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  He must have made the faintest sound—an indrawn breath—because on the instant, she swung her blond head, staring down the long hallway. A series of expressions began to flit across her face. First, he thought he detected an instant of shock. It was chased away by an expression of trepidation. Surely not? He wasn’t his father. Yet if her expression was anything to go on, she must have taken it into her head to fear him on the spot. A second later, her lovely features settled into calm.

  “You must be Royce?” she asked, a charming lilt to her voice.

  Even her voice was special. Something else to contend with.

  “I’m Amelia.” She began to move towards him, as light and ethereal as a ballet dancer. Such fluidity conveyed a definite sensuality, all the more dangerous because it was entirely natural. She was dressed in a simple white slip dress of some weightless fabric that floated around her ankles. For all the simplicity of her summery attire, she couldn’t have looked more alluring.

  As a consequence, he overreacted, responding curtly. “I’m sorry if I startled you.” He was caught now. He had no other option but to join her. “I won’t shake your hand.” Close now, he was inhaling the subtle scent of her against his will. “As you can see, I’m covered in dust.”

  “Then I won’t keep you.”

  His tone, he was quick to recognize, had taken him a step too far. Goddesses didn’t countenance hostility. His downward slanting gaze, unknown to him, was extraordinarily intense. Not friendly. Not welcoming. Not indulgent. She had large, oval green eyes within the sweep of long lashes. Why wouldn’t she? She was an enchantress. Her eyes weren’t a light green, but the deep, lustrous green of Kooralya’s permanent lake, Lake Serenity, which everyone on the station called Serendipity because it never ran dry.

  She was much taller than her sister. Willow-slim. Five feet, seven inches, he guessed. With his superior height—he was six-three—he was able to look down at her, causing her to tilt back her head. She seemed so incredibly different to her sister, it was difficult for him to get his head around it. Even he and Jimmy shared their height and a certain familial look.

  He found himself mentioning it, as though the differences demanded an answer. “You and Marigold don’t share a resemblance.” Still the crisp tone, but he didn’t seem to be able to do a darn thing about it.

  “Marigold is my adopted sister,” she answered, looking slightly baffled. “Didn’t she tell you?”

  “I’ve only just heard it now from yourself.” His voice and expression had turned sardonic.

  She glanced away from him for a moment. “My parents adopted Marigold as a child,” she said gravely. “Her parents had been their close friends. Tragically, they were killed in a car crash. Marigold has always looked on me as her big sister, the relationship has been so close. I expect her not telling you has a psychological element to it.”

  “Jimmy didn’t tell me either.” Jimmy was very good at not telling him everything he should.

  “Of course Jimmy knows,” she confirmed quickly. “Marigold would have told him right at the beginning.”

  “You know my half-brother well?” Even he recognised the peculiar inflection in his voice. Accusatory? She was part of something. A triangle?

  It was as though a shadow had fallen across her. She was silent for a moment, but her answer came with perfect calm. “Of course. I’ve come to know Jimmy well. Marigold and Jimmy wanted me for their bridesmaid. That’s why I’m here, Royce. I may call you Royce?”

  “Please.” His name was actually Royston. It was his mother who had shortened it to Royce.

  The shadow was still there. Was he upsetting her in some way? If he were, he had to stop. She was a guest in his home.

  “You’re very welcome, Amelia.” Deliberately he lightened his tone. “Now you must excuse me. I seriously need to make myself presentable. It’s been a long day.”

  “I’m sure it has.” She didn’t mention she had already heard from Jimmy, his aunt Anthea, and the family’s engaging housekeeper, Pippa, how extremely hard Royce worked. It was obvious to her they worshipped the ground he walked on, so he had to have his lighter moments, she reasoned. One thing was certain: Hard, exhausting work wasn’t harming him in any way. He looked stunningly fit with a tall, wide-shouldered, lean body. Jimmy too was tall and lean with the same elegance of stance, but he lacked his half-brother’s level of physical fitness and his powerful charisma.

