“You need to marry someone.” His retort was delivered with quick fire. “It doesn’t do for a woman like you not to be safely contained.”

They learned early the next morning Marcus had suffered a heart attack. He would be released in a few days, allowing time for the battery of tests. A top cardiac specialist had been called in. Sonya took flowers and fruit to the hospital. When she arrived at his private room she could see Lady Palmerston was there, looking, as ever, marvellous and so stylish in her tailored suit, slim black skirt, black and white jacket.

Marcus’s face lit up. Lady Palmerston’s did not. “Marcus has just been telling me you’re engaged?” she said, looking towards Sonya.

It was a far cry from the warm friendly tone Sonya had become used to. “I think Marcus has to give me time to catch my breath, Lady Palmerston,” she said, moving to the bed to kiss Marcus’s cheek. “How are you feeling, Marcus?”

“Much better,” he said, his eyes dazzled by her youth and beauty. “Sorry I gave you and David such a fright. It was just a warning, the specialist said. I’m going to do exactly as he says. Life is too sweet.”

“I’m sure the first thing is to put all excitements out of your mind, Marcus,” Rowena said with a touch of severity. “A bit of quiet is called for.”

“Now, now, Aunty dear.” Marcus waved an affectionate hand at her. “I’ve had enough quiet all these years. The flowers are splendid, Sonya.” He turned his head to admire them. Sonya had assembled six or seven red torch ginger flowers with some beautiful big glossy pinkish-red anthurium flowers and a few exotic tropical leaves. She intended to place them near the window.

“I have a vase with me,” she said, lightly touching Marcus’s hand. If only, if only he hadn’t fallen in love with her. She did so want him as a friend. “I’ll just fill it with water.”

Less than ten minutes later a nurse came to the door. “Time for a rest now, Mr Wainwright,” she said, crisply pleasant, but her eyes whipped over Rowena and Sonya with the message, Time to leave.

The lift to the ground floor was crowded, visitors, staff, a doctor in a pin-striped suit looking as though he was very important in the scheme of things. Noise and bustle everywhere. A hospital was never truly silent. Peace was hard to find. They were outside the hospital, walking to one of the parking areas, before Lady Palmerston spoke.

“You might tell me what this is all about, Sonya. An engagement?” She lifted her arched brows, her expression grave, but withholding judgment.

“I’m sorry, Lady Palmerston. I didn’t see it coming.”

“Call me Rowena, dear,” Rowena said impatiently. “Marcus of all people to totally lose his head,” she lamented. “Why, you’re hardly more than a child.”

“I’m twenty-five.”

“A great age!” Rowena scoffed. “Marcus is thirty years older.”

“So what should I have done?” Sonya implored. “I thought I had found a friend. I wasn’t looking for a partner.”

“Good Lord, Sonya, you must have had some idea where it was all going? An intelligent young woman like you.”

“I regret I didn’t speak out earlier. Initially it was the last thing I expected. I admire Marcus. He’s a dear, distinguished man. Not an easy thing to tell him what he didn’t want to hear. In my own defence I have to say I didn’t encourage him. I didn’t give him to understand our friendship was moving to another stage. Surely a smile isn’t a big come-on? Enjoyment in good conversation? Sharing the things we have in common? I know all about loss, just as Marcus does. The trouble with rich people is they think they can have anything and anyone they want.” She waved an agitated hand in front of her face.

Rowena considered. “There may be a touch of that,” she frankly admitted. “But why, oh, why did you wear Lucy’s emeralds, Sonya? That was a huge mistake. You’ve no idea how much gossip that caused.”

“Gossip won’t kill me,” she said hardily. “People can say what they want.” Sonya lifted her head to give Rowena a high mettled look. “Marcus was insistent. I had no idea the necklace would be so grand. There was such a look of pleasure in his eyes. For a moment I thought he was even on the verge of tears. I should have refused, but I was loath to take that light out of his face. My mistake.”

“Well, it certainly put you in the line of fire,” Rowena said quietly. “All of a sudden people are intensely interested in you. Who are you exactly? They all know now you’re a florist. In my view the best florist in town, but a working girl.”

“So, tough to be a working girl!” Sonya exclaimed with a satirical edge. “Naturally I masterminded a plan to land myself a millionaire.”

Rowena took Sonya’s arm. “My dear, you know as well as I do, it’s every other young woman’s goal to marry a millionaire.”

“It is not mine.” Sonya enunciated the words very clearly. “As it happens no one, including you, Lady Palmerston, knows the extent of my finances.”

