The English Lord's Secret Son (11 page)

“Take care, Catrina. Do not endanger yourself or your reputation in any way.”

“But I’ve already done that,” Cate said and cut the connection.

Over the years different people, mostly women, had tried their best to sling a little mud in her direction. Murphy Stiller for one. The problem boiled down to one thing. Envy. The belief Catrina Hamilton had unfair advantages over them. Little did they know!

Stepping briskly into the lobby, head down, she almost collided with someone. Surely it was impossible to know who you bumped into with your head down? Only all her senses went into overdrive. Her heart was pounding as hard as the first day she had met him. There had to be some primordial explanation for it. Even when her life was totally different, everything was the same.

“Back to see me?” he said, tempted to bundle her up and carry her off. The urge, however primitive, was irresistible. This was the love of his life. As simple and maybe as destructive as that.

She looked up into his handsome face. “Actually yes. Not to
see
you, but leave you a message.”

“How good of you.” He took her arm, leading her off to
the plush seating area with its glass-topped tables. At this time of the afternoon the area was almost empty. Two smartly dressed matrons were sitting on the central banquet in animated conversation. A glorious arrangement of fig branches, cordyline leaves, lime-green liliums centred with gorgeous ruby-red peonies sat atop the cone-shaped pillar that rose above the banquet.

“Well, what is it?” he asked, courteously pulling out her chair.

Ashe had always had beautiful manners. She had loved him not simply because of his outstanding good looks, his privileged position in life, his confidence. He had other important qualities. He was kind, generous, courteous to everyone, as liberal-minded as his mother had been a class snob. “Thank you.” She sat down, opening up her handbag to extract the card Gerald had given her. “If you’re going to visit a handwriting expert, this woman is the best. She has a doctorate in Psychology but she’s a forensic document examiner as well. She’s made many appearances in court, big fraud cases, that kind of thing.”

His raven head was bent as he stared down at the card.

“Her reputation is impeccable,” Cate added for good measure.

“Unlike yours.”

“Cheap shot.”

Of a sudden his eyes met hers. “Okay, I apologise.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that, Ashe,” she said, ultra-controlled, when all she could think was how much she had loved him. Lost him. Yet the magic remained alive. “Have you contacted home?” she asked, aware she was adopting more and more an upper-class English accent. It gave her some sort of bizarre satisfaction.

“I check in every day.”

“Good for you. Does your wife know about me?”

He glanced away, then back at her. “That’s funny,” he said.

“Not too funny, I hope? Let me share the joke. I didn’t rate a mention? Didn’t some poet say after the great love there were minor ones? Which one was I?”

He didn’t answer for a minute. Instead he raised a hand to a circling drinks waiter. “I’m not married, Catrina.”

Her voice wouldn’t work for her. She had never felt so shocked in her life. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Her vocal cords weren’t working.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he said crisply. “Why don’t I get us a glass of champagne?”

The suavity of his tone went a way to restoring her. “No—wait.”

He ignored her. The waiter promptly arrived. He ordered. “I think you can have
one
glass without going over the limit.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I
have
told you,” he said, pretending to be taken aback. “Sometimes it’s better not to do everything at once.”

Her heart in her chest felt cramped. “I don’t understand this. I’m twenty-six, that makes you—”

“Thirty-one,” he supplied with a downward drag on his handsome mouth.

“You’ve never
thought
of getting married? I mean, you have to produce an heir, don’t you? It’s mandatory.”

His eyes flashed. “I could tell you to go to hell, but since you ask, Catrina, I did
once
think of marriage. I already have an heir. Our son, Julian, is my heir.”

Something in his tone turned her blood ice-cold. “I’ll never deliver him up to you.”

“Never say never,” he warned.

The most shocking aspect was, some part of her was
rejoicing
.
Ashe wasn’t married. What did that make her?
Human, perhaps?
Ashe hadn’t married Marina or what was her name—Talia, Tallis? She ought to say something.

He was the one to speak. “All these years wasted,” he said. “But I guess it’s a part of life.”

