Wealthy Australian, Secret Son Read online

  Yet here was Rohan Costello, back in the Valley. Not only that, taking possession of Riverbend. Fact is far stranger than fiction, Kathy thought.

  Diane Rodgers, looking very glamorous in classic white, with a striking black and white creation on her head, spoke up. “Would you like me to help you back to the Lodge, Mrs Prescott? No trouble, I assure you.”

  At the sound of those precise tones, Christopher swung back. “Mummy has me,” he said, not rudely—he knew better than that—but he didn’t like the way the lady was speaking to his mother. It didn’t sound gentle and caring, like Mrs Nolan. It sounded more like teachers at his school when the kids weren’t on their best behaviour.

  “Wouldn’t you like to stay on, Christopher?” Rohan suggested. “I’m sure you have a friend with you. I’ll run your mother home.”

  Christopher considered that for a full minute. “I won’t stay if you don’t feel well, Mummy,” he said, his protective attitude on show. “Peter will be okay.”

  Charlotte rose to her feet, hoping she didn’t look as desperate as she felt. “Sweetheart, I don’t want you to bother about me. I don’t want anyone to bother about me. I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure of that, Charlie?” Morrissey laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “You mustn’t let me keep you, George.” Charlotte gave him a shaky smile. “I know you and Ruth will love wandering around the grounds. They’re in tip-top condition.”

  “That they are!” George Morrissey agreed. He turned back to the tall authoritative figure of the adult Rohan Costello. “I’d be delighted if you’d say hello to my wife, Rohan. She’d love to catch up.”

  “It would be a pleasure.” Rohan gave a slight inclination of his handsome dark head.

  The doctor lifted a hand in general farewell, then walked off towards the entrance hall.

  “You must allow me to run you back to the Lodge at least, Charlotte,” Rohan said, with a compelling under-note she couldn’t fail to miss. “I’ll make sure Chris gets home.”

  “Thank you, Rohan,” Christopher piped up. “Can’t take the helicopter, I suppose?” he joked, executing a full circle, arms outstretched. “Whump, whump, whump!”

  “Not that far.” Rohan returned the boy’s entrancing smile. “But I promise you a ride one day soon.”

  Christopher looked blown away. “Gee, that’s great! Wait until I tell Peter.”

  “Maybe Peter too,” Rohan said.

  “That’d be awesome! So where’s Grandpa?” Christopher suddenly asked of his mother. “Why didn’t he come into the house?”

  “He may well be outside, Christopher,” Rohan answered smoothly. “Why don’t you go and see? Your mother is safe with me.”

  “Is that all right, Mummy? I can go?” Christopher studied her face. His mother was so beautiful. The most beautiful mother in the world.

  “Of course you can, darling.” Charlotte summoned up a smile. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Christopher shifted his blue gaze back to Rohan. “It’s great to meet you, Rohan.” He put out his hand. Man to man.

  Rohan shook it gravely. “Great to meet you too, Christopher,” he responded. “At long last.”

  Many things in life changed. Some things never did.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THEY were quite alone. It was terrifying. Was she afraid of Rohan? That simply couldn’t be. But she was terrified of the emotions that must be raging through him. Terrified of the steel in him. Where had her beautiful white knight gone? A shudder ripped through her. This was a Rohan she had never seen.

  The village ladies had gone back outside, to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Diane Rodgers had hovered, but Rohan had given her a taut smile and told her in his dark mellifluous voice to go and take a look at the roses. They were in magnificent full bloom. Ms Rodgers looked as though she had been planning something entirely different. One would have had to be blind to miss Ms Rodgers’s keen interest in Rohan. And who could blame her?

  The pulverising shock had not worn off. Nor would it for a long time. Now she felt an added trepidation, and— God help her—the old pounding excitement. He looked wonderful. Wonderful! The man who had loved her and whom she had loved in return.

  Rohan.

  She saw how much she still loved him. No one else had ever mattered. But now wasn’t the time to fall apart. She had to keep some measure of herself together. “I can walk back to the Lodge,” she said, although her voice was reduced to a trembling whisper. “You don’t have to take me.”

