Книга - The Unconventional Bride

The Unconventional Bride
Lindsay Armstrong


Melissa Ethridge agreed to a marriage of convenience with Etienne Hurst to keep her family property from being sold. But what about giving up her freedom? Mel decides to be an unconventional bride and retain her independence and that includes in the bedroom! But marriage to Etienne isn't what she'd expected.Her new husband wants her, and she finds him incredibly attractive. Should she abandon her marriage rules and become a conventional wife?









“You’re still not sure about marrying me?”


She bestowed a deep blue enigmatic gaze on him. “What do you expect, Etienne? I may have enjoyed kissing you, but that’s a far cry from—” she hesitated “—from…”

“Laying down all your arms?” he suggested.

“I would like to know…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I would like to know if I’m expected to go to bed with you tonight? I mean I know, and accept, that it has to happen sometime, but—” She stopped again.

“I shouldn’t take it as an indication that you’re ready to leap into bed with me?” He reached over to take her hand and fiddled with his wedding ring. “Am I correct in assuming that you’re a virgin, Mel?”


Some of our bestselling writers are Australians!

Lindsay Armstrong…

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Emma Darcy…

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Look out for their novels about the Wonder from Down Under—

where spirited women win the hearts of Australia’s most eligible men.






He’s big, he’s brash, he’s brazen—he’s Australian!

Coming soon:

The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

by

Carol Marinelli

#2372




The Unconventional Bride

Lindsay Armstrong















CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE




CHAPTER ONE


ETIENNE Hurst stood in the cold wind of a grey winter’s day and was amazed to find himself stirred by a woman.

A girl, more accurately, he reflected, and one who had little time for him although he hadn’t seen her for over a year. Had that changed, though, he wondered, changed as she had changed? She would be…nineteen now, he estimated. All grown up, but who would have guessed Melinda Ethridge would grow into this willowy creature, this fascinating, haunting figure, as she farewelled her father and stepmother, who’d been killed in a light-plane crash?

Standing quite still, dressed in black but with her wonderful chestnut hair uncovered, she seemed to be in a world of her own. She wasn’t crying, although there was deep sorrow stamped into the young, pale oval of her face and the pure line of her throat was essentially vulnerable. Nevertheless, her tall, slender figure was erect, even proud, as the wind swirled her long black skirt around her legs and lifted her hair.

Of course, women had stirred him before, he thought rather grimly. There couldn’t be a stranger time for it, however, than while he was making his own farewells to his older sister, Margot, who had been Melinda’s stepmother. Nor could there be much reason to it. Melinda, universally known as Mel, had never got on with her stepmother and, by implication, had included the other member of the Hurst family under the umbrella of her dislike.

However, there was even less reason to it from the point of view that she was so young. At thirty himself, he thought he’d grown out of bright, breathless young things who fell madly in love at the drop of a hat. On top of that—he paused a moment to think of his sister, Margot. She had married Mel’s father four years ago and brought glamour, sophistication and an expensive lifestyle to Raspberry Hill, the Ethridge family property, but at what cost? he wondered.

In other words, if, as he suspected, his beautiful, social-butterfly sister had stretched the family finances to the limit, what lay before Mel Ethridge and her three younger brothers and how much of it was his responsibility?

All the more reason to ignore this sudden fire in his loins, he reasoned with some well-placed irony.

Then she looked up and across at him and her eyes were like deep blue velvet. He saw recognition come to them, saw them widen and stay wide and trapped beneath his gaze until she blinked suddenly and accorded him a grave nod. And he knew he’d been unable to take his own advice in regard to this girl, although she turned to her brothers without a word and began to shepherd them to the waiting cars.




CHAPTER TWO


THREE weeks later, Mel Ethridge was driving a tractor to the storage shed with a load of pineapples in the trailer. It was a pleasant, sunny morning, spring had sprung, and she was feeling a bit better to be out and about and working on Raspberry Hill.

It had been a tough three weeks in more ways than one. Not only had she lost a beloved parent but she’d also made the discovery that Raspberry Hill, a mixed property that grew pineapples and ran fat cattle and was the only home she’d known, was in dire financial straits.

Then she noticed a familiar car, sleek, silver and shining, parked beside the shed—Etienne Hurst’s car.

She sighed but there was no help for it. Etienne was leaning against the car and it was obvious she’d seen him and been seen. Nor was it the first time she’d seen him since the funeral, although prior to it it had been some time. He’d also been out of the country at the time of the accident and had only just got home in time for the funeral.

Since then, as his sister’s next of kin, he’d been present at the reading of the wills, and he knew as well as she did how precarious the situation was. Not only that, if you didn’t dislike him, you had to admit he’d gone out of his way to be helpful to the orphaned Ethridge family.

The problem was, she did dislike him.

She’d resented his sister, who’d married her widowed father out of the blue four years ago and been the root cause of a lot of her problems, and she resented Etienne accordingly; well, that was more or less the scenario.

She brought the tractor to a halt and jumped down. ‘Good day!’ She stripped off her gloves. ‘What can I do for you, Etienne?’

His dark gaze roamed over her dusty jeans, her grease-stained shirt and the bright cotton scarf covering her hair. None of it diminished the slip and flow of a lovely, active figure, the bloom of youth and those amazing eyes.

‘Just came to see how it was going. Good crop this year?’ He gestured to the pineapples.

‘Not bad; we’ve had better, but not bad. Quality is good but,’ she tipped a hand, ‘quantity is down.’ She hauled a pine complete with spiky crown out of the trailer and presented it to him. ‘Take it home; it should be sweet and juicy.’

He weighed it in his hand then placed it on the bonnet. ‘Thanks. How are the cattle going?’

Mel wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m a bit worried about the feed; we didn’t get as much winter rain as we needed but,’ she shrugged, ‘time will tell.’

He grinned. ‘You know what they say about farmers, Mel?’

She shook her head.

‘They’re always complaining.’

Mel folded her arms and studied him comprehensively. He had dark, curly hair and dark eyes, and stamped into his long lines there was not only strength but also magnificent coordination combined with the ability to be very still but supremely alert. An almost hunter-like quality, she’d thought several times, even though he also possessed an easy charm.

Although the more you got know him, the more you began to suspect it didn’t quite hide a cool determination to get his own way. Being possessed of the same trait, a liking for her own way, was not, she foresaw, going to help her in her dealings with him.

She moved at last. ‘You should try it yourself, then you might understand why.’

‘Sorry, only joking,’ he murmured, instantly causing her to feel humourless and pretentious.

To counter it and show him she knew what she was talking about, she offered him a tour of the property.

