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Mark was…
Totally, totally naked.
Her face burst into flames. ‘I—I’m s-sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I d-didn’t realise.’
Mark didn’t flinch. There was something almost godlike in the way he stood very still, and with unmistakable dignity, but his silence and his very stillness betrayed his shock. And then a dark stain flooded his cheekbones.
An anguished, apologetic cry burst from Sophie and she slammed the door shut again.
Sagging against it, she covered her hot face with her hands. She hadn’t seen a skerrick of warmth in Mark’s eyes.
Could she blame him? She wished she could drop through a hole and arrive back in London on the other side of the globe.
She’d never been so embarrassed.
And yet, as Sophie cringed, a part of her heart marvelled at how fabulous Mark had looked. In those scant, brief seconds, her senses had taken in particulars of his tall, dark, handsome gorgeousness—the hard planes of his chest, the breathtaking breadth of his shoulders, the powerful muscles in his thighs.
Although she’d tried to keep her eyes averted, she hadn’t been able to avoid seeing the rest of him—and how very male Mark was.
But alien, too, with his dark, stubbled jaw, and suntanned limbs, with the red dust of the Outback clinging to him.
Mark cursed and his heart thundered as he flung open wardrobe doors, grabbed clean clothes and dragged them over his dusty body. It would be some time before he recovered from the sight of Sophie Felsham, in his bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel—and the equal shock of standing in front of her like a dumbstruck fool. Stark naked.
Then again, Sophie Felsham wearing anything at Coolabah Waters would have stunned Mark.
He swallowed. He’d never dreamed she would arrive here before they’d had a chance to talk.
Why had she come? What did she expect from him?
Leaving his shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose over his jeans, he hurried barefoot down the passage to the kitchen, expecting to find Haggis peeling spuds at the sink, or slicing onions.
He was going to demand answers.
But the kitchen was empty.
It smelled great, however. There was something cooking in the oven—beef and mushrooms, if Mark wasn’t mistaken.
And then he saw a piece of paper propped against the teapot. Frowning, he snatched it up.
Mark,
My only sister, Deirdre, is seriously ill in Adelaide and I need to visit her. I’ve tried to call you, but the sat phone doesn’t seem to be working. Sorry, mate, but I know you’ll understand. I’ve left frozen meals for you and I’ve left Deirdre’s number beside the phone.
Apologies for the haste,
Angus.
P.S. A young English woman called. She’s coming to visit you. Good luck with that one.
The note was dated four days ago. Mark scratched the back of his neck and wondered when the surprises would stop. He crushed the sheet of paper and tossed it back onto the dresser. He was still trying to come to terms with the twist of fate that had allowed Haggis’s trip south to coincide with Sophie’s arrival when he heard light footsteps behind him.
‘The bathroom’s free.’
He swung around, and there was Sophie again. He inhaled sharply.
Her hair was still damp, as if she’d dried it hastily with a towel. Wispy, dark curls clung to her forehead and her soft, pale cheeks. She was dressed in a simple white T-shirt, a slim red skirt, and she wore sandals covered in white daisies.
‘Hello again, Mark,’ she said shyly.
She hadn’t used any make-up, and she looked pale and wide eyed. Incredibly pretty. Impossibly young. Her figure was so slender it didn’t seem feasible that it would expand and swell with pregnancy. With his baby.
Something hard and sharp jammed in Mark’s throat, and he swallowed fiercely.
‘I—I’m really sorry about—’ Sophie’s mouth twisted into an embarrassed pout, and her eyes widened as she flapped her hands helplessly out to her sides. ‘You know—the bathroom and everything.’
‘Forget it.’ He spoke more gruffly than he meant to, and the back of his neck began to burn.
How should he handle this? Should he greet her formally with a handshake? Ask her if she was feeling well? Throw his arms around her? That would be smart, given the filthy state of him.
Stepping forward quickly, he dropped a quick peck on her soft cheek. She smelled sweet and clean, of shampoo and soap, with a hint of something else. Lavender? ‘It’s good to see you.’
Super-conscious of his open shirt and unwashed state, he stepped back again. He felt so uncertain. There were so many questions he should ask. How was your journey? How are you keeping?
Why have you come?
‘I feel terrible about turning up like this,’ she said. ‘Moving into your home when you weren’t even here. I—I thought you said you’d be back last week.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I should have been back, but we ran into a spot of trouble.’
‘Oh?’
‘A big mob of cattle broke away. Took off for the most inaccessible country. Gave us no end of a headache.’
A little huff escaped her, and her shoulders relaxed. ‘That sounds like hard work.’
‘It was.’ He picked up the crumpled note from Haggis. ‘I’m sorry my caretaker wasn’t here to greet you. He had to go away.’
‘Yes, I couldn’t help seeing that note.’
It suddenly occurred to Mark that she might have been here for days. ‘When did you get here?’
‘This morning. I came on the mail truck.’
‘The mail truck?’ His mouth tilted into an incredulous smile as he tried to imagine Sophie Felsham from London arriving in the dusty township of Wandabilla and asking for directions to Coolabah Waters.
‘I hope you don’t mind that I used your bathroom. I know there’s another one.’
‘No. No, of course not.’ Mark avoided the unexpected shyness in her eyes. ‘You’re welcome to it. That’s fine.’ He ran his fingers through his dusty hair, and remembered that he was still in urgent need of a bath.
Sophie twisted a small, gold locket at her throat. ‘I don’t make a habit of breaking into people’s houses.’
He managed a grin. ‘No, you’ve got the wrong colour hair.’ When she looked puzzled, he added, ‘You’re not Goldilocks.’
Her smile lit up her face, and she looked so incredibly pretty that Mark fought an urge to close his eyes in self-protection.
