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  What did she care? He was marrying her for all the wrong reasons. She was not going to be a submissive dutiful wife, no matter what amount of money he flashed around.

  She met his dark mysterious gaze as she took her place beside him, her chin going up a fraction as the celebrant addressed the gathered guests.

  ‘We are gathered here to…’

  To force a woman against her will to marry a man she loathes…Bryony’s imagination went off at a tangent, wondering what the assembled guests would say if she told them the bitter truth.

  ‘If anyone here has any reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, let them now speak or for ever hold their peace,’ the celebrant continued in an authoritative tone.

  Bryony wished she had the courage to tell the small crowd the real story—that he’d forced her into marriage by holding her parents’ freedom to ransom. What would Great-Aunt Ruby, who was mopping up her tears, think then? And what about Uncle Arthur, who was smiling at her like a Cheshire cat who had got both the cream and the canary and two mice thrown in as an entrée? Not to mention Pauline, who was sobbing into a handkerchief, doing her best imitation of a romance addict who couldn’t wait for the happy ending.

  There wasn’t going to be a happy ending.

  Bryony knew it as certainly as the clouds gathered overhead in growing disapproval.

  ‘You may kiss the bride.’

  She was jolted out of her automated responses by the lowering of Kane’s head as his mouth came towards hers. She braced herself for the impact of his warm lips, but in the end she realised there was nothing she could have done to reduce the effect on her senses as his mouth covered hers.

  She forgot about the host of witnesses.

  She forgot about the fact that she was supposed to hate him.

  She forgot that she had resolved not to respond to him in any shape or form, having to concede that in the end it was his shape and form that was very likely going to be her downfall.

  He was all male.

  All hard, irresistible male as he held her against him, his large hands on her hips, his fingers splayed possessively, making her shiver with reaction as he brought her even closer.

  She felt every imprint of his body on hers, his long rock-hard thighs brushing hers and the tantalizing hint of his growing arousal pressing against her stomach reminding her of what was to come.

  She pulled out of his hold and gave him a forced little smile, hoping the guests couldn’t see the flutter of panic reflected in her eyes.

  The guests applauded their passage back down the wisteria walk and Bryony stretched her stiff smile even further as she met each and every indulgent eye.

  None of this was real.

  It couldn’t be!

  She was married to a man she’d hated since childhood.

  A servant’s son no less.

  She caught her father’s gaze and tried to hold it but he shifted his eyes away as if he couldn’t bear to see the sight of her walking arm in arm with his dead son’s enemy.

  Her mother was mopping up tears as usual but she was smiling through them, which to Bryony was somewhat of a consolation.

  ‘Smile, Mrs Kaproulias,’ a voice said from the crowd and a camera flashed in her face, and another and another.

  Bryony faced the cameras, her tight smile making her face ache with the effort.

  It was going to be a long afternoon…

  The first flash of lightning came about five p.m., just as the last of the guests were leaving. The catering staff were quietly and competently packing up in the background while Bryony stood by Kane’s side, trying not to panic at the thought of being alone with him once the Mercedes carried her parents out of the Mercyfields gates for the last time.

  It was all arranged.

  Her parents were leaving on the cruise the very next morning after staying at the city apartment overnight, where they would return to live once their vacation was over.

  Mercyfields now belonged to Kane Kaproulias—her husband.

  The dust stirred up by her parents’ departure was soon settled by the first droplets of rain, the sweet earthy smell of dry ground receiving moisture filling Bryony’s nostrils as she stood on the veranda under the scented arras of the jasmine clinging from the second floor balcony.

  Kane leaned forward so his lower arms were resting on the veranda rail beside her, his dark gaze looking out towards the hills where the lightning was playing.

  ‘Looks like it’s going to be a big one,’ he observed.

  ‘It might pass us by,’ she said.

  ‘I could feel it coming on all day.’ He brushed a fly away from his face and turned his head to look at her. ‘Couldn’t you?’

  His face was on a level with hers, his dark eyes so close she could see the heavy fringe of his lashes as they lowered slightly to squint against the angle of sunlight.

  Her eyes slipped to his mouth, almost of their own volition, and she felt the most inexplicable urge to reach out and trace the ridge of his scar with her fingertip, to explore its contours for herself.

  A slash of lightning threw its green-tinged light across the veranda, closely followed by the predatory growl of thunder, but she didn’t even flinch. She was too absorbed in looking at him, wondering when he was going to…

  ‘You like storms?’ he asked.

  Bryony watched the movement of his lips as he spoke, a flutter of something indefinable passing over the floor of her belly.

  ‘Yes…’ Her eyes went back to his. ‘Do you?’

  He turned his head to look out over the fields, breathing in the scent of dampened dust, closing his eyes for a moment as if committing it to memory.

  She took the moment to study his features, the slightly Roman nose, the lean chiselled jaw, the dark shadow of masculine growth in spite of his morning shave and the mouth that smiled so fleetingly.

  What was he thinking?

  Was he busily congratulating himself on finally having acquired Mercyfields?

  Was he thinking of his mother working long hours to provide for him?

  Or was he thinking of the bride he’d bought? And how he would soon possess her?