“I’m not the only one to blame, Ashe.” She put up a hand as though to tidy her already immaculately arranged blonde hair.

“That’s just it,” he said, like a stab. “You carry your own share of blame.
”

“Maybe, but I was too inexperienced and you weren’t there. I believed your mother, Ashe. Just as you did. Your mother destroyed our relationship. Go see the handwriting expert. I can provide you with samples for comparison.”

His hand suddenly shot out to grasp her narrow wrist. How warm her skin was. How satiny smooth. How sizzling the contact. He would never get over the craving to touch her. “You could doctor them.”

Anger swept through her. Anger and a never-ending hunger. It was like living with a powerful addiction. “Careful, our drinks are coming,” he warned.

The waiter duly arrived, delivering two glasses of champagne with a smile.

“Drink up, Catrina,” Wyndham said, after the waiter had gone. “I can’t stay long.”

“Neither can I,” she returned sharply. “I have to get home.”

“To our boy? Tell me, what was really behind Stella’s decision to emigrate to Australia? People have been talking about it for years. She could easily have adopted a child in England. Instead she left her home, her family, everyone she knew. It doesn’t make sense. Not then. Not now.”

“It doesn’t have to, does it? They made their decision. Their lives. Let it lie.”

The flame in his blue eyes flared up. “Only I’m not prepared to let anything lie.”

“In that case you’ll have the note examined by an expert who could study recent and old examples of my writing. I have journals I kept from years ago.” Only she wouldn’t want anyone sighting them. They were far too personal, too private. “Cheers,” she said ironically, picking up her glass and taking a long drink, her mouth filling with bubbles.

“I ought to tell you I kept some old examples of your handwriting myself,” he admitted.

She gave a sceptical laugh. “You’re not going to tell me on your person?”

“I have copies,” he replied, unperturbed by the taunt. “Olivia will send the originals.”

“So you mean to have the letter tested?” She was lured into hope.

“I will if you come with me.” The hardness was still in his voice. “If you allow me to see my son.”

Cate experienced another moment of panic.

“Invite me for lunch at the weekend,” he suggested.

“You don’t belong in our world.”

“I think otherwise. I’m sure our son will be happy to see me. My regards to Stella. I must tell the family I’m delighted to have found her after all these years.”

It would all come out now. She was sure of it. But Annabel was dead. “Did any of them actually come to Australia to look her up?” she challenged.

“Well, of course her sister did, the notorious Annabel.”

Cate bridled. “Notorious?”

“Keep calm. Annabel was somewhat on the wild side, I believe. At least that was the word. Her marriage to Warren was a farce. It suited him to have a beautiful young wife. Annabel apparently got in with a fast lot. Drink, drugs, the usual thing. I wouldn’t really know. Before my time. I do know she came out to Australia, didn’t she, that final time?”

“I don’t want to talk about Annabel,” Cate said, shaking her head. “The woman is dead.”

“So is my mother. Actually no one wants to talk about Annabel,” he said. “A distant cousin of mine was madly in love with her at some phase of his young life.”

The question flew out of her mouth. “And who was that?” This was her best chance of finding something out.

“Why do you want to know?” His glance sharpened.

“Excuse me for asking.”

“It was a Ralph Stewart. Everyone called him Rafe. He was a friend of my father’s.”

“Was?”
Cate noted the past tense. She had never heard of the man until very recently yet the news came as a heart-stopper.

“Why the interest?” he asked, leaning forward a little.

She had made a mistake with the intensity of tone. “I’m making conversation.”

“Fine, except you sound like you really want to know.” He sat back. “Rafe is very much alive. He’s a prominent political figure. It’s my father who is no longer with us.”

“I regret I didn’t know him,” Cate offered quietly. Geoffrey Carlisle’s tragic end was a subject never broached.

“Had he lived he would have inherited the title and all that went with it,” he said.

“
Stella
should have,” Cate, the feminist, shot back.