  Royce Stirling, master of the vast Outback station Kooralya, was a truly arresting man. Intimidating too. One of the big players in life. There was little trace of gentleness about him, rather a kind of inner turbulence he kept under control. Clearly, he hadn’t taken a liking to her. In itself, that was unusual. Most people liked her.

  She found herself passing the remark before she could call back the words. “You have a strong look of your mother.”

  She gazed back at the portrait, then at him. Indeed, he did. There was the same thick blue-black hair with a decided tendency to wave, the brilliant near-black eyes, the sculpted features. The feminine beauty of the mother transposed into the supreme alpha male. Royce Stirling was a totally different species to Jimmy. Small wonder Jimmy had grown up feeling like he was walking in another’s man’s shadow, though Jimmy had always maintained his half-brother had been “endlessly good” to him.

  “Royce shielded me and my poor little mum from our dad. In all honesty, our dad was a black-hearted bastard. No one could blame Royce’s mother for making her escape. Dad was impossible to live with. He just used my mother. He never loved her. He never respected her. The only woman he had ever wanted—I won’t use the word loved—was the femme fatale Frances, even though she put herself in danger.”

  In danger? How, she wondered? A feeling of trepidation was understandable given the station’s extreme isolation and the late Charles Stirling’s allegedly harsh nature. This was no happy family. Highly dysfunctional, from all accounts. One had to marvel at the workings of the human heart and mind. It was a great mercy for Jimmy he’d had an older, stronger half-brother. She glanced back at Royce Stirling. Her remark about his resemblance to his mother had shocked him out of his composure, if only for a moment. Very few people, she guessed, made reference to the resemblance, although they would all have seen it.

  She watched him nod in acknowledgement of an indisputable fact, but he obviously didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he took deliberate steps away from her. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he clipped off, momentarily lifting a hand. “Until then.”

  With that, he turned about, taking the steps of the divided staircase with the same elegant rhythm of movement she had noted.

  Thoughtfully, she remained at the foot of the magnificent mahogany staircase, staring after him. There was a knot of emotion in her throat that was new to her. She could imagine women being besotted by Royce Stirling, so blessed by the gods. As far as she was concerned, he was best left well alone. Essentially, they were not comfortable with each other. She was sure that would never change. First impressions remained the strongest. Their link in the future would only be Marigold, soon to be Mrs. James Stirling. Winning Jimmy had been a tremendous coup for Marigold. She had gone after him with single-minded ambition and perhaps very little real emotion. That had been a worrying thought that had never gone away. Marrying money had always been Marigold’s aim. Now her small feet were firmly planted on her desired path.

  The big concern was that Marigold wasn’t fond of children, but she realized she would have to provide Jimmy with at least one child. Marigold lived within a cloud of resentments and unresolved problems that had continued from childhood into adulthood. No matter how hard she and her parents had shown Marigold unstinting love and support, nothing seemed to change. Sadly, there was no magic formula to create happiness. A child could be crippled in later life by unresolved feelings of abandonment. Only Marigold’s parents had not abandoned their much-loved little girl. They had gone to their early deaths in a tragic accident. Fate had stepped in as
Fate always did.

  “It’s an absolute mystery to me how you stick up for that girl,” Lara Richards, good friend and fellow lawyer, often said. “She doesn’t love you, Mel, but you keep falling into the trap. God knows you’re clever, but you can’t seem to cotton onto Marigold’s true nature. Darkness has pierced Marigold’s soul. Take it from me. I have your best interest at heart. Little Marigold is deliberately allowing her life to be shaped by her childhood tragedy. Can’t you see that? She hugs it to her as if her parents who died so horribly had been trying to destroy her and her happiness in life. If I had an adopted sister like that, I tell you, I’d be scared to death.”

  Her answer? “You’re saying I have a dilemma on my hands?”

  Lara had shaken her head. “Yep, I do! She looks like such an innocent little thing with the big blue eyes and the breathless voice, but only from a distance. Not close up.”

  She preferred not to criticize Marigold in front of others, even Lara. She knew perfectly well that Marigold had the capacity to create disharmony. Lara had cottoned on to Marigold from the moment they met. Marigold had been going all-out to convey to her friend how much she loved her big sister, Melly. It hadn’t worked on Lara.

