Free The Australian Heiress by Margaret Way

asked. “I need a drink. I’ve been talking nonstop for three hours.”
    “That can’t be good for somebody.”
    He turned to look at her. Tonight she was wearing a silk shirt and matching skirt in a beautiful shade of violet. The outfit was quite plain except for the intricate bead-and-sequin work along the shoulder line of the shirt and the wide belt that accentuated the narrowness of her waist. “You look ravishing.”
    It couldn’t be desire in his eyes, surely? Whatever it was set off shock waves.
    “I assure you it wasn’t done on purpose.” She looked away. “I see you have a passion for Oriental porcelain.” On either side of the staircase were two blue-and-white fish bowls on carved stands filled with great sprays of velvety red cymbidium.
    “I inherited a collection that belonged to my maternal grandmother. A lot of famille noire, if you’re interested.”
    “How fortunate you are.” Camille didn’t hide her sarcasm.
    “Welcome to my home, Camille Guilford,” he said, surprising her.
    “That sounds like ‘Come into my parlour.’”
    “A little of that, too.”
    “Exactly. My opinion of you hasn’t undergone any dramatic change.” She looked upward at the cantileveredstaircase with its impressive Gothic balusters. “But I have to say this is a beautiful house.”
    “I like it.”
    “I think I could get used to it, too.” Her gaze touched on a Flemish tapestry depicting a court wedding. It was so entrancing she smiled.
    “Could you do that again?” he said.
    “Do what?”
    “Smile.”
    “It wasn’t for you. I was enjoying the tapestry. It looks like a court wedding.”
    “It is. Seventeenth-century Flemish. Notice the bride. She’s very much like you. She has your features and the glorious hair.” He gestured at the entry to what was clearly the drawing room. “Let’s go in here. You’ll be more comfortable. Would you prefer something other than a martini?”
    “Actually, yes. A clear head.”
    “A martini won’t hurt you. Very dry. A twist of lemon.”
    “All right. Do you mind if I wander around?”
    “As long as you don’t disappear.” He walked to a circular table where drinks and hors d’oeuvres had been set up.
    “I heard you’d bought that.” Camille stopped in front of a magnificent light-drenched open-air painting above the mantel.
    “Please don’t mention it to anyone else,” he said dryly.
    “You don’t light the fire with the painting above, do you?” She accepted the chilled glass from his hand. The electric current she felt almost caused her to drop it.
    “Of course not,” he answered casually as though unaware of her reaction. “We keep the fireplace filled with ferns or orchids, as it is now. You might like to sit in that chair.” He indicated a baroque walnut armchair upholstered in a splendid fabric. “All those rich colors will look lovely with your hair.”
    “I don’t care to be posed.”
    “You ought to be used to it,” he said.
    He hadn’t moved, yet she had the weird sensation he had touched her. “I’d like to take a look at the album, if I may,” she said in a determined voice.
    “All in good time. I must go and change. Wander where you want. There are many things of interest in the library. Rare books. I won’t be long.”
    “If you let me have the album, you could take hours.”
    “I’m afraid not.” There was a sardonic twist to his mouth. “And by the way, if you should choose to leave, you won’t be able to.”
    “Why not?” She felt a tiny frisson of fear.
    “Security,” he replied. “The Dobermans are out.”
    After he’d gone, she began to move restlessly around the room. So many lovely things! Along with her apprehension, she was aware of a perverse excitement. She shrank from it. Nick Lombard, of all men. It wasn’t what she wanted at all. In fact, it could be a trap.
    The library was behind the tall double doors. She opened them quietly and walked into an enormous two-story-high book-filled room,