“I agree, but all the large estates were entailed. It was a protective measure. Only males could inherit, the original idea being to keep the land in the family. You do see the sense of it? Sisters marry into other families. Stella and her sister, Annabel, were handsomely provided for. The title and land passed to me.”

“Are you sure Jules could be your heir?” she asked with some sarcasm. “He’s that quaint term—illegitimate. That could disrupt your plans.”

“Nothing will disrupt my plans,” he said and meant it. “Julian will not lose out.”

“And I’ll never let him go, Ashe,” she responded fiercely. “I’ll fight tooth and claw for him. You’ll never take him off to England. He won’t want to go. You’d better take that into account. Jules is an Australian, Ashe. He loves his own country. As do I. This issue will go to litigation. I’ve already consulted a solicitor.”

She spoke with the inner toughness of a woman who had pride and confidence in herself. He couldn’t help but admire her effrontery. “Won’t do you a bit of good,” he said. “You’re heavily in my debt, Catrina. You knowingly and willingly deprived me of all knowledge of my son. Now you’ve come up with a last-ditch attempt at mitigation.”

“If I give you my promise you can see my son you will see Georgina Warbuton?”

“
Our
son,” he corrected. “He has your blond hair but as he gets older the Carlisle physical characteristics will emerge. He’s tall for his age, well built. That cute nose will form into my
beak
,
as you used to call it. He already has the Carlisle eyes. Stella would confirm that.” He tapped the glass-topped table hard. “There’s something all wrong here,” he declared.

“Like what?” What she was feeling was alarm. Even her breathing was audible.

“My mother used to say you reminded her of someone.” He stared across at her.

“Now that’s just not believable. I was born here.”

“You have your adoption papers?”

He held her eyes so she couldn’t look down. “Of course I have,” she scoffed. “They’re nothing to do with you.”

“You are the mother of my child.” He was gravely intent on her.

“Well I wasn’t good enough for you then—why go into my ancestry? There could well be a convict lurking in
my
biological family’s tree.”

He was still watching her. “Your biological mother could well be alive.”

“She isn’t.” She’d had enough of this questioning.

“How do you know?” he shot back very fast.

“I checked. Don’t know who my biological father was. Sorry. Can’t help you there.”

“And Stella applied for adoption here in Australia?”

She forced herself to stay calm. “Do I have to spell it out? Stella couldn’t have children of her own. What else could she do? She wanted a new life. She wanted a child. That child was me. She’s been a wonderful mother to me and grandmother to Jules.”

His expression softened slightly. “I could see how devoted they are to each other.” There was a deep tender sadness in his tone. “But there’s a story here, Catrina.” He looked directly at her. “And I’m going to find it out.”

“Fine!” She threw up her head. “Pity you weren’t like that years ago.” Her voice bit so deep he almost flinched.

“One thing I am is
responsible
, Catrina,” he replied. “I would have thought you knew that. I would have taken full responsibility for you and our child. I would have married you just as we planned. Correction—as
I
planned.”

Catrina stood up, leaving the rest of the champagne in her glass untouched. “Well, it took your mother to sabotage your plans. I’ll make the appointment to see Georgina Warbuton. I’ll let you know when.”

He too rose to his feet. “It had better be soon. I want to see Julian at the weekend.” He glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment to keep.”

“Don’t let me hold you up.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Don’t bother.” Strain was in her voice. “It’s parked nearly a block away.”

“No problem. I have time.”

Out on the busy street he took her arm as they threaded their way through the crowd. She could feel the energy coming off his body. His subtle masculine cologne was in her nostrils. Ashe had some power, no other man in her life, and she had known quite a few very attractive men, had made her feel so female
.
So much the
Woman
.
A woman to be greatly desired. He was Jules’ father. The last thing she wanted was a viciously fought child-custody battle. It could destroy her and his well-ordered world. But the most important person in all this was Jules.

Their son.

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
ITH
G
ERALD
’
S
RECOMMENDATION
Cate was able to make an after-hours appointment with Georgina Warbuton, who was on call as an expert witness in a current hot case involving massive fraud.