  It wasn’t that Amelia was blind to Marigold’s faults. What she chose to be was loyal. Marigold was family. She had always allowed for some jealousy. Sibling jealousy in families wasn’t unusual. It had to be said in Marigold’s defence, she had always applauded Amelia’s successes.

  “You’re so clever, Melly, brilliant really. So much Daddy’s daughter. His real daughter.”

  Her father, Jeremy Boyd, was an eminent barrister. She had followed her father into the law, specializing in family law, a fraught area, as she had swiftly found, but it had made her parents so proud. She had a framed photo of the family taken on the day of her graduation. Her beaming mother and father, a frowning Marigold in the foreground, her shoulders being held by Jeremy. Marigold had always been included in everything. Nevertheless, Amelia had spent endless time soothing Marigold’s ruffled feelings over one thing or another. One had to make allowances, so she always took the considered approach. Though why they all spent so much time placating Marigold she didn’t really know.

  “Is it a fault in us, darling?” her mother had once asked her. “The more we try to please Marigold, the more it leaves her unsatisfied.”

  Her father had been blunter. “It would take a miracle to change Marigold. For some reason, she wants to make us all feel guilty. It’s not fair to you, Mel, to always be the peacemaker.”

  The peacemaker. She was stuck with that role until Jimmy took Marigold off their hands.

  She gave Royce Stirling time to reach the upper floor. His suite of rooms was in the west wing. She and Marigold had been given adjoining rooms in the east wing with the added luxury of en suites. She had never been inside such grand bedrooms in her life. The high ceilings were beautifully decorated with plaster scrolls and garlands. Crystal chandeliers hung from a central rose. Everything about Kooralya made her wonder about the kind of people who had put down roots in such extreme isolation but still lived like establishment families in city mansions.

  The house was enormous, three stories high, built of sandstone and brick. The only concession to the symmetry of the Georgian-style façade was the broad wrap-around veranda on the first floor. She hadn’t as yet been shown over the house, so incongruously grand, but Anthea had promised a tour of the house and surprisingly lush gardens the following day. It had been easy to tell the gardens were Anthea’s pride and joy. There was an extensive vegetable garden, “entirely Pippa’s domain.” She had noted the affection in Anthea’s voice. Pippa had obviously become one of the family.

  Deep in thought, she made her way up the divided staircase, pausing for a moment to admire the stained-glass window above the landing. The sun shone brilliantly through it during the day, splashing jewel colours—turquoise, emerald, sapphire blue, ruby—over the landing and down the stairs.

  At night, as now, the exterior lights were used to illuminate the tall, arched window. Huge as the house was with its labyrinth of rooms, she felt no sense of gloom. There were glorious Persian rugs on the warmly polished floors to add colour. Vases of flowers were everywhere. The valuable furniture wasn’t overpowering. By day, the sun shone brightly through the front door and the many large windows, lightening the entire atmosphere. All the same, the household staff under Pippa’s supervision couldn’t afford to be slouches. She had become aware it was considered a great honour to be chosen to work up at the Big House.

  She found herself pausing for a moment outside Marigold’s door. Marigold’s decision to stick largely to her room wasn’t the best way to go. Since Amelia had arrived that afternoon via the freight plane, which she had boarded at the Outback domestic airport, there had never been the slightest suggestion Marigold wasn’t well liked and most welcome to the family. So why did she have the unsettling feeling this marriage wasn’t being looked upon as a marriage made in heaven? God forbid the family had picked up on Marigold’s wayward streak. It had grown more pronounced over the past few years as Marigold moved into maturity.

  She wasn’t really looking forward to this. Briskly, she knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Come in.”

  She had correctly read the signals. Marigold’s answer was so full of angst it dismayed her. Every bride had her moments of anxiety, she reasoned. Marriage was a huge step. Maybe the grandeur of the Stirling homestead had swept her away. When she entered the room, she found Marigold in a very unattractive pose. She was lying on the four-poster bed, on top of the expensive brocade quilt, her smooth, rounded arms and legs splayed.