  “Don’t I?”

  The slash of his voice cut her heart to ribbons.

  God—oh, God!

  Recognition of the trouble she was in settled on her.

  He took hold of her bare slender arm, pulling her in to his side. “He’s mine, isn’t he?” he ground out. His tone was implacable.

  She wasn’t up to this. She was a lost soul. She was acutely aware of the pronounced pallor beneath his golden-olive skin. He was in shock too. She wanted to touch his face. Didn’t dare. She felt sorrow. Guilt. Pity. Remorse. Her heart was fluttering like a frantic bird in her breast. She had to try to evade the whole momentous issue. She needed time to think.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rohan.” She allowed a fallen lock of hair to half-shield her face.

  “Is that why you’re trembling from head to foot?” he answered curtly. “Christopher is mine. My child—not Martyn’s.”

  She tried to disengage herself, but didn’t have a hope. He was far too strong. “Are you insane?” Her voice shook with alarm.

  “God!” Rohan burst out, his breathing harsh. “Don’t play the fool with me, Charlotte. He has my eyes. My nose. My mouth. My chin.”

  Your beautiful smile. The habit you had of flipping your hair back with an impatient hand.

  “He’s going to get more and more like me,” Rohan gritted. “What are you going to do then?”

  “Rohan, please,” she begged, hating herself.

  He took no pity on her. It was all he could do not to shake her until her blonde head collapsed against his chest. Despite himself, he was breathing in the very special scent of her—the freshness, the fragrance. He could breathe her in for ever. He was that much of a fool.

  “How could you do this, Charlotte? It’s unforgivable what you’ve done. No way is Christopher Martyn’s child.”

  “Please, Rohan, stop!” She shut her eyes tight in pain and despair. She was still light-headed.

  “You made the decision to banish me from your heart and your head,” he accused her. “You know you did. No love in a cottage for Charlotte Marsdon. God, no! Poor Martyn was always crazy about you. You were the ultimate prize, waiting for him. Did he know the child wasn’t his?”

  Years of unhappiness, pain and guilt echoed from her throat. “How could he know?” she shouted. “I didn’t.”

  “What?” He took a backward glance through the mansion, then led her away into the splendid book-lined library.

  Her father had taken his pick of the valuable collection of books. Even in her highly perturbed state she could see their number had been replaced.

  “You mean you were having sex with us both?” Rohan asked, looking and sounding appalled. “Oh, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,” he groaned.

  She had to turn away from the anger flashing in his blue eyes. “It wasn’t like that, Rohan. You were lost to me. Forever lost to me.’

  His brief laugh couldn’t have been more bitter or disbelieving. “You’re lying again. You knew I would never let you go. I had to make something of myself, Charlotte. I had to have something to offer you. All I needed was a little time. I told you that. I believed you understood. But, no, you got yourself married to Martyn in double-quick time. Poor gutless Martyn, who went around telling everyone who would listen that I had goaded Mattie into trying to swim the river. Martyn was the golden boy in the Valley, not me. I was Mary Rose Costello’s bastard son. Yet I thought the world would free
ze over before you ever gave yourself to Martyn.”

  “Maybe he took me, Rohan. Ever think of that?” She threw up her head in a kind of wild defiance, though she was on the verge of breaking down completely.

  “What are you saying?” There was fire in his eyes.

  Rivers of tears were threateningly close. “I don’t know what I’m saying.” Her heart was labouring in her chest. “I never thought I would lay eyes on you again.”

  “Rubbish!” he responded violently. “You knew you would see me again. With Martyn gone. I’ve given you enough time to recover.’ “There would never be enough time.” Her green eyes glittered. “What do you expect me to say? Welcome back, Rohan?”

  A great anger was running in his veins. Whatever he had expected, it had never been this. He had learned early that she and Martyn had had a child—a boy. The agony of it, the pain of loss and betrayal, had nearly driven him mad. Day and night, month after month, year after year he had fought his demons. Charlotte and Martyn. Now he was confronted by the staggering truth. Christopher wasn’t Martyn’s at all. Christopher was his.

