Matt cursed loudly and almost threw the phone at the wall.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Lockhart. She didn’t tell me much. Just that things didn’t work out.’ Emma Bellamy paused and then added, ‘She seemed dreadfully upset.’

  ‘Can you give me a contact for her? An email? A mobile number?’

  This was greeted by silence on the other end of the line.

  Matt tried again. ‘Her address in England? She lives in Derbyshire, doesn’t she?’ His mind raced, searching for an excuse to justify contacting Charlie. ‘I need to forward her pay.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, her parents have a place in Derbyshire, and as Charlie’s still officially on holidays, there’s a good chance she’ll be there.’ After another moment’s hesitation, ‘I suppose it won’t hurt to give you their address.’

  Snatching up a pen, Matt recorded the details of Charlie Bell’s home in England.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ZIPPING his leather jacket against the biting English wind, Matt stared at the scribbled address on the smudged and creased paper in his hand. Not that he really needed to check it, he knew every detail by heart. He looked again at the huge wrought iron gates in front of him. The name on the paper was the same as that on the brass nameplate – Greenfields.

  But there had to be a mistake.

  These gates led up a long, sweeping, gravelled drive to an enormous stately home. Charlie Bell wouldn’t live here.

  He checked the maps app on his phone to make sure he’d followed the correct route out of Derby. No, he hadn’t taken any wrong turns.

  Frowning, he surveyed the grounds inside the gates. A lush green park, a circular pond and a grand old house, three storeys high.

  Far out. Emma Bellamy had mentioned that Charlie’s parents owned property, but he’d had no idea it was an estate like this. He’d pictured a quaint English farmhouse with roses over the door, a few fields dotted with fat sheep and separated by stone walls. He couldn’t imagine the Charlie he knew living in a mansion like this.

  But there was only one way to find out. Straddling the hired motorbike, Matt kicked it into action and headed up the drive to Greenfields.

  Of course, chasing off to England to find Charlie had been an enormous gamble. For weeks, Matt had held off, sure the idea was crazy, then finally Arch had given him a king-sized lecture.

  ‘Listen mate, I’m sick and tired of your snapping and snarling. You’ve been kicking doors and moping ever since Charlie left. If one of our bulls was acting like you are, I’d either shoot him or cut the fencing wire and let him have his way.’ With an angry finger, he’d poked Matt’s chest. ‘I can’t very well shoot you, so consider the bloody fence cut.’

  And then he’d pulled a suitcase from under the table and dumped it at Matt’s feet. ‘The mustering’s taken care of. Here’s your bag and your passport. Go, buy a ticket to flamin’ England.’

  And now, here was Matt – roaring to a halt at the bottom of low stone steps that led to an imposing front door. His gaze raked his surroundings, taking note of the classic, uncluttered architecture – straight lines, square corners and tall windows overlooking the park.

  Best to get this over.

  Matt raised a hand to the brass knocker, but the door was opened before he could make a sound.

  An elderly man stood before him.

  ‘G’day.’ Matt flashed a brave grin. ‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr Bell?’

  The old man frowned and his grey eyes narrowed. ‘There’s no one of that name here, sir.’

  ‘Oh,’ responded Matt. ‘What about a Miss Bell? Charlie Bell?’

  His request was answered by another frown and a very definite shake of the head.

  ‘Perhaps she works somewhere on the property,’ Matt suggested, trying to be helpful in case this old fellow’s memory was unreliable. ‘In the stables perhaps? She’s good with horses.’

  Behind him on the gravel drive, the smooth grumble of an expensive engine approached. Over his shoulder, Matt saw a gleaming silver sports car glide to a stop.

  A thin blond man with a clipped moustache and wearing a formal tuxedo, uncurled from the driver’s seat. Without so much as a glance in Matt’s direction, he marched arrogantly across the drive, loped up the stairs and slapped his driving gloves and a woollen scarf into the man at the door’s hands.

  ‘Afternoon, Norton,’ he said with a brief nod before disappearing into the house.

  Matt gaped after him, then swung his gaze back to the old man, who was folding the discarded scarf neatly over his arm. ‘Norton,’ he said. ‘Is that your name?’

  ‘It is, sir.’