‘I’d like that—my car or yours?’

She glanced at his clean jeans and pressed short-sleeved blue cotton shirt with flap pockets, then down at herself and finally over to the battered ute she drove. ‘Uh—perhaps we should walk. You’re too clean for my ute and I’m too dirty for your car.’

‘That’s fine with me, although I could put a rug over the seat for you—’

‘No. We’ll walk! Now, first of all,’ she led the way down a path behind the shed, ‘from this little rise you can see the cattle paddocks. Naturally, we rotate them and improve them, so those on the left are “resting” at the moment and,’ she swung her arm, ‘over there you see the herd.’

‘How many head?’

‘About a hundred.’

He said nothing for a moment then stated a figure in dollars.

Mel glanced up at him in surprise because it was a pretty accurate estimate of how much the herd represented to Raspberry Hill in financial terms. ‘You’ve been doing some homework?’

He nodded.

She waited but he said no more so she walked him through a pineapple paddock, showed him the stables where Rimfire, her horse, whickered affectionately and accepted some cube sugar she always kept in her pocket. Then she took him on to her pet project, free-range chickens. Not that she sold the chickens, only the eggs. This time he put some surprisingly astute questions on the cost-profit ratio of the project to her.

‘It’s not that profitable yet,’ she told him, ‘but to be quite honest I don’t care if it never is. I’m passionate about the abolition of battery hens.’

He looked at her keenly. ‘I believe there are a few things you’re passionate about.’

‘Well, yes, I guess there are,’ she conceded. ‘I can’t abide cruelty to animals, or anyone, so I’m a paid-up member of Amnesty International and I raise money for the RSPCA. And since I began to worry about the environment I’ve joined Greenpeace.’

Etienne Hurst’s first instinct was amusement but they were leaning side by side against the fence watching her flock of chickens, and she was so unconsciously lovely in her very serious defence of so much his next sentiment was affection.

All the same, he cautioned himself, do-gooders, especially if they didn’t have a sense of humour, could be hard work at times.

Then he frowned at another thought. ‘How come you seem to run the whole farm, Mel?’

‘When I left school it was all I wanted to do,’ she answered. ‘So I persuaded Dad to let me help and as he and Margot began to travel more and more I—took over more and more. But…’ She paused.

‘Go on,’ he invited.

‘Well, I guess it was becoming obvious we needed an injection of cash for fence improvements, a new dam, a new tractor and so on, but Dad kept deferring it all.’

‘For which you blame me?’ he suggested.

Mel took a breath. ‘Not at all.’

‘Then why do I get the impression you view me along with cane toads and other undesirables?’

Mel coloured and bit her lip.

‘I know you didn’t get on with Margot but I fail to see what that has to do with me,’ he said. ‘Especially now.’

‘I don’t like to say this because I’m sure you’re grieving as much as I am, Etienne, but, since you brought it up, Raspberry Hill started to go downhill from the time Dad married Margot.’

‘She made him happy,’ he pointed out. And when Mel looked uncomfortable, he added, ‘There were also other factors involved. Investments that didn’t turn out well, for example, but I admit that Margot always had expensive tastes.’

Mel watched her busy chickens, heads down and bottoms up, as they enjoyed their large, grassy run and all the choice titbits it offered. Then she turned and looked towards the homestead, situated on a headland that overlooked the waters of the Curtis Coast and, from this angle, silhouetted against the skyline. It was a sprawling old wooden Queenslander beneath a green tin roof, and now, thanks to Etienne’s sister, it was fully restored and a treasure trove of antiques, whereas before it had been a big, untidy but comfortable family home.

But was it fair to transfer her animosity to Margot’s brother? she wondered. And why was she conscious of a feeling of being at sixes and sevens in his company—aware of him—in a way that didn’t often happen to her?

Was it just the usual effect he had on the opposite sex?

‘Uh—she certainly had marvellous taste,’ she said by way of turning aside her thoughts about Etienne Hurst as a man as well as not wishing to speak ill of the dead and regretting her earlier comments on his sister. ‘Anyway, I don’t think there’s much more I can show you, Etienne, but—’ She stopped on a sudden thought. ‘If there’s anything from the house you’d like as a memento of Margot—would you like to come up and have a look?’

He considered. ‘There is a miniature of our mother—’

‘Oh, I know it! It’s still on the dresser in their bedroom. Let’s go up now.’

This time he wouldn’t take no for an answer and insisted on driving her to the house in his car. Mrs Bedwell, who had been the housekeeper at Raspberry Hill for as long as Mel could remember, came out to greet them.

‘Just in time for lunch,’ Mrs Bedwell enthused. ‘I’ve set the table here on the veranda.’

‘But,’ Mel bit her tongue, ‘I mean, I’m not sure if Etienne has time for lunch—’

‘Of course he does!’ Mrs Bedwell resembled a tall, grey but colourfully attired stork and was renowned for her meddling. ‘Now, you just sit down, Mr Hurst—how about a beer? It’s such a lovely, hot day! I’ll get you one and that will give Mel a chance to duck under the shower.’

Mel opened and closed her mouth as Etienne replied that he could do with a beer, thank you very much, and Mrs Bedwell caught her wrist and steered her inside.

‘Will you stop pushing me around?’ she said to Mrs Bedwell once they were out of earshot. ‘And how can you give him lunch when you’ve only just laid eyes on him, and how about consulting me first before you issue invitations left, right and centre?’

‘How? It’s simple—I saw him drive in, I give you lunch every day and if you think I can’t stretch it to two you don’t know me very well, Mel! As for issuing invitations left, right and centre, I just knew it would never cross your mind to do it so I figured I might as well do it for you. You’ve got ten minutes!’

‘But why do we need him to come to lunch?’ Mel protested.

Mrs Bedwell put her hands on her hips. ‘Only you could be so thick, Mel. Now, you just do as you’re told and make sure you’re nice to him!’

Mel regarded Mrs Bedwell’s retreating back with smouldering eyes despite the fact that she was extremely fond of her, then she shrugged and went to shower.



Fifteen minutes later, she came out onto the veranda in clean jeans and a floral blouse and carrying the miniature carefully wrapped up in tissue paper. She’d run the gauntlet of Mrs Bedwell again, to be asked in exasperated tones why she couldn’t have worn a dress, and had answered simply that it hadn’t crossed her mind.

‘Sorry,’ she sat down opposite Etienne, who rose briefly, ‘to have left you alone like this but Mrs Bedwell is a stickler for the niceties.’