Sophie pointed to the stove. ‘I took the liberty of putting one of your housekeeper’s frozen meals in the oven.’
‘Good thinking.’
There was an awkward pause while he wondered if he should demand that she explain her presence here. What did she want from him—his support to have an abortion? Money? Marriage?
‘Look,’ he said, and then he had to stop and take a breath. ‘If—if you’ll excuse me, I’ll make use of the bathroom before I try to be sociable.’ He offered her the briefest shadow of a smile. ‘I’ve got half the Outback’s dirt and dust on me.’
‘Of course,’ she said with a dismissive little wave, but her eyes were worried and her cheeks had turned bright pink.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE shouldn’t have come.
As Mark disappeared back down the passage to the bathroom, Sophie felt completely out of her depth.
In England Mark had been so different—so smooth, and almost passing for a city-dweller in his dark, formal suit—more familiar, less intimidating.
It seemed so silly now, but before she’d left London she’d imagined she would be able to book into a hotel or a motel in a village near Mark’s place. She’d planned to call him from there, arrange to meet for a meal in a country tavern, have a nice, long talk. Take it from there…
What an idiot she’d been. She should have quizzed Tim more closely. He could have told her what to expect in the Australian Outback. But the sad truth was, she hadn’t really wanted to know too much. She’d been pretty certain a heavy dose of reality would have frightened her off.
Which mightn’t have been a bad thing.
But she was here now, so she couldn’t back down just yet.
She looked about her, and decided she might as well make herself useful. Perhaps she could set the table for dinner. She crossed the kitchen to the ancient pine dresser to hunt for tablecloths and napkins, then wondered if Mark used the dining room for his evening meal.
It was directly across the passage from the kitchen and, like most of the rooms in this house, had French doors opening onto a timber veranda. This arrangement, Sophie had already discovered, was good for catching breezes and channelling them into the house.
The dining room, like all the other rooms, was a very generous size, but it was also ugly, with tongue-and-groove timber walls painted in a faded, murky green and without a single attractive, decorative touch. In fact, Mark’s entire house was as plain and austere as a monk’s cell.
It could do with a jolly good makeover—new paint, bright cushions, flowers, pretty fabrics, artwork.
A woman’s touch.
Sophie’s mind skidded away from that thought. Not this woman’s touch. She knew for a fact that she couldn’t live here.
She opened a door in the sideboard and found a pile of tablecloths—clean but un-ironed, and all of them ancient. Dull and boring. Depressing.
In a drawer, she found red tartan place mats with matching napkins and decided to use them. At least they were colourful. And the silver was clean and shining.
But despite the bright tartan the two place-settings looked rather austere on the huge dining table. She hunted about for a vase or candlesticks, anything to fill in the expanse of bare table-top.
There was nothing.
Showered and shaved, and neatly dressed in clean clothes, Mark stood in the middle of his bedroom and regarded his reflection in the mirror. He looked ridiculously nervous.
What did Sophie expect from him? Was she hoping for marriage? Surely not.
He’d never considered himself a family man, had more or less decided he was a habitual bachelor. His life was hard, and he worked long hours and took few holidays. He’d never really thought much about marriage, had never found a woman who would make a suitable wife—someone he really admired, who could take the hard life in the Outback.
Now, the irony was that just about any of the Australian girls he’d dated and parted with over the past decade would have fitted the bill better than this woman, with her milk-white English skin and high-flying, London-girl lifestyle.
Except…none of those other girls had been carrying his baby.
Mark glanced again at his reflection, saw concern and confusion, the downward slant of his mouth, and turned abruptly and marched from the room.
When Mark came into the kitchen wearing a crisp white shirt and casual chinos, with his jaw cleanly shaved, he looked so breathtaking that Sophie quickly became very busy, thrusting her hands into oven mitts and heading for the stove.
‘This smells wonderful,’ she said over her shoulder as she lifted out a pottery casserole dish. ‘Your housekeeper must be a good cook.’
‘He’s a darn sight better than the fellow we had on the mustering camp.’ Mark looked down at the bare kitchen table. ‘I’ll grab some cutlery.’
‘No need. I’ve set the table in the dining room.’
His eyebrows lifted with momentary surprise.
‘Would you rather eat in the kitchen?’
‘The dining room’s fine.’ He gave her a slow smile. ‘I wouldn’t have expected anything less from the daughter of Sir Kenneth Felsham.’
She gave a flustered little shrug.
‘Perhaps I should open a bottle of wine and make it a proper occasion,’ Mark suggested as he followed her, carrying the warmed plates through to the other room.
Sophie set the casserole dish down. ‘I’m sure wine would be nice, but I’m afraid I can’t join you.’
His eyes widened with surprise, and she pointed to her stomach. ‘It’s not good for the baby.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. I—I don’t really care for wine anyway.’
She looked up quickly to see if Mark was joking, but suddenly it didn’t matter if he was speaking the truth or lying through his teeth. Their gazes met and he smiled again, and his smile seemed to reach deep inside her. She had to sit down before her knees gave way.
Goodness. Surely she wasn’t going to be all breathless and girly—just as she’d been at the wedding?
Mark sat, too, and indicated that she should help herself to the food. Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she lifted the serving spoon, and she was sure he noticed.
‘You must be feeling rather jet-lagged,’ he suggested.
She nodded, glad to hide behind this excuse, spooned beef and mushrooms onto her plate, and hoped Mark was the kind of man who liked to fill his stomach before he tackled difficult discussions. But when she looked up she found his dark eyes regarding her thoughtfully.
She pointed to the food. ‘I’m sure you must be ravenous. Don’t let this lovely dinner get cold.’