“How would I know?” Rowena asked in exasperation. “You never talk about yourself, Sonya. It’s as though you’re afraid to let anyone come near. I can see your attraction to Marcus. Marcus wouldn’t have pressed you for information. I’m here for you, my dear. I like you. More, I’ve come to care for you. I readily understand how you’ve come to find a place in Marcus’s heart. But your life before you came to this country appears to be a closed book. You’re obviously well bred—” She broke off as if bewildered by Sonya’s stand.

“I promise you, Lady Palmerston, I will tell you all about myself when I can.” Sonya gently pressed her arm.

“So, no Rowena?” Rowena smiled.

Sonya’s expression was intense. “I have such respect for you, Lady Palmerston, I think I should work up to calling you Rowena.”

“As you wish, my dear.” Rowena glimpsed another Sonya, a young woman from a different background, a different world. Sonya gave such an impression of poise, of near regal self-assurance, then, out of the blue, a hint of a scared little girl. What did it all mean?

Two days after Marcus Wainwright was discharged from hospital he suffered, as others in similar circumstances had suffered before him, the one fatal heart attack. Even with a warning his death came as a pulverizing shock.

David received the news first from Marcus’s distraught housekeeper, who found him lying on his side in bed. No sign of life, beyond any doubt. The housekeeper had once been a nursing sister.

From then on he took charge. News of the death of Marcus Wainwright couldn’t be contained. His parents had to be advised. He fully expected them to return on the first available flight. He didn’t tell them when he rang Marcus had fallen in love with a beautiful young woman decades his junior. He didn’t divulge the fact Marcus had given her a magnificent diamond engagement ring. That definitely would have to wait. The entire Wainwright clan had to be advised. A hell of a thing. This was a tragedy that had been waiting to happen. Too late Marcus had come to a decision to take good care of himself.

Then of course there was Sonya.

Sonya was in for a very bad time unless he could control the media.

He knew from long experience he couldn’t. The media would have a field day. And what of Marcus’s will? If Marcus had been so sure he could persuade Sonya to marry him, wouldn’t he have had the family solicitors draw up a new will? Sonya would surely be a beneficiary. He knew in the existing will he had been the principal beneficiary. Marcus had told him. If Marcus had had a new will drawn up it could be argued in court—if it ever came to that— Marcus was a sick man, indeed a dying man, infatuated by a young woman decades his junior. Marcus had been in a state of high confusion. How could a strange young woman of no background lay claim to what could very well be a substantial part of a considerable fortune? The inferences drawn would inevitably be that Sonya had worked on Marcus to change his will.

His mouth went dry at the thought of what his parents would make of it all. Both were formidable people to be approached with nigh on reverence. Grief might very well turn to outrage. Sonya might be an extremely beautiful, highly intelligent young woman with an unmistakable look of good breeding, but he and Rowena between them knew very little about her. One would have thought she was an orphan without family. Once the news broke she would go from an unknown to a high-profile woman. The woman in Marcus Wainwright’s life.

By the time the press finished with her there would be nowhere to hide.

He didn’t want to tell her over the phone. That would be too cruel. Though he couldn’t spare the time he took a taxi to the trendy shopping conclave where she had her florist shop. No time for him to find a park for his own car.

Sonya knew, the instant she caught sight of David, something was very wrong. Her heart began a relentless banging against her ribs. No one was in the shop. She had been busy earlier on, now she was grateful for the lull.

“It’s Marcus, isn’t it?” She searched his brilliant dark eyes. He was noticeably pale beneath his deep tan. “He’s had a relapse?”

“Worse than that, Sonya.” He held her eyes, feeling a heavy sense of guilt along with the grief. He wanted her as he had never wanted anyone before. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. Marcus is dead.”

“No, no, dear God, no! “ She staggered, clutching at the counter for support. “How could this happen? They released him from hospital. I spoke to him last night.”

“Heart attacks happen, Sonya, despite everything,” he said with a heavy heart. “This one has been waiting to happen, I’m afraid. We can’t delay. I want you out of here.”

“I can’t stay anyway.” She was clearly in great distress.

“No, you can’t.” His emotions were so strong he found himself speaking too harshly. “You have to shut up shop. I’ll help you. You’ll have to make it until further notice or bring in staff. That can be worked out. You won’t be able to come back once the news breaks.”

“I’m so sorry. So sorry,” she moaned. “You think I killed him?” She had gone whiter than white. Her whole body was trembling. She was near enough to breaking.

“Don’t torture yourself with thoughts like that,” he said quickly. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t a savage. No way could he pull her into his arms and offer comfort. His whole being was filled with guilt. “Marcus was a sick man.”