He looked at his watch then took in her appearance. All the dust and grease had disappeared. Her hair, released from the scarf, rippled and glinted like new pennies in a well-brushed loose cascade to her shoulders and her skin was smooth and fresh.

‘I was prepared for at least half an hour, so you did well.’ He reached for his beer but for some reason their gazes locked.

Something trickled along Mel’s nerve-endings as she couldn’t look away, a strange little frisson that made her feel excited but also vulnerable and somehow at the mercy of this man.

Then he cut the eye contact but not before Mel remembered the look she’d intercepted from him three weeks earlier. A look that, in the most surprising circumstances, had held her trapped at the sheer unexpectedness of it. It came back to her now, and left her posing a question to herself.

For the first time since she’d known him, was Etienne Hurst looking at her as a woman rather than a troublesome tomboy who’d always made it clear she didn’t like him? But, perhaps more pertinently, was she responding in kind to it?

‘How are the boys?’

She blinked and tried to deal with the change of subject smoothly as she thought of her three brothers, Justin, Ewan and Tosh, aged fifteen, twelve and ten respectively. ‘As well as can be expected. Still lost and bewildered. Tosh was having nightmares so I got him a puppy.’ She grimaced.

Tosh, short for Thomas, which Ewan hadn’t been able to pronounce so the baby name of Tosh had stuck, had been allowed to choose his puppy. The result was a three-month-old tan and white Jack Russell he’d named Batman, who was almost as mischievous and trouble-prone as his new owner. Although, since Batman had been allowed to sleep on Tosh’s bed, the nightmares had stopped.

‘Talking of Batman,’ Mel added as Mrs Bedwell came on the veranda pushing a trolley, ‘where is the little monster?’

Mrs Bedwell laid before them a minor feast. Cold chicken and ham, a green salad, her home-grown and cooked beetroot, new potatoes in their jackets sprinkled with parsley and drizzled with garlic butter and warm crusty rolls. ‘That dratted dog,’ she intoned, ‘is asleep, thank the lord!’

‘What’s he done this morning?’ Mel asked with resignation.

‘You wouldn’t want to know! There.’ Mrs Bedwell stood back. ‘Enjoy your lunch!’

The smile of thanks Etienne Hurst bestowed on her was dazzling and she retreated indoors in some disarray, causing Mel to think darkly that she resented being included in the universal effect on women this man had, however, well, slightly intoxicating it was.

‘So you’re not working today, Etienne?’ she queried as they started their lunch.

‘I am. I’m just taking a few hours off to make sure you’re coping, Mel.’

She broke open a roll and buttered it. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a battle, obviously, but—’

‘It’s going to be an uphill battle, Mel,’ he broke in, ‘let’s not beat about the bush. All your profits are going to go in repaying the mortgage on Raspberry Hill.’

She looked up, deep concern in her blue eyes. ‘Surely not. I mean, I can’t believe Dad would have let it get to this stage.’

‘Mel, as I probably don’t need to tell you, seasonal irregularities have made pineapples a dicey crop at the moment. Raspberry Hill would not have been the only property affected—it’s why more and more people have diversified. So it wasn’t so much that your father “let it get to this stage”. If anything the weather has been the problem or at least a significant part of it.’

She said nothing.

He put his knife and fork down. ‘But things having happened the way they have may mean that you have to face the fact that you won’t be able to save Raspberry Hill.’

Mel said huskily, ‘I can’t believe that. We all love it so much, the boys as much as I do.’

‘They…they’re young, Mel,’ he said.

‘Young enough to get over it? I don’t know. It’s also a unifying factor in our lives and our heritage.’ She stared at her plate with deep distress then pushed it impatiently away half-finished. ‘I will not,’ the distress was suddenly replaced with determination, ‘give up, Etienne. Whatever it takes to save Raspberry Hill I will do.’

‘Such as?’

The question came with businesslike precision.

‘I may have to subdivide it. That’s one thing I’ve been thinking of,’ she said slowly.

‘It’s a possibility,’ he agreed. ‘But then you face the prospect of a smaller holding being unviable.’

Mel swallowed hard. ‘Maybe a guest farm? I think there’s a market for real country experience holidays.’

Something in his dark gaze softened but he didn’t respond.

‘What’s so silly about that?’ she asked tartly.

‘It’s not that it’s silly but you’d need capital to start it off.’

‘A lot of misguided capital has been spent on this house,’ she said.

‘I take your point,’ he replied evenly, ‘but it may not be that easy to realise. There’s also the problem of who is going to stand in loco parentis of three young boys.’

Mel was crumbling what was left of her roll into tiny pieces as she struggled with perhaps the greatest of her problems, when a ball of white and tan fur erupted onto the veranda and Batman leapt onto her lap. He licked her face profusely, knocked her side-plate off the table then leapt down to do an ecstatic jig along the floorboards.

Mrs Bedwell arrived hot on his heels and scooped him up in her arms. ‘You little wretch! As if I haven’t got enough to do without babysitting you—why on earth didn’t that plate break?’

Etienne got up. ‘Here, I’ll take him. Whoa!’ he said as the dog was put in his arms. ‘No licking, mate!’ He sat down with him and Batman subsided with an ecstatic expression as he was scratched behind his ears.

‘You like dogs?’ Mel asked, still blinking at the whirlwind events that had just overtaken her.

‘Sure. I even had one of these as a kid. He was also as mad as a hatter but very loyal.’

She frowned. ‘I can’t picture that.’

‘Me or the dog?’

‘Uh—you.’

‘You assumed I came into the world all grown up?’

‘Truth to tell, since you had a French mother and both have—had—French names,’ she amended, ‘I’ve always associated you with an exotic background rather than a kid with a dog. I know Margot was born in Vanuatu.’

‘She was but I was born right here in Gladstone, and other than for the name,’ he looked humorous for a moment, ‘I escaped a lot of the exotic influence our French mother exerted on Margot. Our father was a fair-dinkum Aussie.’

‘You certainly sound like one. While she was certainly the essence of chic,’ Mel murmured and frowned again. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you didn’t seem to be very close. Although, of course, I could be quite wrong—but we didn’t see much of you at Raspberry Hill at all.’

He stared into a space for a moment, then down at the contented dog in his arms. ‘No, we weren’t that close. She was ten years older, which is quite a gap, but I guess the other reason is that my business has really expanded in the last five or six years so I’ve had my nose to the grindstone a lot.’

‘Hurst Engineering & Shipping,’ Mel said. ‘I don’t know about having your nose to the grindstone—I once heard Margot put it as “empire building”.’

He shrugged and looked amused.

‘Not only Margot. Even Justin is impressed,’ she added.