She picked up Ashe outside his hotel. He was waiting on the pavement, looking out for her car. He got in quickly, shut the door, effectively locking them in together. He looked very handsome in a mustard-coloured jacket, blue jeans, with a midnight-blue cotton shirt open at the throat. She felt her body go into insubordinate surges of desire. If this were a romance novel she’d be flinging herself at him with primitive abandon. Only this was real life.

“Seat belt,” she prompted, not looking at him. Wiser to keep her eye on the traffic. Mother Nature had given Ashe far too many advantages.

“I do know how to do this,” he pointed out. He slung the belt across him and locked it in. “Nice car.”

“Thank you.” He had made no comment the last time he was in it. “I have an excellent high-paying job.”

“I know exactly how much you get,” he said very dryly.

Cate was angered. “I beg your pardon.” She flashed him an irate glance.

“It would be a good idea to watch the road,” he said as a white Porsche pulled out right in front of them.

“I can’t believe Hugh gave that away.” Hugh was exceedingly discreet.

“It wasn’t Hugh.”

“Tell me. I want to know.”

He glanced at her. She had a beautiful profile. He hadn’t been celibate all these years, but just looking at Catrina was a bigger turn-on than full-blown sex with any other woman in all that time. Catrina was the real thing. A
femme fatale
.
“You understand envy,” he said. “I understand envy. People become envious. It’s the way of the world.”

“It was Murphy Stiller?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t want to go into it. Settlement date for Isla Bella is ninety days hence. Thank you for your part in it.”

“Lady McCready liked you. She’s no snob, but Lord Wyndham did the trick. And then of course she knows about the trainloads of money. But surely you won’t have the time for frequent visits?”

“I’ll find time,” he said. “Trustworthy caretakers are in place. They’ll look after it for me. I’ll allow my family and friends to use the island. You may even rate an invite. Julian certainly will.”

“Jules won’t go anywhere without me,” she said sharply.

“Then you can come too.”

All her resources, mind and body, were being put to work. “Oh, God, Ashe,” she breathed. “Isn’t ours a star-crossed story?”

He considered that for a long moment. “There’s been far too much anguish, Catrina. I don’t believe in love stories any more.”

She felt tears come into her eyes. She blinked them away. “Do you have my notes with you?” she asked.

“Two samples. The ones we can actually use. The others were a bit too personal. One would have thought you were desperately in love with me.”

“I was. For a time.” Occasionally one had to tell lies.

“It must have been difficult forgetting you ever cared?” he asked with a terrible calm.

“How was it for you?” She shot him a sparkling glance.

“I saw it as horrible treachery.”

“On the basis of what your mother told you, then showed you. That’s why we’re going to consult Georgina Warbuton. I should warn you, you won’t be able to go on exonerating your mother. I know how painful that will be. You can’t claim total ignorance either. You knew your mother was dead set on Marina.”

Knowledge of that was hitting him increasingly hard. He remained silent.

“Sorry, Ashe,” said Cate. “Your mother had no conscience when it came to you and what she thought you should have. A different value system came into play.”

* * *

Georgina Warbuton couldn’t have been kinder, or nicer. A handsome woman in her late fifties, she welcomed them into her elegant terraced home. A tall, distinguished-looking man she introduced as her husband. After a few pleasantries, her husband left them.

They were offered tea, coffee, politely refused. Both of them were intent on getting answers. Georgina Warbuton shepherded them into her book-lined study, more like a library with floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases on either side of a marble fireplace. A lovely flower painting of the Dutch school—it appeared to have been done with a palette knife—hung over it. The polished floor was covered with a beautiful vibrant Persian rug in deep reds and blues. There was room for a comfortable sofa and two matching armchairs covered in a beautiful blue silk-velvet picking up the colour in the rug and the blue of Ashe’s shirt.

Dr Warbuton waited until they were seated before she took the sensitive documents into her long, expressive hands. Her keen gaze was very serious now. She was fully occupied with what was before her. “This shouldn’t take long,” she announced after a few moments, retreating behind her antique desk. There she switched on a table light with a strong beam, angling it towards her. Next she began to delve in a desk drawer.

