Margaret Way - Australia's Most Eligible Bachelor / The Bridesmaid's Secret - Australia's Most Eligible Bachelor

Stacks of valuable things were in the house. Paintings, antiques, silver, Oriental porcelain, rugs. Heart thudding, she slid out of bed, pulling on the turquoise silk kimono Zara had insisted on buying for her.

“It exactly matches your eyes, Miri. You must have it!”

She took several deep breaths. Held them. An exercise in slowing her heart-rate. Then very quietly she let herself out of the apartment into the staircase hall that connected the apartment to the house proper. For the first time since arriving in London she felt very much alone. The area lay in intense darkness. She reached out her fingers, seeking the bank of switches. She pressed one and a single low-level light came on, gleaming against the teal-blue-painted wall with its collection of miniatures in gilded frames. Now she could find her way up the curving internal staircase. A good twenty-four oak steps. Before leaving the apartment she had taken the precaution of arming herself with one of Corin’s golf clubs, which for some reason she had kept handy: an iron, a lethal weapon. God forbid she would have to use it. Maybe wave it about threateningly. Her mobile was in the pocket of her embroidered silk robe. She could ring the police.

Why don’t you do it now?

What if it’s Leila with Corin’s father?

She very nearly went into a panic at the idea. Surely Zara would have told her of their impending arrival in London?

That was if Zara even knew they were coming.

A whole world of problems opened up. Corin had been adamant Leila favoured the great hotels of the world when she was traveling, even though her husband maintained residences in various capital cities. Besides, Zara was in residence, and there was no love lost between Zara, her father and his second wife. None of them would have wanted to come into contact.

What a dysfunctional family! Leila the stepmother was at the root of it all. Leila, her birth mother. She had a hard time with that. If Leila ever laid eyes on her what reaction would she get? She had to closely resemble someone , in her colouring alone. Probably Leila would deny she had a daughter with her last breath.

Silently she edged up the staircase to the first landing, her bare feet making no sound. Halfway up she fancied she could smell coffee.

Of course she could smell coffee. The marvellous aroma was unmistakable. What sort of burglar would make himself coffee? It had to be some member of the family. A distant member, perhaps? One of the male cousins? That playboy, Greg? Just as she was hesitating, full of uncertainty, she heard footsteps in the long, spacious entrance hall with its marble tiling. Light, but simply not light enough to be a woman’s. It was a male. Intruder or relation?

Her stomach contracted and her head went into a spin. Adrenalin pumped into her blood, otherwise she thought she wouldn’t have been able to go a step further. As it was, she continued upwards. Someone was punching numbers into the security system. Why? They were already in. Or were they leaving? She felt a sharp ache at her temples, swayed a little, dropped the golf club.

You idiot!

If one accepted Murphy’s Law, if anything could go wrong, it would. She did. The club landed with a clatter, the stick pinging off the shining brass balustrade of the wrought-iron staircase. A thousand miserable damns! She backed down a step or two, in a great hurry to retrieve the golf club. The noise of its falling would have alerted the intruder. Silence now roared at her.

Breathe in and out. Slow your pulse.

She readied herself. She didn’t rate herself as fearless, but if something bad was about to overtake her she wouldn’t let it pass without a fight.

Only, like a benediction came a voice. A deep, vibrant, sophisticated male voice. She would recognise it anywhere in the world. Probably even if she were out moon-walking.

“Miranda, is that you?”

Louder footsteps struck the marble tiles. She stood electrified. Panic thinly plastered over with stoicism gave way to an excitement so thrilling it was impossible to contain it.

It’s me…it’s me…it’s me! She wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Corin! Was that a birthday present or what?

“God, I thought I was being as quiet as the proverbial mouse,” he called down to her.

“I’m here.” She was practically whispering now, her mouth had gone so dry. Corin was here . She’d had only a forlorn hope he would even remember her birth date. But he was here! She didn’t think she could climb the rest of the stairs, she was starting to shake so much. She had to take a moment to settle, to compose herself.

Corin!

This was the nearest she had ever come to euphoria. It was making her quite woozy.

“Where are you? On the stairs?” His footsteps were moving closer. “I’m sorry I woke you.” His tone held both concern and apology. “I thought you’d be fast asleep.”

Pull yourself together, silly. Think of your next move. No way can you act the gauche girl.

Only she couldn’t seem to get her head around the fact Corin was here in the house. There had been no advance warning. Just his electrifying presence. Had Zara known, she would have told her. So that meant Zara didn’t know either. She felt so unnerved, so totally off balance, she was almost ready to scuttle back down the stairs. She knew she looked perfectly presentable, with the kimono tied tightly around her, but the shock and wonder of his arrival was so enormously extravagant it was emotional agony.

All at once her knees gave way. She collapsed in a silken huddle on the step.

Corin appeared, taking in her small crumpled figure. “Oh, for God’s sake, Miranda!” He hurried down to her, bringing with him the force field that always zoomed in on her. He was wearing evening dress. Black trousers, white pin-tucked shirt. The black bow tie was undone and left dangling. “I can’t apologise enough!” He spoke very gently, getting an arm around her and lifting her to her feet. “I frightened you?”

“I have to say you did.” From chills of fright, she was now bathed in the glorious heat of contact. It seared her lightly clad body that was pressed so alarmingly close to his. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?” She ventured to lift her head, staring into his brilliant dark eyes.

“But that would have spoilt the surprise. Though I was taking a risk, wasn’t I?” His expression went wry. “Surely that’s one of my golf irons on the step?”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it.” She stayed within the curve of his arm and shoulder, for the moment physically unable to stand straight. The warmth and scent of him was the most powerful aphrodisiac.

“Oh, poor you!” he groaned. Still with his arm around her, he steered them up the rest of the stairs and from there along the corridor into the entrance hall. Once there, he dropped a kiss on the top of her silver-gilt curls. “A very happy birthday, Miranda. I can say that, as it’s gone twelve.”

“Thank you.” The thrill of his presence was so keen it was like exquisite little pinpricks all over her skin. Plus there was the fear she would betray herself. “But you surely didn’t fly into London to say that?” She managed to make it sound as though she was well aware he hadn’t.

“Why not? You’re twenty-one only once in your life.” His dark eyes moved slowly, steadfastly over her. “You look well.” Marvellously pretty would have said it better. Not a skerrick of make-up on her heart-shaped face, her mouth a delectable rose, and the lovely blue-green of the silk kimono matching her eyes, turning them to jewels. The silver-gilt curls still clung to her head, but he thought they were a little longer and expertly styled. Zara would know all the right places to take her. “I’ve made coffee. Would you like a cup, or do you want to go back to sleep?”