‘As a matter of fact, he came to see me about getting a part-time job last week.’

Mel’s eyes widened. ‘He didn’t tell me that!’

‘He—er—never shared your dislike, mistrust or whatever it was of me.’

Mel coloured but it was true. Despite their initial opposition to sharing their father with a stepmother, none of the boys, for that matter, had continued their resentment of Margot nor applied it to Etienne. None of them had realised how the property was going downhill either, she reminded herself drily.

‘Did you give him a job?’

‘I told him I would have one for him in the next school holidays, with your approval.’

‘That’s very good of you,’ Mel said.

‘Getting back to the boys,’ Etienne said, I—’

Mel scraped back her chair and stood up. ‘Etienne, I appreciate your concern but it’s really not your problem.’

Batman pricked up his ears.

Etienne looked down at him then up at Mel. Her expression was one of pride and dignity and it came to him that she could be exasperating at times. It also came to him that in some respects she’d led a very sheltered life, cocooned amongst her family and on Raspberry Hill, and might be less worldly than a lot of girls of her age.

Yet, contrary to what he’d expected, the attraction he’d experienced the day of the funeral was still there. Even looking so proud and unreasonably stubborn, she stirred him. The line of her throat fascinated him. The way she squared her shoulders, always a preliminary to saying something designed to tell him he wasn’t liked or trusted even if not in so many words, drew his attention to the curves of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist and the flare of her hips.

Was she at all aware of the effect she had on him, though? he wondered. What would her reaction be if he revealed his preoccupation with her figure?

‘OK,’ he said, ostensibly to the dog. ‘I rest my case—for the time being. But if you need me, just let me know.’

‘I will,’ Mel agreed.

‘And now I really must go,’ he said politely but with a glint in his eye that indicated to her he knew she was barely able to wait to get rid of him. ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ he added, by way, she was quite sure, of adding salt to the wound.

‘I’ll pass your thanks on to Mrs Bedwell. It was all her doing,’ she replied with excessive politeness of her own.

He put Batman down and got up. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, Mel,’ he said softly.

Although she was five feet eight, he was a head taller, which put her at a disadvantage she rarely suffered. It didn’t stop her from saying haughtily, however, ‘Such as?’ as if it was inconceivable she should do anything she might regret.

But as he took his time about answering she realised her heart was beating a little erratically and that strange mixture of excitement and wariness was coursing through her veins again. Why? she wondered. How could he, just by looking at her in a certain way, produce this result in her?

He wasn’t even looking at her in that certain way right now, not as if he had her trapped in his sights as a woman to ponder about. If anything, he was looking down at her with lazy amusement, which didn’t, most unfairly, stop her new awareness of him flooding her.

‘Such as kicking the dog,’ he said softly.

‘I’ve never kicked a dog in my life!’

‘You just had that look about you. But there’s no reason to be incensed over anything,’ he raised an eyebrow, ‘that I know of.’

She set her teeth then unset them. ‘Goodbye, Etienne.’

‘Au revoir, Mel; not quite the same thing.’




CHAPTER THREE


‘YOU didn’t tell me you’d asked Etienne for a job in your holidays, Justin.’

‘I was going to present it to you as a fait accompli.’

The two younger boys were in bed and Mel and Justin were watching television in the den, the one room in the house that had escaped Margot’s make-over. The one room where you didn’t have to be careful of the furniture, could eat snacks and drink drinks with impunity and no one cared if you put your feet up on the battered old leather couch.

‘Why? I mean, why couldn’t you have told me?’

Justin was tall for his age, exceedingly bright and he had Mel’s blue eyes and chestnut hair. He flicked the remote and changed the channel, causing his sister to grit her teeth.

‘You’re not always reasonable on the subject of the Hurst family, beloved,’ he said, and went on flicking through the channels.

Mel grabbed the remote from him and switched the television off.

‘See what I mean?’ Justin offered.

‘That had nothing to do with the Hursts,’ she denied. ‘I can’t stand the way you switch from programme to programme!’

‘Only to avoid the ads.’

‘I like the ads; well, not precisely but,’ she looked heavenwards, ‘whatever, can we just talk?’

‘OK. It occurred to me that we have a few financial problems and that, as the oldest male, I should try and buck in and help.’

‘Fair enough,’ Mel said slowly, ‘but why Etienne?’

‘You may not know this, Mel, but he’s very successful. He took advantage of Gladstone being the largest port in Queensland and the fourth largest in the country to build up a marine-engineering works and a shipping agency.’

‘Granted,’ she said slowly.

Despite only being a medium-sized town in a rural area, the port of Gladstone handled millions of tonnes of coal, bauxite, alumina and other minerals and substances. It offered a deep-water port protected by close offshore islands, it was only ten or twelve days’ distance from the Asia Pacific region and was endowed with plenty of energy resources—water, coal and natural gas.

‘But still—why Etienne?’ she asked.

Justin looked at her ironically. ‘How many other millionaires do we know, Mel? Not only that but he’s also almost part of the family.’

Mel opened her mouth to deny this but closed it immediately.

‘How bad are things, Mel?’ Justin said into the silence.

‘Not good,’ she conceded.

‘Mrs B told me he came to lunch today.’

‘Mrs B invited him to lunch—well, he did come out to see how we were going.’

‘I never could work out what you’ve got against him!’

‘You’re not a girl,’ she retorted.

‘Plenty of girls find him irresistible, so I hear—is that it?’ Justin enquired. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve always had a crush on him!’

‘I have not,’ Mel contradicted. ‘And from what I’ve heard they’re not precisely girls either.’

‘Women, then,’ Justin said, ‘or whatever the technical term is. What have you heard?’

She shrugged. ‘You know that lighthouse he’s leased and renovated? Apparently there’s been a stream of gorgeous, sophisticated, definitely women more than happy to spend time with him up there.’

‘What a glorious thought!’ Justin laid his head on the settee. ‘I’ll have to ask him how he does it.’

‘Justin,’ Mel warned.

Her brother laughed softly. ‘If you could see your face! OK. Is that why you disapprove of him?’

Mel was truly tempted to tell her brother that she had the sneaking suspicion Etienne Hurst had, out of the blue, taken an interest in her along entirely different lines from the fate of his sister’s stepchildren, but she stopped herself.

‘Uh—no. That has nothing to do with me. He…he’s urging me to sell Raspberry Hill, well, not urging exactly but he pointed out today that there may be no other way to go.’ She stopped and sighed.

‘Oh, hell.’ Justin sat up and reached for her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Mel. I knew things weren’t good but I didn’t realise it was that bad. What will we do? I can’t imagine losing this place.’ He looked around.