To Cate, desperately hopeful, that sounded as though Dr Warbuton thought the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

Vindication.

For a moment her spirits soared, then crashed back to earth again.

Too late.

Cate looked over at the man she still loved. His hands were locked. He was looking down, his lean, athletic body perfectly still. For a split second she wanted to move across to him on the sofa, hold his hand. He had viewed Alicia with the eyes of a loving son. Blood was thicker than water.

Georgina Warbuton was examining the documents very closely now. Whatever she thought she was keeping quiet about it until she was absolutely sure.

There
couldn’t
be a problem. There couldn’t, Cate thought with a sinking feeling of dismay. Even the greatest art experts in the world had been tricked. Had Alicia been so clever she had even fooled an expert?

Finally Dr Warbuton looked up, her gaze intense. “It is my professional opinion, this letter—” she held up the contentious note “—is not the handwriting of Catrina here. It is in fact a clever forgery.” Her voice was dispassionate, but her eyes were kind.

“You’re absolutely sure?” Ashe asked gravely.

“I am.” Dr Warbuton’s answer was quiet. “If the matter is so very important to you, you could consult another handwriting expert, but they will tell you the same thing. If you care to come here, I can show you various markers.”

Cate shook her head. She didn’t want to see them. She didn’t want to augment Ashe’s pain. She looked to him as he sat mute.

Georgina Warbuton gave them both a moment. She could see how tremendously important verification of the document was. She had no doubt at all it had been carefully written by a hand other than the beautiful young woman in front of her. A clever hand. An artist’s hand? The purpose? It was none of her business. She had to be entirely objective in her judgments.

Finally Ashe rose to his feet, his striking features taut. It was obvious he was feeling deep emotion. “That won’t be necessary, Dr Warbuton,” he said, respect in his voice. “You’re a recognised expert in these matters. We won’t proceed further.”

* * *

Out in the street again she had to near run to keep pace with him, her face thrown up against the breeze, a strand of her hair coming loose, whipping across her cheek. Her body was humming with high-pitched nervous energy. Ashe’s broad back, the set of his square shoulders, indicated he was battling a heavy load of tension.

He reached the car before she did.

“Are you getting in?” she asked, staring up into his taut face.

He touched an elegant hand to his temple. “I don’t think so. I feel like walking.”

“You don’t know this part of the city,” she said. “You could get lost. It’s a long haul back to your hotel.”

“I can always catch a cab,” he said curtly.

“Please, Ashe.” She tried to force balance, reason, into her voice. “I know you’re upset.”

He suddenly reached for her bare slender arms, clutching them hard.
“Upset?”
The expression on his handsome face was ravaged. “You were right!”

“Let me go, Ashe,” she said quietly.

He released her with a sharp jerk. “God,” he groaned. “Not one of us doubted her. Olivia, Leonie, me. We accepted her word, totally.”

Cate, a mother herself, was now closer to understanding. “She was your mother, the strongest force in your life. The woman who had taken care of you from your very first breath. Your father wasn’t there to make a judgment. I’m sure he would have handled things better.”

“I can’t answer that,” he said, when he knew that would definitely have been the case. His father had been a highly intelligent man with wide-ranging briefs in very important work.

“You told me once your mother and father didn’t agree on lots of things?” she suggested.

“My father saw things a whole lot clearer than my mother.” His answer was brusque. “She tended to get very emotional.”

“Not the best state to be in when you’re trying to make an objective judgment. We all know that. Why don’t you get in the car?” she urged. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel.”

* * *

They were well under way. But she hadn’t composed herself sufficiently to take the next obstacle on board.

“Okay, my mother did a very wrong thing,” he acknowledged tersely. “She had allowed herself to believe
my
life was hers. But
you
!
I told you over and over I loved you deeply, Catrina. You were precious to me. You were part of my life; the whole twin souls bit. I told you I wanted to
share
my life with you. Yet you forgot all that the moment I turned my back.”