“Where did he die?” She was trying desperately not to cry.

“Get yourself together, Sonya,” he urged, his whole body tense. “His housekeeper found him. He died peacefully in his sleep.”

“Thank God! Does Lady Palmerston know?”

“Sonya, everyone will know if we don’t get a move on. I have to get you out of here. I have to get out of here. People know me. I fear this is going to be a very big story.” He couldn’t think of a worse scenario.

Over the coming days several photographs of Sonia appeared in the papers and on the Internet. In all of them she looked movie-star glamorous.

A real knockout was the general opinion. All of the photographs, on Marcus’s arm—Marcus looking very much older—standing with David, the two of them appearing to be staring into one another’s eyes, sitting at the table with the rich and famous as they had been on that gala night. The night she had been wearing a vintage evening gown and Lucille Wainwright’s glorious emerald and diamond necklace with the diamond chandelier drops. Her expression in all of them was of cool grace, as if she were to the manner born.

Sonya knew, if no one else, she was the image of her mother, Lilla. Her mother in turn had inherited Katalin’s remarkable looks and colouring. Such physical beauty was a gift of the genes.

In New York on a piercingly cold day Laszlo Andrassy-Von Neumann stood in complete silence in Central Park as a tall burly man wearing a greatcoat and a thick dark hat with ear flaps approached him. The man came to a brief halt, withdrawing a manila folder from a deep pocket. Andrassy-Von Neumann had already seen the photographs. They were unmistakably of a woman of his family. To his intense triumph the photographs were of his lost cousin, Sonya. A few more photographs had been taken on the street where she appeared to be in flight from the paparazzi, the rest were the same photographs that had been splashed across the Australian press.

So that was where young Sonya had sought sanctuary! In exchange for the folder he passed his informant a thick envelope containing a substantial wad of money. It was worth every penny. He had now ascertained Sonya was living in Sydney, under the name of Erickson. It was an enormous stroke of luck the man she had been involved with had been a public figure, otherwise it might have taken longer to find her. She had covered her tracks like a professional. In a way he couldn’t help but admire her. America had been very good to his family and him. But he was Hungarian. He wanted to get back to his roots. He had poured so much into his country of birth he now had the estate back: the palace, the title deeds, every last contract signed and sealed.

He was the Andrassy-Von Neumann heir. Katalin and Lilla were dead. He had, however, no real wish to harm Sonya. All she had to do was hand over the Madonna. He would make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Ten million into her bank account? That should do it. Of course, if she were foolish enough to hold out against him? He didn’t believe she would. From a penniless little florist to a millionairess in one bound. Her grandmother and her mother and father were dead. He was certain she would see the good sense in making a deal. The only sense. After all, they were family. He was Count Laszlo Andrassy-Von Neumann. The title to his mind would never be defunct. And Sonya must never be allowed to lay claim to being a countess and the rightful heir of an ancient family’s estates. She couldn’t possibly stand a chance against him. Katalin’s true identity had been destroyed. All reference to her dropped like the plague. Like her father, the old count who had been fool enough to remain in his palace, and her brother, the heir, Katalin had become a victim of war. As for her daughter, Lilla, she was the child of little more than a peasant. The extraordinary thing was he would have recognised his cousin Sonya anywhere. She was without question an Andrassy-Von Neumann.

The phone was ringing as Sonya let herself into the apartment. She was breathing hard with outrage. She had been chased home from a local convenience store by one of the TV channels, a car with a man and a woman in it, on the lookout for a few words, no doubt. It was pretty much like being a hunted animal.

“You have to get out of there.”

It was David issuing instructions. He skipped the niceties. Niceties had flown out of the window.

“I’m not going anywhere, David,” she said, resisting his formidable tone. “Those media hounds would be onto me wherever I went. Your parents are home?” A photograph of the Wainwrights arriving at the airport had already hit the front pages. No comment from either of them. Both had looked gravely upset.

He gave in to a maddened sigh. “Neither of them wants you at the funeral, Sonya.”

“What about you, David?” she questioned, very intent on the answer. If he said he didn’t want her there, she would begin immediately to try to banish him from her heart and mind.

“You have a right to be there,” he said. “The problem, of course, is that your presence will cause a considerable stir.”

“Too bad!” she answered coldly. “Marcus would have wanted me to be there. Marcus loved me. Have you forgotten?”

“Listen, Sonya, I’m desperately tired,” he admitted, with a decided edge. “I maybe damned near thirty but my dad still likes to bawl me out. My mother too is good at beating a drum.”