  “Sorry, did I disturb you?” She didn’t understand that well why Marigold had wanted her for a bridesmaid, though it had to be said, Marigold was short on girlfriends. That had to do with Marigold’s pronounced lack of empathy.

  Marigold didn’t look at her. She continued to stare up at the plastered ceiling as though the answers she sought might be written in large letters up there.

  “I hate this bloody house,” she muttered, with such a great surge of feeling it lifted her torso.

  “Really? I love it,” Amelia said.

  “You would.”

  It wasn’t an implied compliment: more like an insult. “For pity’s sake, Marigold, settle down,” she said briskly. “You’d better learn to like this house a lot. This is Jimmy’s family home. You will be expected to visit often.”

  Marigold spoke coldly. “They will never include me in anything. They think Jimmy should have picked another girl entirely.” For emphasis, she slammed her head into the mound of pillows as though she lacked the strength to get up and start dressing for dinner.

  “Try to calm yourself,” Amelia urged. “Jimmy did pick you. Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I feel awful,” Marigold put up her two hands, dragging her fingers through her short curls. “You all seem to have forgotten I’m here. I’m the bride, for God’s sake. Where the hell is Jimmy? He’s made a point of disappearing since we arrived. Kowtowing to God Almighty, I suppose.”

  Amelia sank into one of the armchairs, searching without much hope of success for the right words. “I assume by God Almighty, you mean Royce?”

  “Ah yes, the awesome Royston!” Marigold cried. “He has all the authority in this godforsaken place. He doesn’t like me. I’d go further and say he doesn’t trust me. I’m sure he’s doing his level best to get Jimmy to back out of this marriage. Only he can’t!”

  Amelia felt her heart tremble. Marigold sounded furious. “You’re overreacting. You’ve done this sort of thing many times before, Marigold, only I’ve had enough. You have to get yourself together. Jimmy’s Aunt Anthea is a very sensible, kindly woman.”

  “Oh yes, except for her eyes.” Marigold gave a weird chortle. “She doesn’t like me either. She will never like me. So don’t bother patronizing me. His dear little mum won’t like me either.” Jimmy’s mother, Sally, who
continued to live on Kooralya, was due back from a short trip to Sydney where she had been staying with her sister and brother-in-law. They were to be special guests at the wedding.

  “I know what I’m talking about.” Marigold ground her teeth. “I’m not good enough. I’m second-rate. I got a bit drunk the other night. Vodka. I like vodka. They’re so bloody starchy, aren’t they? The aunt looking down her straight nose at me. Jimmy doesn’t defend me. Even the bloody housekeeper, Pippa, doesn’t like me, silly bitch. As for Royston! Just you wait until you meet him at dinner.”

  Amelia eased back in the chair, feeling the level of anxiety mounting. “I’ve already met him,” she said. The worrying thing with Marigold was she had developed a tendency to binge drink.

  “Trust you.” Marigold bounced up and down on the bed. “So what did you think?”

  “He’s a very impressive man.” Amelia’s answer held a touch of acerbity.

  “Larger than life? Made you feel all glowy inside?” Marigold gave her a silly smirk. “He’s a far cry from your dreary old Oliver.”

  “Dreary old Oliver is a brilliant mathematician and a lovely man,” Amelia said. She had lost count of the number of times Oliver had asked her to marry him. Oliver had his charm. She knew a lot of people regarded them as a couple of sorts. She was praying one of these days Oliver would meet the right woman. It wouldn’t be her.

  “What the heck do the two of you talk about?” Marigold asked, truly puzzled. “He hasn’t a bloody thing to say to me beyond, “Hello, Marigold, how are you?”

  Amelia could have pointed out that Marigold had very limited interests beyond what pertained to herself, but she refrained from doing so. Instead she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?” She was wondering if Marigold should be on some sort of medication to calm her. She was certainly in one of her moods. To be fair, Royce Stirling had sparked her own anger. Why not Marigold’s?