“I was
young
,
Ashe. Too young. Just a kid. You were five years older. Had I been five years older I may have handled it better. But your mother tied me up in knots. We both did the wrong thing. If your mother convinced
you
,
think what an effect she had on me.”

He shoved a hand through his wind-tousled hair. “You could have given yourself time to think it all through. I was home two days later. You could have stayed.”

The sharp edges in his voice cut into her. “Ashe, I was told to back off in no uncertain terms. I really don’t want this conversation. It’s all too late.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m right
here
,
Catrina, physically beside you. How many times did we make love?” he asked, in what seemed to her a totally disillusioned voice.

“One time too many,” she said, then immediately shook her head. “I can’t say that. I have my Jules.”

“
Our
Jules,” he said right on cue. “I just wish you’d told me. God knows you’ve had years.”

The extraordinary thing was, in retrospect she had to ask herself why hadn’t she? “The reason—or one of the reasons—was I believed you were married; probably had a couple of kids. I only had Jules. Please, Ashe. Just let it lie.”

“I know my obligations,” he said firmly.

* * *

They were nearing the hotel, one of the finest five-star hotels in the city. It was stunningly situated, overlooking the Harbour and the Opera House. “There’s a parking spot. Grab it.”

“I’m not coming in,” she said briefly. Even with the air conditioning on, the interior of the car was steaming up.

“Grab it,” he repeated in a crisp, authoritative tone. Ashe had come a long way over the past years. He was no longer the young man she had known.

She felt far too agitated to argue. She had caught the flash in his eyes.

Inside the hotel he steered her seemingly solicitously towards the bank of lifts. “We have a custody agreement to work out.”

“We have
no
custody agreement,” she muttered, playing her part. “I want my son full time. I won’t share him.”

He only gave one of his elegant shrugs. “Neither of us wants to cause him grief. He’s my son, too, Catrina. I would think your solicitor pointed this out to you. You’ve had Julian for the past seven years. It’s your turn to make it up to me.”

“So what do you want?” She was aware her emotions were getting out of hand. Always the see-saw. Up and down.

“Maybe we should talk about this in my suite,” he said, lowering his voice as several hotel guests approached the lifts.

* * *

They were inside his spacious suite on the thirty-fourth floor. It was decorated in a sophisticated style with rich silks and exotic Honduran mahogany, but the emphasis was on comfort. There was a splendid view of the city’s icons all aglitter
through the series of triple-glazed soundproofed plate-glass windows.

“Sit down,” he said, extending a hand towards one of the three-seater sofas, luxuriously upholstered.

“All I can give you is a half hour,” she said, smoothing the skirt of her sleeveless silk cotton dress, printed in a medley of green and gold.

A black eyebrow shot up. “A half hour? That’s it?”

“I have a lot of work lined up for tomorrow, Ashe. A good thing Hugh is handling your affairs himself.”

“I suppose he would as he’s the boss,” he said dryly. “Want a drink?” He walked to the mini-bar.

“No,” she answered. “Maybe a Perrier water.”

He gave her a taut half smile. “Coming up. I’m not going to waive my right to see Julian at the weekend.”

Cate felt herself stiffen. “You’re not going to say anything to him?”

“As a matter of fact—” He made her wait until he had poured her a mineral water.

“As a matter of fact,
what
?
” She was on tenterhooks.

“Of course I’m not going to say anything,” he said, coming back towards her. “We both know the time isn’t right.”

“Is it
ever
going to be right, Ashe? I doubt it.” She looked and felt unspeakably sad. Most of the previous night she had lain awake wondering what his plans would be. At such times her mind inevitably going back over the halcyon days they had spent together. The long walks, the conversations they’d had. They had talked about their hopes and their dreams, about art, literature, movies, religion, philosophy, politics, floated theories. They could talk about anything and find it immensely enjoyable. Both of them were born scholars always out to learn. Ashe had read Law and Economics at Oxford, graduating with a double first. If he had been thinking of following his father into British Intelligence, his father’s death had made him rethink his plans.