  How terrible a crime was that? And what about the precautions she was supposed to have taken? “You’re a cheat and a liar, Charlotte,” he said, low-voiced and dangerous. “And I fully intend to prove it. You told me you loved me. You promised to wait for as long as it took. Why not? We had plenty of time. You were only eighteen. I hadn’t even turned twenty-one. I’m Christopher’s father. Don’t look away from me. Don’t attempt more lies. I will push this further.”

  “A threat?”

  “You bet!” he said harshly, even though to his horror the old hunger was as fierce as ever. Would nothing kill it? She was even more beautiful—her beauty more pronounced, more complete. Charlotte who had betrayed him. And herself.

  “Please, Rohan, I don’t need this now.” There was anguish in her face and in her voice. “I can walk back to the Lodge.”

  “Forget it. I’m driving you. Has your father the faintest clue? Or is he still hiding his head in the sand?” He compelled her out of the comfortable elegance of the library and back into the arched corridor, making for the rear of the house, where a vehicle was garaged and kept for his convenience.

  “Dad loves Christopher very much.” There was a trembling catch in her voice.

  “Not what I asked you,” he said grimly.

  They were out in the sunshine now. The scent of the white rambling rose that framed the pedimented door and climbed the stone wall filled the air with its lovely nostalgic perfume. More roses rioted in the gardens, and lovely plump peonies—one of her great favourites.

  “Chris did have a fleeting look of Mattie for a few years,” she offered bleakly. This was the age of DNA. There was no point in trying to delude Rohan. What he said was correct. Christopher would only grow more like him. Hadn’t she been buffeted by the winds of panic for some time? “Now that he’s lost his little-boy softness the resemblance has disappeared. He has our blond hair.”

  “Isn’t that marvelous?” he exclaimed ironically. “He has the Marsdon blond hair! God knows what might have happened had his hair been crow-black, like mine. Or, even worse, red like my mother’s.”

  “I loved you, Rohan.” The words flamed out of her.

  In response he made a strangled sound of utter disgust. “You must have wept buckets after you decided to drop me. But there’s intense satisfaction in my being rich. Daddy turned out to be a real loser with his lack of financial acumen. I had nothing. Too young. Martyn stood to inherit a fortune. Must have ruined your day when you lost him. How come you’re living with your father? Didn’t Martyn leave you a rich woman?”

  “Sad to say, no. It’s none of your business, Rohan.”

  “I beg to differ. It’s very much my business. Martyn’s father was too smart to let go of the purse strings. And your mother? The self-appointed avenger?”

  “My mother has settled—or tried to settle—into a different life. I don’t see much of her. She has little interest in my beautiful Chrissie.”

  “Our beautiful Christopher,” he corrected curtly, usurping her as the single parent.

  “He’s not Mattie, you see,” she continued sadly. “Really there was no one else for my mother.”

  Rohan’s striking face was set like granite. “She loved you in her way. Of course she did.”

  “Not enough,” she answered simply.

  “I think I might find that a blessing,” Rohan mused. “Your mother keeping her distance from my son. Your mother is deeply neurotic. She would never accept me in any capacity. Not in a hundred lifetimes.”

  She couldn’t deny it. Rohan had been chosen as the scapegoat. She had been the daughter of the family—a girl of twelve. Martyn Prescott the only son of close friends. It had to be Rohan Costello—Mary Rose’s boy. “My mother has been steeped in grief, Rohan. Dad has soldiered on.”

  “Good old Vivian!” Rohan retorted with extreme sarcasm. “The fire’s not out in the old boy either. Did you hear the way he bellowed my name?”

  Charlotte flinched, defending him quickly. “It was cruel not to let us know.”

  “Cruel?” Rohan’s brilliant eyes shot sparks. “The hide of you to talk of cruelty! I can’t believe your treachery! I’ve missed out on the first seven years of my son’s life, Charlotte. First words. First steps. Birthdays. The first day at school. How can you possibly make it up to me for that?”

