A Marrying Man? - Lindsay Armstrong

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arms folded on top of her bedclothes. ‘What do you do for a living? What kind of women do appeal to you—are you married to one, for example? Why do I get the feeling you’re a bit of a dry stick who lives in an ivory tower and feels he can afford to throw stones? Those kind of things.’

      He chuckled. ‘I’m not married, I’m a journalist, I certainly don’t live in an ivory tower and I probably like my women a little less flamboyant and a bit more tractable than you. So far as throwing stones goes, I’ve only relayed to you tonight the things people have told me about you.’

      ‘Flamboyant,’ Georgia mused. ‘Am I really?’

      ‘Well, you’re certainly not a little mouse of a girl. One only needs eyes to see that but I have it on good authority as well.’

      ‘Will, didn’t it strike you as being just a teeny bit sneaky—going around behind my back like this? Or are you that kind of journalist?’

      ‘All journalists have their ways and means,’ he said, and left it at that.

      ‘Would it interest you to know that I thoroughly despise your ways and means? That I—’

      ‘Now, Georgia, don’t work yourself up again,’ he advised. ‘It really can have no relevance what you think of me, or vice versa.’

      ‘Is that so? What if I did an about-face on the subject of your beloved Neil Dettweiler?’

      ‘Are you contemplating it?’

      ‘No. You must be a very good friend of his, Will,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘to go to all this trouble.’ And she stopped briefly with a frown creasing her forehead. ‘What did you mean by a family interest? He never said a word about you.’

      There was a minute’s silence, then he said, ‘He happens to be my half-brother. Georgia, we have a very early start tomorrow…’ He stopped, and to her surprise she saw him get up and come towards the bedroom.

      ‘Now look here…’ she said fiercely, sitting up.

      ‘Calm yourself, my dear Miss Newnham,’ he said, with more deadly amusement glinting in his hazel eyes as he came right up to the bed. ‘You’d be the last person who was in any danger of being taken against her will by me. But I am going to do this.’

      Their eyes locked as he reached for the lamp, and in the moment before he switched it off she read again that cool contempt in his eyes, and for the strangest reason discovered herself feeling young, hotheaded and a nuisance. All of which effectively silenced her as the lamp went off.

      She wasn’t sure when she drifted off to sleep but it was some time in the middle of some curious thoughts about William Brady—a man who despised her, who was totally unaffected by her, but a man…

      She woke to the sound of rain on the roof and the sight of weak morning light coming in and someone bending over her. She said drowsily, ‘David…?’

       CHAPTER TWO

      THERE was a moment’s silence. Then a voice said, ‘No. It’s William Brady.’ And the lamp flicked on, waking her completely and plunging her back into the incredible events that had overtaken her.

      She said, ‘Oh.’ And simply lay there while William Brady put a cup of tea on her bedside table.

      He straightened and their eyes met. ‘Who’s David?’

      ‘No one—’

      ‘You mean he’s not the reason you gave Neil the old heave-ho?’ he queried sardonically.

      Georgia flicked her hair back and sat up. ‘He is not,’ she said crisply. ‘Neither is he any of your damn business, Mr Brady, and if you don’t want to have to drag me kicking and screaming all the way to Sydney you’d be wise not to say another word on the subject!’

      William Brady inspected the luxurious disorder of her hair, the pale, perfect skin of her face, her elegant neck as it disappeared into a fun, hot-pink cotton nightshirt with big white daisies all over it, the imperious set of her mouth and her rather aristocratic nose, and said neutrally, ‘Sugar?’

      But Georgia subjected him to a scathing scrutiny of her own—the blue shadows on his jaw, the rather weary lines of his face and the way his thick brown hair fell in his eyes—before she said regally, ‘One.’

      He smiled slightly and spooned the sugar into her cup. ‘There you go—stay there; I’ll bring you breakfast.’

      Georgia regarded his retreating back with utter disdain for a moment then collapsed back onto her pillows with a bemused sigh.

      What could you do with a man who insulted you and threatened you, who planned to hijack you, but who brought you breakfast in bed, who, in an oddly laid-back but very adult way, showed his contempt for you but still aroused your curiosity? And made you wonder what he meant by ‘less flamboyant and a bit more tractable’—did he really like meek and mild little mice of girls?

      She sat up again, shaking her head as if to clear it, and reached for her tea. Five minutes later he reappeared and presented her with perfectly cooked scrambled eggs on toast on a tray. ‘Thank you,’ she said this time, but with irony, and started to eat.

      He sat down on the side of the bed, causing her to raise an eyebrow at him and say, ‘Well? What now, Mr Shakespeare?’

      ‘We have a slight complication.’

      ‘Don’t tell me—you’ve decided to believe me?’

      ‘No—’

      ‘Then you’ve reconsidered and decided that apart from the sheer impropriety of kidnapping a complete stranger against her will—’

      ‘It’s not like that,’ he broke in.

      ‘Oh, yes, it is, but I said I’d come and come I will, so—what?’

      ‘I rang to check our reservations earlier but the flight has been cancelled, as have all others, on account of a wildcat air traffic controllers’ strike. They don’t expect to be able to resume normal operations until this afternoon—and that might be an optimistic prediction. What I plan is to give them a couple of hours’ grace and then start to drive down.’

      ‘Drive down!’

      ‘It’s only a fourteen-hour drive. We could share it but we’d have to take your car.’

      ‘Look, it’s your brother—’

      ‘Georgia,’ he said quietly but dangerously, ‘bear with me, please. I thought it might even help you out a bit—to have a couple of extra hours to organise yourself in.’

      Georgia stared at him, set her lips, then said, ‘How is he?’

      ‘The same.’

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were half-brothers right from the start?’

      He shrugged and watched her dissect a piece of toast with her knife and fork, then lifted his eyes to hers. ‘It’s a long story, but I guess I thought it might adversely influence your decision if you thought you were also up against family disapproval. His family’s.’

      ‘Influence my decision?’ she marvelled. ‘You’ve blackmailed me, threatened me, insulted me—the only thing you haven’t done is allow me to make any sort of decision for myself!’

      ‘You told me a moment ago that you’d said you’d come and you’d come—’

      ‘Oh, look, go away, will you?’ Georgia commanded exasperatedly. ‘And take the tray with you. I want to get up.’

      He stood up and picked up the tray, saying politely, ‘Very well, ma’am.’ But she knew he was laughing at her.

      ‘And close

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