  Matt offered his hand. ‘Matt Lockhart. Pleased to meet you.’

  Norton accepted Matt’s handshake with a polite smile.

  ‘You’re a butler?’

  ‘That is correct.’ Norton glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you find this young woman you’re looking for.’

  Frowning, Matt lifted a suntanned hand to scratch at his jaw. ‘Emma Bellamy must have given me the wrong address.’

  Stepping forward, Norton peered at the much creased paper in Matt’s hand. ‘Emma Bellamy, sir?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Matt sighed. ‘She’s Charlie’s cousin.’

  ‘Really?’ Norton’s grey eyes widened behind his wire-rimmed glasses. ‘Good heavens. I think perhaps you’re at the right place after all.’ His tone was one of controlled shock.

  At that moment, there was a tinkle of laughter in the hall behind Norton. Matt glimpsed a swish of emerald green as footsteps approached. The driver of the silver sports car emerged with a beautiful girl on his arm. She was dressed in an elegant, dark green velvet evening gown. Her soft, full lips were made dramatic by lipstick and her golden hair was upswept into a charming knot to reveal a slender, pale neck. She was absolutely gorgeous.

  She was Charlie.

  Matt felt as if he’d stepped on a landmine. His body lurched and swayed while his heart seemed to explode in his chest. He gaped at the vision before him – an exquisite, golden-haired, totally upmarket version of his Charlie.

  With her arm looped through that of her escort, she stopped abruptly and stared at him. ‘Matt?’

  It was like seeing her from a long way off, as he watched the colour leach from her cheeks and her eyes widen in shock.

  ‘Good heavens, Matt,’ she whispered.

  ‘Surprise, surprise,’ he managed to reply.

  She stared at him, her green eyes huge in her pale face, her mouth and chin trembling. The way she reached out, as if to touch him, seemed automatic, but she must have remembered she was still attached to the blond fellow. Turning to him, she began a stammering explanation. ‘Jeremy, this – this is Matt Lockhart. He owns Sundown, an enormous, wonderful cattle property in Australia. We met while I was out there. Matt, this is – Jeremy Groves.’

  As Matt remembered to offer his hand, the butler bent forward and murmured in his ear. ‘Lord Jeremy Groves.’

  ‘Pleasure to meet you, Lockhart,’ responded Jeremy without warmth. ‘Look, old fellow, I’m terribly sorry to rush Charlotte away when you’ve just arrived, but we have tickets to the opera.’

  Matt held up his hand. ‘By all means, please go. Don’t let me hold you up. I was just passing through the district and I thought I’d drop in – just a quick hello to Char – Charlotte.’

  ‘Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry.’ Charlie slipped her arm free from Jeremy’s and stepped towards him.

  An exquisite perfume accompanied her and the low necked velvet dress exposed the pale slenderness of her throat and a tantalising hint of the perfection of her breasts. Her eyes were made lustrous by a watery sheen.

  Blinking, Matt did his best to swallow the iceberg-sized lump clogging his throat as he struggled to speak. ‘Nothing to apologise for. I didn’t warn you I might turn up out of the blue.’

  ‘Charlotte, my dear.’ Jeremy tugged at her arm. ‘We’re going to be late.’

  Swinging a bewildered glance to her partner and then back to Matt, she asked in a soft, breathy voice, ‘Are you staying nearby?’

  Norton stepped forward. ‘I can arrange accommodation for Mr Lockhart at the Greenfields Motor Inn.’

  ‘Oh.’ Charlie beamed at him, her face lighting up with a sudden, stunning brilliance that hit Matt like a laser blast. ‘That’s a super idea, Norton.’ And as Jeremy led her away, she called back over her shoulder, ‘Better still, Norton, Matt can stay here. Get a room ready for him.’

  ‘Very well,’ Norton responded, and Charlie, with another beaming smile, turned to hurry after Jeremy.

  As Norton and Matt watched the sleek silver car shoot down the drive, the butler spoke, ‘It seems you’ve found your Charlie Bell, Mr Lockhart?’

  Matt shook his head. ‘No, mate.’ He sighed. ‘I’m afraid I’ve found someone completely different.’

  Norton cleared his throat. ‘Lady Charlotte Bellamy to be precise.’