“So you have to go along with them? I understand.” Her heart dropped like a stone.

“Oh, come off it!” he bit off. “I can take the heat. The whole business, you must admit, is ghastly. The press must be giving you hell?” He hadn’t willed or wanted falling in love with this woman. But he had. He had a terrible longing to be with her. But he couldn’t shake the crush of guilt. Or the knowledge he knew so little about her. She hadn’t been given an opportunity to make a final decision. It was possible she could have actually accepted Marcus’s proposal. Lack of trust was a sharp knife in his chest.

“The press are doing their level best,” she told him, aware of his ambivalent feelings towards her. “No wonder celebrities hate them. The hounding is appalling.”

“That’s why I want you to shift. I have an apartment lined up for you. Somewhere very secure.”

“Thank you, David,” she said with icy politeness, “but I can’t take advantage of your kind offer. I’m staying here. And I’m coming to the funeral. Your parents can bawl you out all they like. They can bawl me out too if they want to. I have backbone. I know enough about you to believe you’re every bit as tough as your illustrious parents. I can promise you I’ll keep a low profile. I won’t do a thing to draw attention to myself.”

His discordant laugh echoed down the phone. “Sonya, you must have learned by now you only have to show your face to draw attention.”

“Did I ask to have this face?” she burst out angrily. “Blonde women get too much attention, all of us bimbos. We both know I intend to pay my last respects to Marcus. If your family thinks they can try any stand-over tactics, they won’t work. I’ve known some truly horrible people, David. Your parents would be the good guys compared to them.”

“Don’t you worry the press will uncover these horrible people?” he warned her. “They’re pursuing you, and they’re going to keep it up. I would think Marcus has taken care of you in his will.”

“What, you don’t know already?” she asked witheringly.

“It’s the waiting game.” A stinging heat assailed him. He so wanted to see her, despite all that was happening. “Sonya, I want to help you. You need protection. You’re going to be hotly pursued in the days ahead.”

Pain shot through her right temple. A bad headache coming on. “That seems to be my fate, David, to be pursued. I’ll say goodbye now. You must do what you have to do. I know you mean well, but I refuse to be deterred. I will be at Marcus’s funeral. I don’t intend to disguise myself either, like don a black wig. I am who I am.”

“Then let’s get your damned name right!” he retorted.

“That would be a big mistake!” She slammed down the phone.

One minute later she was in floods of tears.

She had met a man who was perfect to her. But all he wanted was to be rid of her.

CHPATER SEVEN

SONYA had hoped the crowd would be so large she would have a good chance of slipping into the church unnoticed. As a necessary mark of respect to the Wainwright family she had done her best to look as inconspicuous as possible. Her giveaway white-blonde hair, she had all but concealed, fastening it in coils at the back, then topping it off with a wide-brimmed black hat. She had thought the inexpensive hat would be an excellent disguise. Unfortunately the result wasn’t as low key as she had wished. The hat looked great on her. She already had a black dress and suitable accessories. Nothing ultra smart, but good quality. Part of the problem was, black suited her. It made a showcase of her colouring. Her hair wasn’t on show, but she couldn’t hide her white skin. But for this very sad occasion, black it had to be. She had no real status even if Marcus had given her that magnificent ring.

On and off for nights she had cried. She felt the tears coming now but she had to fight them back. She had to find and maintain her composure. A young woman in tears would only bring unwelcome attention. Mourners were everywhere. In its way it was a spectacular turnout. Among the dignitaries present, the State Premier, and a representative of the PM, who was out of the country. Marcus Wainwright had been a much respected man, a member of one of the richest and most influential families in the nation.

She made it up the stone steps on shaky legs and through the door of the cathedral. She looked to neither left nor right. A strong arm took hold of hers. She looked up quickly, anticipating trouble. What she saw was a heavily built man filling out a black suit. It was his job, she realized, to keep crowd control. He drew her aside. “Ms Erickson, isn’t it?” he asked, very politely.

“Please take your hand off me,” she said, keeping her tone low.

“You’ve done yourself no good coming here, miss.” He was having difficulty not staring at her, she was so beautiful. “The family, I’m afraid, don’t want you.”

“I’m not here for the family, sir,” Sonya said very quietly. “I’m here for Marcus Wainwright, my dear friend. Now, if you don’t want me to raise my voice—I would regret the necessity, but I will—you’ll take your hand away. Marcus would have wanted me here. Who do the other Wainwrights think they are, anyway?” Her green eyes flashed fire.

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