Laurey Bright - The Heiress Bride

Spencer cleared his throat. “Christmas being a family occasion, and you all being part of the Clarion family, this seems an appropriate time to make an announcement.”

As Spencer’s proud gaze traveled around the room Alysia felt a surprised thrill. She hadn’t expected a formal announcement, though everyone probably knew already she was about to start working with them, her very first real job after leaving university.

Spencer smiled and continued. “As I’m getting on in years—” he paused for muted laughter and murmured denials around the room “—it’s time I started thinking about the future. Young blood is always good for an old business and the Clarion is no exception. I’ve decided, therefore, to appoint a deputy editor.”

Deputy? Alysia felt dizzy. Not a junior position in the newsroom after all. Instead a new position created just for her.

The business degree she’d taken before attending journalism school might have made her father think she’d be more valuable in management. But she’d expected to work her way up, not be presented with a plum position working at his side.

Flushing with embarrassed excitement, she took a step forward.

“So…” Spencer raised his glass. “Please drink to my right-hand man and the Clarion’s deputy editor.”

He turned to Chase and put an arm around his shoulders. “Chase—here’s to your new position. Congratulations.”

All the blood drained from Alysia’s cheeks. She felt herself go pale and cold, her temples thudding.

Everyone was raising their glasses, calling out their congratulations, and a smattering of applause broke out. Thank God no one was taking any notice of her. What a fool she’d almost made of herself.

Chase was smiling as Spencer shook his hand. “Thank you all very much,” he said. “And Spencer, I’m deeply honored by your confidence in me.”

Sycophant. Toady! A sour taste rose in Alysia’s throat, almost choking her. While everyone else surged around the two men, offering Chase congratulations, she left the room, almost running along the wide passageway to a door that opened onto the old back veranda and the garden. She had to get away before anyone saw how upset she was. How betrayed she felt.

Quickly she descended the broad steps and crossed the moonlit lawn bordered by a mixture of native New Zealand evergreens and exotic hibiscus, roses and lavender. The trailing leaves of the pepper tree whipped at her face, startling her, and she breathed in their sharp scent as she went on.

Beyond the formal garden a path wound between thick shrubs, and at its end a low stone wall served the double function of retaining the steep bank and providing a place to sit and survey the view.

A sea of lights spread out far below, a winding curve of blackness marking the river that bisected the town. And beyond the farthest lights a range of hills created another black uneven line below the five stars of the Southern Cross and the pale misty swathe of the Milky Way.

Alysia sat on the wall, half turned to stare unseeingly at the winking of the lights imitating the crowded night sky overhead.

Gradually the turmoil inside her subsided, while she castigated herself for being such a fool. It didn’t mean her father didn’t love her…only that she was too young and inexperienced for a senior position and he knew it. She knew it. Her sickening disappointment was based on a fleeting false impression. She would just have to get over it.

Once she did start work she’d show him, show everyone—she’d be the best damned reporter the Clarion had ever had. Better even than Chase Osborne. And in a few years she’d be given her rightful place as the heir to the Kingsley heritage. Because she’d have earned it.

She stayed unmoving for a long time, scarcely hearing the revelry from the house, until the breeze wafting uphill from the river rustling and rattling the manuka and flax and occasional tall, lacy ponga fern covering the slope, made her shiver.

Rubbing at her bare arms, she got up, stopping with a small gasp as she saw the dark bulk of a man standing rock-still a few feet away.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Chase Osborne said.

“How long have you been there?” Her tone was sharper than she’d meant it to be.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t answer straight away. “Your father sent me to find you.”

It didn’t answer her question, but after a half second’s reflection she decided not to pursue it. “How did you know where to look?”

“It took me a while.” He paused. “Are you all right?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” He hadn’t guessed, had he, how nearly she’d invited humiliation? Her cheeks burned and she was thankful for the dim light.

Chase said, “You seemed to be knocking back your drink in there as if you needed a fix.”

“I can handle my liquor. It was one glass of gin and lemon and I didn’t even finish it.” Or had she? She couldn’t remember now what she’d done with it in her blind need to escape. Anyway, she was an adult. How much she drank needn’t concern him. “I’m fine,” she asserted.

She had an uneasy feeling he didn’t believe her, but after a moment’s silence he changed the subject. “This is quite a sight, isn’t it?” He came to her side, looking down at the lights and the invisible river. The sleeve of his jacket brushed her arm, and she involuntarily flinched away.

Chase turned his head, and even in the dark she sensed his air of amused curiosity before he switched his attention back to the view.

“You must have seen it before,” Alysia said.

“Never at night. Kingsley’s kingdom.”

Something in his tone made her defensive. “It’s only a town.”

He turned to her again. “Your family’s town.”

“We don’t own it. Not anymore.”

“In your great-great-grandfather’s day—”

“That was a long time ago.” Jasper Kingsley, only weeks off an immigrant ship from England, had bought land from the local Maori tribe, milled the standing timber that covered it, raised a settlement on the banks of the river—in those days a navigable water-way—and leased the cleared land to small farmers, making himself a sort of unofficial squire. He’d built the big house, at that time the only house on the hillside, from which he could survey his creation. But in over a century and a half the town had grown and times had changed.

“All we own now is the house and the newspaper,” Alysia pointed out. “And a few old buildings,” she added punctiliously. Plus various stocks and shares.

“Those old buildings are on prime sites,” Chase reminded her. “Worth quite a lot in today’s market.”

She had no doubt he was right. Not that it was any of his business.

His voice butter-smooth, he added, “And one day they’ll all be yours.”

“I hope that day is a long way off,” she told him tightly. And hoped he understood that she found discussing her father’s death—even indirectly and only in theory—distasteful.

Chase turned, altering his stance so that he appeared to loom over her. He was blocking her way to the path. When she stepped forward he didn’t budge.

Alysia raised her eyes to his face, half-lit by the blue-white moonlight. She’d never thought him a particularly good-looking man—his strong features were too well-defined, the bone structure too obvious. But he was striking, and close-up he presented a formidable air of masculinity.

She didn’t recall that they had ever been alone before, unless she counted occasions when he had come to the house and she’d let him in to her father’s study.

She smelled a faint aroma of clean clothing, soap and an underlying pleasant tang that reminded her of the sea. Aftershave? As he looked down at her the planes of his face seemed angular, the chin jutting and the straight black brows almost merged in a frown.