  For painful seconds, Matt stared at him. ‘Lady Charlotte? She’s a lady? You mean her father’s a duke or something?’

  ‘An earl.’

  ‘Damn it to hell.’ Matt glared at the twin rear lights of Lord Groves’ sports car as it whizzed through the front entry gates and his voice was tight with dismay as he turned back to the old butler. ‘What the blazes was she doing on my property masquerading as a ringer?’

  He cursed again, under his breath this time, and paced the doorstep, smashing the fist of one hand into the palm of the other.

  Norton shook his head and cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘Now, sir, unfortunately Lady Charlotte’s parents aren’t at home this evening, but if you’ll step this way, I’ll show you to the sitting room and arrange a room for you for tonight.’

  ‘No way,’ exclaimed Matt. ‘Sorry, Norton, I don’t mean to be rude. Thanks for the offer, but I can’t stay here.’

  The butler accepted this with a bow of his head. ‘Can I recommend the motor inn?’

  ‘I think I’d be better to get clear out of the district. Coming here’s probably the stupidest mistake I ever made.’

  ‘Mr Lockhart.’ Norton pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I’ve known Lady Charlotte since she was just thirty minutes old. May I be so bold as to comment that I’ve never seen her look at anyone the way –’ He paused and cleared his throat again. ‘Let me make a booking for you locally. It’s too late to try to find accommodation anywhere else on a Friday evening.’

  Propped against the bar at the Greenfields Arms, Matt nursed a pint of ale and stared moodily at the flagstone floor. What an A-grade ass he’d made of himself. Matt Lockhart, nobody’s fool, had stuffed things up in the most spectacular way possible.

  Normally, he was a practical bloke, not at all prone to fantasy. So how the hell had he thought he could jump on a plane, wing his way across the globe and have Charlie fall into his arms when he took her by surprise?

  Throwing back his head, he downed his beer in a long, angry swallow. For weeks now, he’d wasted hours and hours, thinking about her, fantasising about the look and the feel of her – remembering her taste when her eager lips opened under his. Each memory made his body tighten unbearably.

  And he’d been so sure he’d read her emotions correctly.

  Something very strong had been developing between them. He’d never looked into another woman’s eyes and found her looking back at him with such warmth and softness and longing. He’d decided he needed to take the initiative, or lose her forever.

  But what a fucking disaster.

  Elbows on the bar, he leaned his throbbing head into his hands. What really ate at his heart now was how she’d deceived him. His lively, lovely Charlie had been replaced by a vision of regal splendour – a dazzling unattainable woman from a totally alien culture and lifestyle. Almost another era.

  What the blazes had she been up to on Sundown?

  He ordered another pint and scowled as his gaze swept the smoky, laughter-filled pub. It was time to think through his options. Never in his life had he backed down or walked away when things got tough.

  He had no choice really. Tomorrow he’d front up to Charlie and get the truth out of her. He’d cop the bad news on the chin, but he’d have his say as well. Darn right he would. He didn’t take kindly to being fooled.

  He remembered the square, brown paper package he’d brought all the way from the other side of the world. Whatever the circumstances, she had to have it. Whatever else tomorrow brought, this parcel was meant for Charlie and no one else.

  That was how it would happen. He would present his gift, get his frustration off his chest by telling her how damn stupid her pretence had been and then walk clear out of her life.

  Back to the world Down Under where he belonged.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NESTLING back into the soft leather of the passenger seat in Jeremy’s car, Charlie was glad to be going home at last. She’d been rather poor company this evening. During the entire performance of Madame Butterfly she’d been thinking about Matt.

  The story unfolding on stage had been about a Japanese woman in love with an American, but Charlie’s thoughts had been absorbed by her own story of an Englishwoman in love with an Australian. Truth to tell, she hadn’t really stopped thinking about him for the past month.

  No matter where she went, who she met, what she did, on every occasion, Charlie found a reason to think about Matt Lockhart.

  Now, Jeremy’s car swept up the drive to Greenfields and as soon as he pulled up, his hand slid along the back of the seat. With a smug smile, he walked his fingers along Charlie’s shoulders. The gesture struck Charlie as sleazy, but somehow, she suppressed a desire to wriggle away from his cool touch.

