didn’t we know?” she agonised.
“I didn’t want you to know,” he said, hard mockery flooding in. “That should be obvious.”
“I mean why didn’t we guess?” Something like anger leapt in her violet eyes. “I’ve always known in my heart you’d get back at Father.”
“And you. Don’t forget you, Suzannah. You’re the one who told me how much you loved me. You’re the one who was going to be my girl forever.”
“Except fate got in the way.” She wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the condemnation that flowed from him.
“You can call it fate if you like,” he said, black eyes brilliantly ironic. “I’d call it treachery, betrayal and blackmail.”
“You’ll never forget.” It made her feel desolate. Terribly alone.
“Did you think I would?”
“My father is a sick man, Nick.”
He shook his dark head. “I didn’t cause his stroke, Suzannah. I didn’t bring his world crashing down on his head. If I didn’t buy Bellemont somebody else would.”
“Why would you want it at all?” she flared. “Your life is elsewhere. Your company, your career. You must be married?” That woman in his car. She’d felt seared by her stare.
“I haven’t had the slightest urge to get married,” he told her curtly. “Unlike you. To answer your question. This is a magnificent property. I’m in need of a country retreat. Somewhere to relax. Bring my friends and overseas guests.”
“A retreat?” That checked her. “You’re not going to return it to a working farm?”
“As a matter of fact I am. If that’s all right with you and your father,” he said, freezing her out.
“You’re so bitter.”
“I most certainly am, but don’t worry about it.” He moved nearer, making her feel she was being backed into a corner. “How are you settling into your new home? I took a run past it last night. The Saunders used to be tenants, didn’t they?”
“So you didn’t arrive this morning.” Her brain seemed to be wrapped in cotton wool.
“No, Suzannah,” he explained patiently. “I drove up from Sydney yesterday. Stayed the night.” In her bedroom where he had made love to her that one time. Trapped her into surrender with his overwhelming passion.
“But where did you sleep?” she asked. The furniture from the guest bedrooms had been sold. They had taken theirs with them.
“What does it matter?” In fact, he had brought a sleeping bag. Dossed down on the floor. “I might ask the questions. What are you doing here, anyway? On my property.” This wasn’t the way it was meant to be but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Making sure it remains in the same condition as it was sold to you.” She flushed.
“You have no obligation to do that.”
“Can’t you stop, Nick?” she begged, knowing nothing would heal the wounds.
“Stop what?”
“Being so hateful.”
That made him smile. A flash of white teeth, no humour at all. “That’s good coming from you. The fact remains, Suzannah, and nothing can change it, you accused me of being a thief.”
“I didn’t.” She had trusted her father who had never lied to her. What she had felt for Nick was an overwhelming pity.
“Your very silence condemned me.”
There was no cure for injustice. “I bitterly regret it, Nick.” Tears came to her eyes. Tears from a deep place inside her. “Can’t you forgive me?”
He turned his handsome head abruptly. “You want the bad news? No. My mother died, did you know that?”
“We heard.” It had come as a tremendous blow. “I wanted to write to you but I thought you would only hate me.”
“I’m afraid you were right,” he answered, very soberly. “She died of a broken heart.”
Suzannah moved away from the fireplace, sought the French doors and opened one to admit the breeze. “I cared about her, Nick. So much.”
“She cared about you.”
“She would never tell me where you went.”
“You should know the answer to that. She thought quite rightly you had done me enough harm. Anyway, it must have been a fleeting idea of yours. The next thing we know you married poor Martin. He must have swept you off your feet.”
She had the sensation the room was swirling around her. “It made my father happy.”
“And you were born to make your father happy. What about you, Suzy? It seems terrible to talk about it at a time like this but it’s no secret your marriage wasn’t a great success.”
She moved slowly to one of the big custom-made sofas and sat down before she fell. “I have my daughter. I adore her.”
His expression tautened. His black eyes studied her. “She could have been our child.” A long pause. “What’s her name?”
Colour flamed into her white face and she dropped her gaze. “Charlotte. We call her Charley.”
For a moment he was at a loss to answer her, then he rasped. “Charlotte? How dare you use my mother’s name.”
Her own anger flowed hot and swift. “This is me, Nick, remember. Me. Suzannah. Your mother told me once I was the daughter she had always wanted. Through your mother I became an accomplished pianist, more valuably, a better person. I had a perfect right to call my child after a women so influential in my life.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I do,” she cried in sharp defence.
“Your father must have loved the sound of that. So must Martin.”
“Neither of them knew,” she said, suddenly quiet. “Your mother was Mrs Konrads. Her Christian name didn’t come into it. Your father called her Lotte. Father and Martin didn’t see the connection.”
“Come on,” he jeered. He came behind her, his hands slipping onto her shoulders, holding her fast.
“They just didn’t,” she protested, as many emotions enveloped her. “Charlotte is a beautiful name.”
He withdrew his hands instantly before he lost himself in sensation. “You must be a lot happier with Charley.”
“It’s just a nickname,” she said in a confused voice. “She’s only six. Adorable.”
“Does she look like