Not to mention each other, Mel didn’t say, but it was the core problem she always came back to.

‘I’m certainly not going to give up without a fight! The accountant will have a clearer picture in a few days—’

‘I can always leave school right now,’ Justin broke in.

‘No! I mean, no, it hasn’t come to that yet. And don’t pass any of this on to Tosh or Ewan.’

Justin cast her a speaking look. ‘What do you think I am? I know, you’re still thinking of the rum-rampage, but I’ve reformed.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of that at all, but I hope you have!’

He grinned at her, although a touch ashamedly, and presently took himself off to bed, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She began to tidy up absently, but one thing Justin had said stuck in her mind. It was something she’d never admitted to herself in so many words but there had been a time when Etienne had occupied her dreams. At fifteen, for a while, she’d thought about him rather a lot. However, she’d been so sure she was beneath his notice, it had all died a natural death.

She stopped what she was doing with a tennis racket in one hand and a pair of roller-blades in the other—or had it? Perhaps she’d resented being completely beneath his notice and it had been a contributing factor to her so-called dislike of him?

She put the racket in a wooden locker and the roller-blades on a shelf. Not an edifying thought, she conceded. But did that explain the effect he was having on her at the moment?

She couldn’t come up with an answer so she took herself to bed, not dreaming that she would have to encounter Etienne Hurst the very next day.



It started out like any other spring day.

Cool, dry and crisp but giving promise of becoming hot and glorious. Until she noticed a plume of smoke coming from one of the ‘resting’ paddocks, and raced down to find a bush fire. She called the fire brigade immediately but the difficulty was water; no convenient mains to hook up to, only a small dam a fair way from the fire.

And she worked as frenziedly as any of the firemen to contain it. There were no casual hands working on the property that day to help so she deployed a bag and a shovel with the best of them, resisting Mrs Bedwell’s entreaties to leave it to the men, until her bag was taken out of her fingers and she was bodily removed from the area of flames.

‘Who…? What?’ she spluttered. ‘Let me go! If I lose this feed—’

‘Shut up, Mel,’ Etienne Hurst said. ‘You’ve done enough.’

‘I haven’t!’

But she was clamped into a strong pair of arms and held there until she subsided, panting, against his chest.

‘How did you know about the fire?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘Mrs Bedwell rang me. She was convinced you were killing yourself.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘You don’t look too good.’ He held her away and raised his eyebrows.

‘If you think I care how I look—’ But before she could finish tears welled in her eyes and brimmed over, making rivulets in the soot on her cheeks.

He pulled her back into his arms. ‘I think you’re extraordinarily brave. Why don’t you have a good cry?’

‘I will,’ she wept, ‘but only because I’m…I don’t know what! I never cry,’ she added in extreme frustration.

But cry she did for a couple of minutes. Then it occurred to her that she didn’t feel like crying any more; she felt, on the contrary, safe and secure and as if she could stay in Etienne Hurst’s arms for a lot longer.

She moved her cheek against his shirt and was visited by an extraordinary mental image—rather than being hot, tired and dirty, she pictured herself rising out of a woodland stream in filtered sunlight, naked and with water streaming off her body. Natural enough since she was hot, tired and dirty, she conceded, but how on earth did Etienne get into the picture?

Why was he there, waiting for her at the edge of the pool and taking the slim, satiny length of her into his arms?

‘Er—’ she blinked rapidly and cleared her throat as she desperately tried to clear her mind, and she looked up at him bemusedly ‘—th-thank you. How’s it going?’

He studied her pink cheeks then glanced over her shoulder. ‘It’s out. But they’ll stay a while to keep an eye on it. What you need is a wash and a drink.’

He picked her up and carried her over to her ute. ‘Since we’re both dirty this time,’ he said to her with his lips quirking, ‘we’ll use yours.’ He set her on her feet.

Mel gasped as she realised that she’d transferred a considerable amount of her dirt to him. There were black streaks on his otherwise pristine white shirt and mud on his moleskins and shoes. ‘I’m so sorry!’

‘That’s OK,’ he said easily. ‘In you get.’

She climbed in and he drove them up to the house, commenting along the way that she needed to get her suspension and brakes checked.

‘What I need,’ she said ruefully, ‘is a whole new vehicle.’

‘There must be other vehicles—what about the cars your father and Margot drove?’ he queried.

She hesitated. ‘I had to sell them to pay some bills.’

‘You should have consulted me first, Mel.’

‘To be honest, it didn’t cross my mind,’ she replied, ‘but what could you have done? The bank manager explained to me that, whereas my father had a credit rating, I have none. Oh, he was very kind and concerned and he explained that, while he’d been quite sure Dad would have pulled Raspberry Hill through this reverse, I was a different matter.’ She tipped a hand and sighed.

‘I see,’ he said slowly.

‘Not that it’s any of your—’

‘Any of my business,’ he agreed sardonically. ‘Don’t you think you’ve worn that one a bit thin, Mel?’

She glanced across at him and for a moment it crossed her mind to tell him that to have someone like him to lean on during these awful times would be like the answer to prayers she’d yet to pray. But the realisation of this came rather like a blow to her solar plexus and she moved restlessly and sighed in relief when the house came in view. Because it offered the hope of refuge from all the conflicting, bewildering emotions—not to mention strange fantasies—she was subject to.

It was not to be. Mrs Bedwell received her with open arms and immediately began to shepherd her away to get cleaned up.

‘A brandy might be appropriate,’ Etienne murmured.

‘Good thinking, I’ll bring you one too,’ Mrs Bedwell said over her shoulder as Batman screamed out of the house and took a flying leap into Etienne’s arms. ‘Glory be, if nothing else you’ve made a hit with the damn dog!’ she added.



‘This is becoming a habit,’ Mel said as she rejoined Etienne half an hour later. They were on the veranda because, although he’d washed up and scraped the mud off his shoes, his clothes were still dirty.

‘Mmm,’ he agreed and poured her a brandy from the decanter on a silver tray Mrs Bedwell had provided along with a dish of nuts and olives.

Her hair was still wet and she wore her clean jeans and floral blouse. Her feet were bare and her expression was still somewhat dazed.

Etienne waited until she’d sipped some of the brandy before saying, ‘Mel, are there any other unpaid bills?’

‘A couple.’ She shrugged.

‘Why isn’t your accountant helping you to deal with them?’

She looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘His bill is one of them.’

He paused for a beat, then, ‘I’d like to see them.’

Her gaze clashed with his and she squared her shoulders but he said with soft menace, ‘Don’t.’