  Kane pushed himself away from the rail and turned to look down at her. ‘I’m going to have a drink to celebrate.’

  ‘You’ll understand when I don’t join you?’ Bryony’s tone was deliberately sarcastic in an effort to keep her distance.

  He held her hardened look for a moment. ‘Don’t you want to drink to our future?’

  ‘I think I’ll give it a miss, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Fine.’ He strode towards the open French doors. ‘I’ll see you later. I have some things to see to.’

  She stared fixedly at the reflection of the angry clouds on the surface of the lake, wondering if what happened on the first day of a marriage was any indication of what would happen throughout its duration.

  Was their union always going to a battle between two bitter parties, each vying for the upper hand?

  The lightning split the sky into jagged pieces, the roar of thunder so close now that the old house seemed to almost shudder behind her in fear.

  Acting entirely on impulse, Bryony stepped down from the veranda and, lifting her creamy voluminous skirts about her ankles, tiptoed through the gathering puddles on the driveway to the huge lawn beyond the rose garden.

  She kicked off her shoes and, lifting her face to the splutter of warm rain, pirouetted three times, her gown billowing around her like creamy rose petals thrown up by a playful breeze.

  The rain anointed her face as the lightning rent the sky, the drum roll of thunder booming in her ears, but still she danced.

  She was on earth’s stage with the orchestra of nature accompanying her in a performance which spoke of regret and loss in each and every twirl of her body and poignant point of her toes.

  She danced for her brother, whom she still missed so much, thinking of his life cut short by a stupid accident that should never have ha
ppened.

  She danced for the loss of her freedom, envisaging a bleak future married to a man who saw her as a battle trophy instead of someone he could come to love.

  She danced for Kane’s mother, Sophia, who hadn’t seen her son rise to the heights in her lifetime, but had spent hers in menial work to bring about his success. How she must be smiling down on him now, the proud new owner of Mercyfields.

  She would have kept on dancing but the storm was receding, the strains fading away just like dying applause.

  She picked up her shoes in one hand and, gathering her muddy skirts in the other, made her way back to the house through the storm-ravaged rose garden where the soft petals lay just like the used confetti on the lawn overlooking the lake where the official photographs had been taken.

  Kane was leaning in the doorway as she came back up the steps, his brooding expression reminding her of the sky moments earlier.

  ‘You could have been struck by lightning,’ he growled at her.

  ‘I did try, but it just wouldn’t co-operate.’ She flicked her wet hair back off her face in a defiant gesture. ‘So you’re stuck with me after all. What a pity you couldn’t have Mercyfields without the excess baggage of me.’

  ‘Mercyfields means nothing to me.’

  ‘No, I know it doesn’t.’ She glared at him resentfully. ‘You just wanted it to prove a point. You had to wrench it away from my father—the man, who I might remind you, paid for your education out of the generosity of his heart. You wouldn’t even be the person you are today without his help.’

  ‘No—’ he gave her an unreadable look, his tone cryptic ‘—I certainly wouldn’t be.’

  ‘Are you happy now?’ she continued bitterly. ‘You’ve finally achieved what you set out to do, to bring the Mercer family to your particular form of rough justice. What a pity Austin wasn’t here to make your sick pleasure all the greater.’

  ‘You think it’s sick of me to want to see justice done?’ His tone turned harsh and embittered. ‘I’ll tell you what I think is sick. Your brother wasn’t the angel you think he was, nor indeed is your father. Your refusal to see the truth about them is what I would call sick.’

  She was incensed by his callously flung words. She was under no illusions about her father, but Austin was something else.

  He had no right to malign him.

  No right at all.

  ‘Who are you to call my brother to account?’ she spat. ‘You, the son of our promiscuous cleaning lady?’

  She shouldn’t have said it but it was out before she could stop it. She saw the flare of anger in his eyes, his features darkening with the effort of keeping it under some sort of control.

  ‘What exactly do you mean by promiscuous?’ His eyes ran over her like burning coals, scorching her from head to foot.

  ‘I…’ She swallowed and began to step backwards but his hand snaked out and held her fast.

  ‘I asked you a question, Bryony.’ His eyes glittered dangerously.

  Fear widened her eyes as his fingers bit into the flesh of her arm, but her pride demanded she stand her ground and not cower as she had done so many times with her father in the past.

  ‘Your mother was sleeping with someone on the Mercyfields estate,’ she said, tilting her chin arrogantly. ‘Everyone knew about it.’

  He gave her a narrow-eyed look. ‘Do you know who it was?’

  She moistened her dry lips before answering. ‘No. No one would tell me. I…I think it was one of the gardeners.’

  He let her arm go and turned away.

  Bryony stared at his stiff back and wondered if he’d known about it before now. If not, she could just imagine the shock he must be feeling and she immediately felt ashamed.

  ‘I’m…I’m sorry…’ she said. ‘I thought you already knew.’

  He swung around to face her once more, his scarred lip even more noticeable as his mouth stretched into a sneer.

  ‘Oh, I knew all right.’

  She wasn’t sure how to interpret his tone.

  ‘Did you know who she was…seeing?’ she asked.

