The Cattle King's Bride. Margaret Way
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She shook her head in shame.
“Am I supposed to give you a round of applause for that?”
“Don’t be like that, Dev,” she begged. “There was so much gossip.”
“Mireille’s poison.” His verdict was harsh. “She had a great talent for implying sinister, cruel lies. Jealousy is one of the most powerful deadly sins. It gets people murdered every day of the week.”
“Poison finds its way into the bloodstream. My mother bewitched him.”
Dev put his two hands to his head, groaning. “Okay, so she did! And hasn’t there been a tremendous emotional fallout?” Angry and immensely frustrated, he put strong hands on her, pulling her down and then into the bed beside him. “Are we going to continue this interminable conversation?” He hooked one strong arm around her. “You, woman, drive me mad. I just want to draw a secure circle around the two of us so no one can get in. God knows we’ve lived our lives with controlling people. Both of us have resented it bitterly. As a consequence, you’re in retreat from me in case I turn into the biggest controller of them all.”
Her laugh was woefully off-key. “Let’s face it, being the man in control is going to be your role, Dev. You’ll find that out when your grandfather’s will is read. Most of the time I was able to separate the truth from the sick rumours. But I was just a little kid, Dev. My father was dead. Mum and I had no protection from that all-important quarter. My father wouldn’t have stood for—”
“I find the whole issue unbearable, Mel. I worry about you. You’re so clever, so seemingly confident, a beautiful woman. Anyone would say you’ve had the lot, yet a crucial part of you remains a lost little girl. Fragile.”
“I am not!” she protested, hitting a hand to his shoulder.
He caught her hand, kissed it. “Most people don’t see it. I do. So my grandfather and your mother loved one another. Is there anything wrong with love? Love might be madness, but it’s glorious, as well. Look at you and me. It takes a real man to put up with you. God knows my granddad didn’t get unconditional love and affection from my grandmother. She was the ultimate possessive woman. It helped to be an heiress in her own right. Gregory was her paid-for possession. She did pump a lot of her own money into Kooraki during the lean times.”
“Then he married her for her money?”
“Maybe he thought she was a lot more docile than she really was. He wouldn’t be the first man to take a wealthy bride. He sure isn’t going to be the last. Countless women marry for money, social position, security. Nothing much has changed from the old-style marriage of convenience. It still goes on. The odd thing is that a lot of the time it works better than the madly in love scenario. Like us.”
Mel didn’t argue. She had observed that among her circle of high-flying friends. “I suppose neither side has high expectations of the other,” she offered in explanation.
“For the life of me, I couldn’t do it,” Dev said. “But I’m not going to spend the rest of my life tippy-toeing around you, Mel. You reckon I’m a tough guy, right?”
“Precisamente,” she said. “You’re already tycoonish.”
“Tycoonish? Is there such a word? If there is, spare me!” he groaned. “A ruthless tycoon could have found a sure way to capture you. I could have made you mine. Made you pregnant. You would have had to marry me and not carry on with all the old-style, hopelessly outdated class distinctions.”
“They’ll never be outdated,” she contradicted flatly. “It’s human nature. God, Dev, I’d love to be pregnant,” she cried. “My biological clock is ticking away. I want children. I love children. I want to hold our baby in my arms.”
“Stop, oh, stop! I have a burning need to clarify this. You want our baby?”
“Of course I do.”
“You mean I don’t need to give up hope?” he shot back with extreme sarcasm.
“You know what they say—hope springs eternal.”
“Quit the smart talk, Mel. I’m in no mood for it. You have a bizarre way of attaining your objectives. But then you probably deal in the larger concepts of life. I’m too busy.”
“I know how hard you work,” she said in a conciliatory tone.
“Can you tell me this? Are you planning on prolonging this sex-starved unmarried state for the foreseeable future?”
“It is exciting,” she said, shivers running down her spine.
“Oh, yes. Unlike you, I don’t consider it to be cool. You’re using your beautiful body as a serious weapon, like right now. No, don’t get angry.” He placed a taut restraining arm across her breasts. “Think about it.”
Mel loved the weight of his arm. She turned her head to stare up at him, the planes and angles of his dynamic face, the high sharp cheekbones, the width between the jaw bones that tapered to a strong chin with its distinctive Langdon cleft. “I can’t think when I’m in bed with you.”
“Who needs you to think?” He withdrew his arm. “It might be a wise move to go back to your own bed, Mel.” He spoke in cool, sarcastic style. “What better thing is there to do in bed but sleep? It’s all down to you. Go on. Get up.”
“If I can.”
“It’s your practice to do what you damned well like. You’re free to walk away, Mel. I could point out there are plenty of women I know who wouldn’t consider it.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, still not moving. “I’m pretty hotly desired myself.”
“I don’t want to hear about it, thank you,” he said in a flat, hard voice.
“I remember a time when you used to be nicer,” she quavered. She didn’t want to fight. Her need for him was fierce.
“God help me, don’t I regret that now?” Dev suddenly lifted himself on his strong arms to loom over her. “You want me to make love to you, is that it, you crazy woman?”
Wasn’t it her dread that she could drive him away with her fears and phobias? At one time she had seriously considered DNA testing, then backed off in shame. Gregory Langdon couldn’t have been her father, although he had been on the scene. Mike Norton was her father. He had loved her. Could a man love a child he knew wasn’t his? Maybe some men could. The child couldn’t be blamed for the sins of the fathers.
“Well?” Dev growled.
She threw all her chaotic thoughts out of the window. “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” she cried. “A thousand times ye—”
He stopped her by lowering his body onto her, covering her, letting her feel his full weight—taut, hard body, the musculature, the rib cage so clearly defined the imprint was left on her body, her flesh satiny-soft and yielding to his potent maleness. His mouth came down near mercilessly on hers. But wasn’t she starved