  ‘Your parents are still in the Lakes District, aren’t they?’ he murmured, leaning closer.

  ‘They’ll be home tomorrow.’

  ‘But not tonight.’ Jeremy grazed her cheek with his lips and his moustache tickled her unpleasantly.

  She edged back slightly. ‘But my guest is staying here.’

  ‘That Australian chap?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No problem. He’ll be sound asleep. Jetlag and all that. We’ll have the place to ourselves.’

  Charlie suppressed a groan. Why couldn’t Jeremy be more subtle and more attractive? How did he expect her to fall into his arms when Matt was here at Greenfields? Uncomfortably, she knew now for certain that she couldn’t possibly invite Jeremy inside.

  ‘As you said, Matt will be jetlagged,’ she said, somewhat desperately. ‘There’s every chance he’ll be wide awake, waiting for his body clock to catch up. Her fingers fastened on the door handle and she pushed it down. To her relief the door sprang open. ‘Thank you for a super evening.’ She favoured Jeremy with a dazzling smile as she slipped out of his car.

  His reply was an open-mouthed gasp of astonishment.

  This was their third date and he’d been less than delicate in his hints that this evening they should progress to a more intimate relationship.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Charlie said, closing the passenger door firmly and raising a hand to wave.

  Jeremy didn’t wave back. With an angry sniff, he accelerated down the drive, his tyres spinning, throwing up gravel.

  But Charlie didn’t take time to brood over her escort’s wounded feelings. With a light step and an even lighter heart she hurried into the house. As always, good old Norton was waiting up for her in his dressing gown and slippers. He enquired about the opera, but Charlie ignored the query. Grabbing his hands, she demanded, ‘Is Matt asleep?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ came his surprising reply.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Norton.’ She gave his hands an impatient shake. ‘Where is he? What room did you put him in? I’ve got to speak to him.’

  ‘But, Lady Charlotte, he’s not here. He wouldn’t stay.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mr Lockhart seemed very upset. He’s chosen to stay at the motor inn.’

  ‘Oh.’ Charlie slumped against the polished mahogany banister at the foot of the staircase. ‘That’s that then,’ she said softly.

  ‘It is indeed,’ Norton agreed and, with the wisdom she knew to expect from him, he said no more on the matter.

  But her eyes stung with sudden tears, impossible to hold back. ‘You think he seemed very upset?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ came the gentle answer.

  ‘Then I’ve got to ring him.’

  ‘It’s very late at night. I’m sure it would be wiser to wait till morning.’

  She blinked back a tear or two.

  ‘Shall I make you some supper?’

  ‘No. No, Norton, thanks. I’ll – I’ll go straight to bed. Good night.’ Not wanting Norton to see how desperately miserable she was, Charlie turned. Lifting her long, velvet skirt high, she ran up the stairs, wishing with all her heart she could be Charlie Bell again.

  She woke next morning, feeling restless and edgy and her first thoughts, of course, were for Matt. He’d always been an early riser and she decided to ring him straightaway. She couldn’t bear to wait any longer to hear his voice.

  She had no idea of his mobile number, so she would have to call the inn and ask to be put through to his room. Somehow, it felt safer to be dressed for this call. She pulled on slacks and a soft, rose-coloured wool jumper, but her stomach was in tight knots as she keyed in the number.

  ‘Good morning. Greenfields Motor Inn.’

  A moment of blind panic hit Charlie. She was about to be connected to Matt and she hadn’t given enough thought to what she wanted to say. Should she start with an apology?

  ‘Could I speak to Mr Lockhart, please?’

  ‘I’m afraid Mr Lockhart has already left,’ the receptionist told her. ‘He checked out about half an hour ago.’

  He’s left? Stunned, Charlie stared at the phone in her hand. But Matt couldn’t have gone already. Not after coming all this way. He couldn’t leave without seeing her. They had to talk. ‘Did he leave a forwarding address?’ she managed to ask.

  ‘No, sorry, he didn’t.’

  She’d lost him.

  Charlie felt as if she’d been dropped from a great height. Clutching at her stomach with one hand, she rammed her other fist against her mouth to hold back noisy sobs of disappointment.

 

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