  “I can’t. I can’t. I’m so sorry, Rohan. Sorry. Sorry, sorry. Do you want me to go down on my knees? I’ve raised Christopher as best I could. He’s a beautiful, loving, clever child. He’s everything in the world to me.”

  “So that’s okay, then, is it? He’s everything in the world to you. What about me? I never held my newborn son in my arms. I was robbed of that great joy. Tell me, how did you manage to put it across Martyn? Or didn’t you? It’s common knowledge he had a young woman in the car with him. It’s a great mercy she wasn’t killed or injured as well. Tell me—did he fall out of love with you? Or did he get sick of what little affection you could show him? You didn’t love him. Don’t tell me you did.”

  “I married Martyn and what came of it?” she said. “He’s dead.”

  “You weren’t responsible for that.” He reacted to the pain in her face.

  “Wasn’t I?”

  “So he had a tough time? Why did you do it, Charlotte? The money, the position?”

  “I was pregnant, Rohan.”

  “By me!” he exploded. “Why didn’t you contact me? God knows, I had the right to know.”

  “I wasn’t sure whose child I was carrying, Rohan.” Her voice was that of the frightened, isolated young girl she had been.

  “Oh, poor, poor you! It couldn’t have taken you all that long to find out!”

  “Too late,” she acknowledged, remembering her shock. “Martyn never did find out. Christopher has changed quite a lot in the past eighteen months.”

  “I’m not getting this at all,” he frowned. “What about the Prescotts?”

  “They have their suspicions. Nicole hates me. Always did, I think. We don’t see much of them.”

  “Another plus! So when did you decide to seduce Martyn? I mean have sex with him. Clinch your position in his life.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this, Rohan,” she said, in a tight, defensive voice. “It’s all over and done with.”

  “Not by a long shot. I can see you’re badly frightened, and you should be. I have every intention of claiming my son.”

  She stood paralysed. “You can’t do that to me.”

  “Can’t I? I can, by God!” There was strain and a world of determination in his striking face.

  “You can’t take him from me, Rohan. You can’t mean that. He’s my life. I adore him.”

  “Who would take any notice of you? You were supposed to have adored me, remember? I don’t intend to take our son from you, Charlotte. Unlike you, I do have a heart. You are part of the package.” He let his eyes rest on
her. Beautiful, beautiful, unfaithful Charlotte. “I want you and our son. Our boy can’t be separated from his mother.”

  Jets of emotion shot through her. “In the same way you needed to have Riverbend?” she challenged.

  “Perhaps I hated to see such a magnificent estate go to rack and ruin.” He shrugged. “I have plans for Riverbend, Charlotte. Plans for the vineyards, a winery, olive groves.”

  She accepted he had plans without hesitation. “You own the estate—not the company Vortex?”

  “I am Vortex—and a couple of other affiliated companies as well. And I own Riverbend, lock, stock and barrel. Your father has done virtually nothing in the way of improvements since your grandfather died. I don’t particularly dislike your father. I never did. It was your mother who was truly horrible to us. You know—your mother—the great lady.” His eyes glittered with blue light.

  “There are big turning points in life, Rohan,” she said in a pain-filled voice. “My mother was never the same person after we lost Mattie. Feel pity for her. I do. Mattie’s death blasted her apart. God knows how I would continue if anything…if anything—” She broke off in deep distress.

  “Oh, stop it.” He cut her off ruthlessly. “Nothing is going to happen to Christopher.”

  “God keep him safe. I’ve loved and protected him. Taken care of him all these years.”

  His voice carried both anger and confusion. “Martyn—how did he feel? Of course you always could twist him around your little finger.”

  “I can’t talk about Martyn, Rohan.” She focused her gaze on the massed beds of Japanese hybrid petunias—white in one, rosy-pink in another.

  “You couldn’t have let him down worse than you did me,” he said bleakly. “He had no suspicions?”