‘What?’ she uttered crisply.

‘Tell me it’s none of my business.’

‘It isn’t,’ she insisted.

He looked around, through the French doors to the elegant sitting room that opened onto the front veranda with its beautiful Persian carpet, its antiques and graceful chairs. ‘She was my sister,’ he said, with the planes and angles of his face suddenly hard.

‘She may have been but I don’t want any charity.’ Mel fortified herself with another sip of brandy and raised her chin.

‘You infuriating…’ He drew a breath and forced himself to relax. What was it, he wondered at the same time, that attracted him to this often prickly, difficult girl? Other than the obvious, he thought drily, such as a gorgeous figure she seemed to be unaware of, long, shapely legs she persisted in covering up and a lovely face.

Just that, perhaps? Her lack of awareness of her physical attributes? Along with a good splash of cussed independence, of course, he added to himself, and moved restlessly.

‘Uh—I wasn’t talking about charity,’ he said. ‘There’s a way of dealing with creditors other than selling off the farm, speaking metaphorically. What you need to do is keep in touch, advise them of your difficulties, ask for extensions—and come up with a plan. That’s what I could do for you.’ He looked at her ironically.

Mel lowered her chin and her shoulders slumped. ‘All right. So long as—’

She didn’t finish because the look in his eyes told her it would be dangerous in the extreme to do so. ‘Thank you,’ she said instead with a slight tremor in her voice.

He sat back and finished his drink. ‘What are you doing tonight?’

Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Nothing. The usual, I mean. The boys will be home from school soon, so… Why?’

‘You don’t think it might be an idea to have a break from Raspberry Hill and all its problems?’

‘As in?’

‘As in dinner at a restaurant, nothing else,’ he said laconically.

‘Just you and I?’

‘Just you and I, Mel. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ she assured him hastily, ‘except that I might fall asleep. I—’ she put her head back, stretched her neck and moved her head round a couple of times, ‘—I guess I did more—’

‘More fire-fighting than you should have,’ he completed for her. ‘All right, we’ll take a rain check.’ He stood up. ‘But I’ll take the bills home with me.’

‘Well,’ she temporised, ‘I—’

‘Now, Mel.’

Despite her stiffness and feeling of exhaustion, she bounced up. ‘Do you have any idea how dictatorial you are, Etienne?’

‘Yes,’ he drawled. ‘It’s a good way to get things done. I’m not going home without them,’ he warned.

She expressed herself colourfully.

He grinned, and added insult to injury by patting her on the head. ‘Just get them, kid.’

‘No! I refuse to be treated like a kid let alone called one,’ she said through her teeth and stood her ground.

‘Well,’ his eyes glinted, ‘there are ways of dealing with stubborn women that you might prefer.’ He put one arm around her, bent her back against it and kissed her thoroughly.

When he’d finished, Mel came up for air absolutely lost for words and unbelievably conscious of a flood of sensations rushing through her right down to the tips of her toes.

Her lips felt bruised; she touched them involuntarily, but although his kiss had been a violation—she’d neither expected it nor asked for it—by some sort of subtle chemistry it had also been fascinating. While she was pressing against him, with his fingers stroking her throat, her skin had felt like silk, her breasts had tightened, and it had suddenly occurred to her that her hips were deliciously curved beneath his hand—something she’d not given much thought to before.

To make matters worse, her woodland-nymph fantasy had come right back to mind…

‘Well,’ he said with a lurking smile, ‘you’re right and I was wrong. You certainly don’t feel like a child.’

His gaze skimmed down her body then he waited as a tide of colour rushed into her cheeks, but words escaped her. He smiled a strange little smile. ‘May I have the bills now?’

Her lips parted and she breathed deeply, but that was a mistake because it brought the whole smoky, wonderful essence of Etienne Hurst to her—as if she wasn’t already dizzy with the taste and feel of him—and all he could think of were her bills.

She made an odd sound in her throat, whirled around and disappeared indoors.

But she didn’t take the bills out to him. She seconded Mrs Bedwell to do it and took refuge in her bedroom.

Several minutes later Mrs Bedwell knocked on the door and came in. ‘He said to say thanks. He said to tell you he’ll be back in a couple of days with a plan… What’s wrong with you, Mel?’

‘Nothing,’ Mel replied, although she was sitting on her bed hugging herself.

‘You look a bit shook up,’ Mrs Bedwell observed slowly. ‘You know, there was really no need for you to go fire-fighting like that.’

‘There’s every need for me to fight certain fires—uh—Mrs B, would you do me a favour?’ Mel stopped hugging herself and looked up at her housekeeper.

‘Sure.’

But Mel took an exasperated breath because to ask her housekeeper to stop calling on Etienne Hurst and inviting him to lunch could have unforeseen consequences, knowing Mrs Bedwell as she did. ‘Nothing.’

‘OK.’ Mrs Bedwell shrugged. ‘What do you mean about “certain” fires?’

‘It was just a figure of speech, Mrs B.’ She got up and tried to collect herself. ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder about!’ It was Mrs Bedwell’s stock answer and, having delivered it, she bestowed one more curious glance on Mel, and then left her to herself.




CHAPTER FOUR


FOUR days later, Etienne was back.

Four terribly anxious days for Mel, since she’d received advice through her solicitor that, as she had no close relatives, the Department of Family Services would be looking into the situation of her brothers.

This time, she was presiding over coffee and homemade shortbread while trying her best to be composed and as if she’d never been kissed witless by this man.

It was a sparkling day as early spring graced the region, and from the vantage point of Raspberry Hill the waters of the Narrows glinted in the sun and the mock-orange bushes below the veranda were scenting the air.

For some reason she had dressed up for this encounter, well, as much as she ever dressed up, which was to say that she wore a three-quarter flared denim skirt belted into her waist and a fresh white blouse. Her hair was tied back in a white scrunchie.

In contrast, Etienne, in jeans, a khaki bush shirt and short boots, looked much more like a farmer than she did.

He’d greeted her casually and with absolutely no reference to their last encounter. He’d also put a buff folder on the table but made no mention of it, although she couldn’t help her eyes being drawn to it frequently.

So they made small talk while they drank their coffee and Batman made his usual fuss of Etienne.

Then she could stand the suspense no longer. ‘Have you—’ she cleared her throat ‘—have you come up with a plan, Etienne?’

He drummed his fingers on the folder then he put Batman down and got up to stroll over to the railing and stare out over the view for a couple of minutes.

Finally he turned to her, folded his arms and said, ‘I think it would be a good idea if we got married, Mel.’