  It seemed a very long time before he answered.

  ‘Leave it. What does it matter now, anyway? She’s dead.’ He turned away and gripped the railing with tight hands, looking out across the gardens with sightless empty eyes.

  Bryony’s brow creased as she watched him.

  ‘How did she die?’ she asked after another long silence.

  She heard him take what sounded like a painful breath, but his voice when he spoke was stripped of all discernible emotion. ‘Suicide.’

  Suicide? Coldness crept along her skin in spite of the still warm evening air.

  ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘Don’t be.’ He turned to look at her. ‘You weren’t the one to drive her to it.’

  She couldn’t look away from the deep sadness in his gaze; it struck at the heart of her to see such raw suffering, having been through the process of grief herself.

  ‘How long ago did…it happen?’ she asked.

  ‘Not long enough for me to forgive the person responsible.’

  ‘Suicide creates a lot of guilt in those left behind,’ she offered as comfort, not entirely sure if it was adequate but feeling the need to do so all the same.

  ‘But unfortunately not in the people most to blame.’

  ‘You shouldn’t blame yourself…’

  ‘I don’t.’

  She blinked at his forthright statement. ‘Then who do you blame?’

  His eyes shifted away from hers and she knew without him even saying it that the subject was now closed.

  ‘We have an early start in the morning,’ he informed her impersonally. ‘Why don’t you have a bath and go to bed and I’ll wake you at first light?’

  She stared at him in confusion. Didn’t he want her to…?

  She opened and closed her mouth, hunting her brain for the right way to express herself, when he gave her a small smile touched by ruefulness.

  ‘You think I would be such a brute as that, Bryony?’ he asked.

  ‘I…’ What could she say? Yes, she thought him ruthless enough to insist on consummating their marriage, but then…

  ‘I know you think I just crept out of the primeval soup, but let me assure you I have no interest in sleeping with you this evening,’ he said.

  She stared at him for a moment, the ambiguity of her feelings confusing her. She’d been expecting relief to course through her at the unexpected reprieve but instead she felt out of sorts and strangely let down.

  ‘I see.’ She lowered her eyes as she hitched up her muddy gown with a hand that wasn’t quite steady.

  Kane reached out and tipped up her chin with one long tanned finger, his eyes instantly reminding her of the lake and the secrets lying amongst its dark murky depths.

  She held her breath as his mouth came closer, the warm caress of his breath on her face causing her lashes to flutter downwards. She felt the soft brush of his lips over hers, the dryness of her mouth making his scarred top lip cling to hers momentarily as he lifted his mouth away from hers.

  She opened her eyes and felt the full heat of his gaze and, before she could stop herself, she lifted her index finger to his mouth, gently tracing the white edge of his scar.

  He stood very still but she could feel the deep thud of his heart where her other hand had crept to press against his chest.

  ‘I should have said this a long time ago…’ she began awkwardly, her cheeks filling with heat.

  ‘You don’t need to.’ His voice was low and rough.

  ‘I—I do.’

  ‘It was a decade ago,’ he said. ‘You were just a kid.’

  She felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes for what he must have suffered and yet, as far as she knew, he’d told no one…

  ‘Why did you tell everyone you’d tripped over?’ she asked, her voice catching slightly. ‘Why didn’t you tell them the truth?’

  ‘For what gain?’ he asked. ‘I goaded
you and you hit back. As far as I was concerned, it was over.’

  But it hadn’t been over.

  He’d come back for her, just as he had come back for Mercyfields.

  ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I didn’t want my pride dented any further. Can you imagine the ribbing I would’ve got if everyone had known you’d hit me with a rock?’

  She bit her lip in distress. ‘There was so much blood…’

  ‘It wasn’t a pretty sight,’ he agreed.

  ‘You had every right to report it…I deserved to be…’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, Bryony.’ He eased himself away from her. ‘One would be extremely lucky to get through life without a scar or two. Mine is a little more visible than most, but there are a lot of people out there with bigger scars than this, the only difference being they’re on the inside where they do a whole lot more damage.’

  She could well believe it. Didn’t she have wounds of her own lying festering where no healing hand could reach?

  ‘Sleep well.’ He flicked her cheek with one long finger before moving down the steps of the veranda and into the creeping shadows of the evening.

  Bryony stared after him until she could no longer distinguish his tall form from the trees he’d walked towards.

  The lake in the distance gleamed with the golden glow of the setting summer sun, the long fingers of fading light reaching as far they could across the surface, as if intent on peeling away what secrets lay there undisclosed…

  CHAPTER SIX

  BRYONY ignored the clawfoot bath and had a quick shower instead, climbing into bed soon after, not expecting to sleep a wink, but when she woke to the sound of the birds stirring in the gum trees fringing the gardens she realised just how exhausted she must have been.

  She was out of bed and dressed before Kane tapped on the door.

  ‘Time to get up, Bryony.’

  ‘I’m up,’ she called back and straightened the bed before reaching for the bag she’d packed the previous day.

  Kane had the car running outside, the boot open ready to receive her luggage, his brow lifting ironically at the sight of her modest bag.

  ‘Not taking the kitchen sink this time?’

  She shook her head.