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Is that the plan?’ she said eventually then added stupidly, ‘Why me?’

He allowed himself a brief smile and from then on divided his attention between her and the sparkling view. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Raspberry Hill needs a lot of help, the boys need a father figure, and you yourself could do with a steadying hand to steer you down the right path.’

Sheer rage glinted out of her deep blue eyes. ‘How dare you?’

He observed her white face and pinched nostrils with, if anything, a trace of wryness.

‘Mel,’ he said, ‘you obviously have no resources to go on.’ He gestured to the folder lying on the table. ‘The only way to deal with that is either to declare yourself bankrupt or sell the place.’

‘No!’

‘Believe me,’ he murmured.

She started to feel icy cold. ‘But—anyway, I don’t see what that’s got to do with me needing a steadying hand!’

He shrugged. ‘You do have a slightly erratic reputation.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Did you or did you not,’ he looked humorous, ‘attempt to ride your horse into the Gladstone Council Chambers last year, thereby causing all sorts of chaos, and what about the famous rum party you gave only six months ago?’

‘Speaking chronologically,’ she replied through her teeth, ‘when I found Rimfire he was just a bag of bones. I couldn’t believe anyone could treat a horse that badly and I didn’t see why they shouldn’t be prosecuted, but getting the council to agree was another matter. So I decided to take it right to their doorstep.’

‘I see. But you not only caused a debacle in the centre of town, you also frightened the life out of the clerk on the door.’

‘If she hadn’t started screaming, Rimfire wouldn’t have spooked. But no one was hurt,’ she pointed out.

‘There could have been an element of luck in that. How about the party?’

‘As I told the magistrate,’ she replied with all the hauteur she could muster, ‘it got gatecrashed by some hoons. They brought the rum and they caused all the damage.’

‘All the same, you’re still saddled with not the Boston tea party but the Raspberry Hill rum-rampage tag—and you didn’t come away without a warning, Mel.’

‘That’s because I…’ she paused and twined her fingers together ‘…well, in the confusion I hit a policeman who was mistakenly trying to arrest me.’

‘I believe you didn’t have permission from your father to hold that party, Mel, because he was away at the time and unable to protect you from hoons and gatecrashers.’

She looked briefly uncomfortable. ‘I’m nineteen. Quite old enough to hold a party off my own bat, I would have thought. OK! I was wrong, but it could have happened to anyone.’

‘They say trouble attracts trouble,’ he observed.

‘And it could be said,’ she responded sweetly, ‘that marriage to you sounds like a term at a reform school. No, thank you, Etienne. I appreciate your concern for Raspberry Hill and the boys but we’ll manage somehow.’

‘What about my concern for you?’

Mel opened her mouth then shut it rather sharply as that cool, alert gaze of his drifted over her. And once again she found herself trapped in his sights, his sole focus, and experiencing the twin sensations of being hunted and quivering inwardly with the memory of his mouth on hers, his hard body against her…

She came out of her reverie with a jolt as he said her name questioningly.

‘Uh—what kind of concern is that?’

He smiled. ‘I think you have the makings of good wife material.’

She raised her eyebrows imperiously. ‘Is that so? Forgive me, but I think you’re quite wrong. Mainly because I have no aspirations to be anyone’s wife but least of all yours.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, that aside, the alternative is to sell off Raspberry Hill and see Justin, Ewan and Tosh go into foster care.’

‘No!’ She said it quite definitely.

‘Just no?’

‘Even if I have to sell Raspberry Hill, I’ll be able to make a home for them somewhere!’

‘Mel, you’re still only nineteen; I don’t think a court would even consider placing them in your care. And Raspberry Hill is mortgaged to the hilt. There won’t be any money to spare.’

‘Thanks to your sister,’ she shot back.

‘Not entirely,’ he returned coolly. ‘And she may have been my sister but perhaps you should examine your real reason for disliking her as much as you did.’

Mel flinched then opted for honesty with a queer little sigh. ‘OK, I was as jealous as hell. We’d had Dad on his own for so long after our mother died then, well, he was besotted with Margot, but the fact remains that—’ she looked around with sudden tears in her eyes ‘—it did all start to go downhill after he married her.’

‘You wouldn’t have that problem with me.’

Mel wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and stared stonily out to sea as she examined the unpalatable truth of this.

‘It’s still…’ she shook her head in frustration ‘…it just doesn’t make sense. We don’t even know each other that well. Look, I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful—most girls would probably jump at the chance but…I guess I’m not most girls,’ she finished rather lamely, and stood up.

‘And I probably wouldn’t be doing this if you were,’ he murmured and straightened. ‘But I don’t believe there’s any other way for you to go.’ He contemplated her silently.

Mel took an unexpected breath beneath that suddenly authoritative dark glance—it was like running into a brick wall. In a moment, it brought home to her that Etienne Hurst had made up his mind to marry her and would ruthlessly follow it through. Not only that, despite reeling inwardly, she also discovered herself to be in very strange territory on another front.

It was the most amazing sensation. One part of her was outraged to think he believed he could offer her marriage out of the blue and that she would keel over immediately and accept. While the other half was undoubtedly impressed not only by his authority and power but also by him as a man.

What qualities about him, she wondered, were capable of causing her to fantasise about him at the same time as she hated his arrogance?

She wasn’t left to wonder for long. He strolled over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Think about it, Miss Ethridge, but in the meantime perhaps this will help you to see the light.’

He kissed her again, not deeply this time, but lingeringly and quite sufficiently for one of those qualities in him she’d pondered so recently to leap out at her—raw sex appeal.

In fact, everything about him appealed to her in those moments and the feel of his lean, hard body drew a primitive response from her own body. A yearning to be captured by him and brought gloriously alive in the most intimate way, so much so—and so much did it take her by surprise—she gasped beneath his mouth and shuddered beneath his hands.

He lifted his head and looked into her wide, stunned eyes with the faintest smile twisting his lips.

‘I’ll be back,’ he said, and she wasn’t sure whether it was a threat or a promise.

Whatever it was, it kept her rooted to the spot while he strode down the steps towards his car. How long she would have been paralysed like that she was not to know if it hadn’t been for Mrs Bedwell.

With her trademark stalk, reminiscent of a tall, thin bird, Mrs Bedwell came round the corner of the house to waylay Etienne just before he got to his car.

Having had Mrs Bedwell meddle in her life for as long as she could remember, Mel came out of her reverie and slipped discreetly inside. She sprinted down the hall towards the study, from where she would be closest to the drive.

So that, lurking beneath the study window, she heard Mrs Bedwell say to Etienne, ‘Mr Hurst, I think that’s a very good idea of yours.’

‘You do?’ came Etienne’s reply. ‘What idea is that?’

‘The idea of marrying Mel. I’ve been going crazy trying to work out what’s to become of them since their father died. And your sister,’ she added conscientiously.

There was silence and Mel peeped over the study window sill to see Etienne stopped in his tracks by Mrs Bedwell’s eavesdropping habits.

Which Mrs Bedwell took full advantage of to continue volubly, ‘You see, I always did reckon Mel was born one gene short. For that matter, Justin is turning out the same, and as for Tosh…’ Mrs Bedwell threw up her hands and shook her head.

‘I don’t think I quite understand,’ Etienne murmured, as Mel’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

‘They never stop to think, that gene,’ Mrs Bedwell elucidated. ‘Got it from their mother, they did. With all the best intentions in the world she was never out of trouble! I told Mel people wouldn’t take kindly to her taking her horse to the council, I told her not to hold that party—believe me, there’s a million things I’ve told her not to do, but once she gets a bee in her bonnet there’s no stopping her. Where will she end, I keep wondering, without someone strong like you?’

‘I…see,’ Etienne replied cautiously.

‘Then,’ Mrs Bedwell placed her hand on Etienne’s arm and stared confidingly into his eyes, ‘there’s the way she’s grown up. Who would have thought such a skinny tomboy with those awful braces on her teeth and forever scratched and grazed would grow into such a looker?’

Mel ducked her head, grimaced, and awaited Etienne’s reply with bated breath. But he didn’t reply and Mrs Bedwell went on.

‘Not that she knows it. You can accuse her of a lot of things but vanity isn’t one of them. Problem is—there are a lot of unscrupulous men out there and once they find out that all they need is some kind of crazy cause to worm their way into her heart, who knows what could happen?’

‘Mrs Bedwell, I could strangle you,’ Mel said through her teeth. Unfortunately, this caused her to miss what Mrs Bedwell said next and consequently she had no idea what it was that prompted Etienne to reply that he had become increasingly aware of it and would certainly take it into consideration.

‘What?’ Mel muttered, severely frustrated.

But Mrs Bedwell only said then, ‘Good, well, I can leave it up to you?’

‘You may, Mrs Bedwell,’ he answered as he shook her hand then got into his car and drove off.

It was not in Mel’s nature to bottle things up so she accosted Mrs Bedwell immediately and asked her what she thought she was doing by encouraging a man they barely knew to marry her.

A short, sharp argument ensued on who had the right to eavesdrop when. Then Mrs Bedwell announced that it so happened her nephew worked for Etienne Hurst so she knew quite a lot about him and all of it good. She also added pithily that if Mel hadn’t so resolutely distanced herself from her stepmama, she’d know a lot more about the man herself.

‘He’s made a fortune with his own hands,’ she stated. ‘He’s an excellent employer, a darn good businessman and he’s very highly thought of in the community.’

‘He may be,’ Mel shot back, ‘but he’s also extremely arrogant, and what’s that got to do with me marrying him? There’s no love lost between us, I can assure you!’

‘Love!’ Mrs Bedwell echoed with consummate scorn. ‘I married Jack Bedwell for love and five years later he walked out on me never to be seen again, leaving me with three kids to rear on my own. Love,’ she repeated bitterly; ‘what good did it do me? Here I am not even in my own home and a slave to a family that’s half-mad!’

They were in the kitchen during this exchange, and Mel suddenly changed tack.

‘Sit down, Mrs B,’ she ordered. She poured her a cup of coffee and took it along with some shortbread over to her.

Then she sank on her knees in front of her and said softly, ‘You do know this whole place would fall apart without you, don’t you?’

Mrs Bedwell pursed her lips.

‘You do know,’ Mel continued, ‘that we love you and consider you part of the family and we’d be devastated if you left and went to the Calders up the road who are always trying to pinch you from us?’

Mrs Bedwell’s face softened.

‘And who,’ Mel smiled up at her with a teasing glint in her eyes, ‘is the real authority in this house?’

Mrs Bedwell sighed then smiled herself. ‘You’re a sweetie, Mel. Just promise me one thing—you think seriously about Etienne Hurst. Because I know you well enough to know that losing the boys and Raspberry Hill on top of losing your dad would nearly kill you.’



So Mel thought about it until she could have screamed.

So many pros, she had to marvel. Just take the boys. There was no doubting Justin could be a handful at times, and what no one knew, because she’d chosen not to reveal it, was that he had been responsible for the notorious Raspberry Hill rum-rampage.

He’d got in with a dubious crowd of older boys whom he’d invited to the party with such disastrous results. She was pretty sure the fact that she’d had to front a magistrate had brought home the error of his ways to him. But she couldn’t deny that he might need a strong hand to steer him through his late teens.

Then there was Ewan. Thin and dark, at twelve, he was a chronic asthmatic with little interest in school and whose sole ambition in life was to paint. And Tosh, who had no redeeming chestnut in his hair—it was plain ginger—and if someone up there had set out to create another Just William, they’d succeeded in Tosh.

Her father’s favourite saying about his youngest child had been that he got into more trouble than Flash Gordon.

All the same, she loved them all desperately and couldn’t even begin to think about losing them.

So why do the cons seem to be overwhelming when there are so many pros? she asked herself as she tossed and turned one night.

Don’t be thick, Mel, she answered herself, using Mrs Bedwell’s favourite put-down. This is a marriage of convenience you’re being offered, that’s why it’s sticking in your throat! He may have kissed you and he may look at you as if he’d like to sweep you onto his charger and make off with you whether you like it or not, but his reputation is not consistent with Etienne Hurst suddenly falling in love with a girl like you…

She punched her pillow and tried to get more comfortable. It was well-known in the Gladstone area that for his recreation he’d leased and renovated an abandoned lighthouse keeper’s house on top of a craggy headland and that he spent some of his free time there, fishing and crabbing the waters of a protected lagoon at the base of the headland.

It was rumoured that there was no more fulfilling an experience for a woman than to be bedded by Etienne Hurst in his lighthouse eyrie then treated to a seafood banquet. It appeared to be a fact that there were plenty of willing women but—here lay the rub—mature, sophisticated, glamorous women who were a very far cry from nineteen-year-old Melinda Ethridge, whom, no one could deny, he often treated like an exasperating kid.

So, what did he really want from her? Was it only out of a sense of responsibility towards his sister’s stepchildren that he’d proposed marriage? Surely not. But then, despite sounding and acting like the quintessential Australian, had his French mother instilled old-fashioned notions about arranged marriages in him?





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