although she barely knew the man he was most definitely that. Ensuring her balance was equal to the task of walking, Claire straightened her shoulders and tucked the wisps of hair mussed by her sleeping. She patted at her cheeks in the hope of restoring a brief glow. He’d stood in this very room with the type of intention aflame in his eyes that made women swoon. Swooning wasn’t in Claire’s nature although nor was she immune to such blatant signs of manly interest.
Despite her tiredness, the late afternoon captivated Claire. Light streamed through the bougainvillea hedge, its rays sweeping across the drowsy garden showering butterflies, birds and two mischievous rabbits with light. She walked directly towards Wetherly, sitting quickly in one of the wicker chairs, not quite trusting her strength.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Gordon. I trust I find you in good health.’
Claire noticed his usually immaculate attire was dusty. His shirt tail was untucked beneath his waistcoat and his eyes were shadowed with tiredness. Were it not for the fact that he only resided some half mile from the homestead proper, she would have believed he’d been travelling for some days. ‘Mr Wetherly, you look quite out of sorts.’
‘While you are as fresh as dew.’
Claire’s cheeks coloured with the compliment despite knowing she must look ghastly.
‘I was hoping to find Mr Gordon. I was left a note last night and it appears he wishes me to take charge of the cattle for the route. However I’ve no experience in that regard.’
What of Luke, Claire wondered. ‘Mr Wetherly, if my husband trusts you to attend to this task, then clearly that is his preference.’ She gestured for him to sit but he placed his hat on the wicker table, clearly distracted.
‘If you could tell me where he is I would talk to him about the matter.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Wetherly –’
‘Do you know where he is or not, Claire?’
Claire took a breath in anger. ‘I’ll ask you not to address me in that tone.’
Wetherly hesitated, took a couple of steps towards her and then smiled. ‘I apologise. It is important I speak to him and I would be grateful if you could tell me where he is.’
Claire felt her body begin to ebb with tiredness, she began to feel ill. ‘I cannot help you, Mr Wetherly.’
‘Jacob,’ he corrected her. ‘Call me Jacob.’ Kneeling, he took her hand. ‘If we are alone …’ His thumb circled her palm. ‘I find I cannot remain in my current position.’
He was so close, flecks of dust were obvious in his moustache. He grasped her hand more firmly. ‘I have already made a fool of myself in affairs of the heart. I cannot do it again.’
Claire pulled her hand free. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Oh I know I should not ask such a thing. It’s just after our talk in the garden the other night, I felt, I thought, that you were unhappy. Am I wrong?’
Claire gave a little shake of her head. Horribly, a gasp of sadness escaped her.
He took her hand again, squeezed her fingers. ‘Then in your drawing room there was this utter moment of complete surrender between us.’ He paused. ‘Am I wrong in my imagining?’
‘I think you have mistaken …’
‘It is strange is it not? We’ve only been alone three times and yet when I saw you at the picnic with that dreadful Mrs Webb and her poorly conceived daughters –’
Once again Claire freed herself of his grasp, ‘You mustn’t say such things.’
He leant towards her slowly, his fingers tracing the fineness of her cheek, slipping to touch her lips. ‘If I asked you to follow me, to join me in Sydney, would you leave?’ He parted her lips gently and placed his mouth over hers.
Claire pushed at his shoulders, it was a weary attempt. His was a gentle kiss, a slow languorous embrace, then he was breaking from her as slowly as he’d begun.
Claire took a long shuddering breath. ‘You should not have done such a thing.’
‘There will come a time when I send for you,’ he continued on, oblivious to her annoyance.
‘You have taken advantage of me Sir,’ Claire remonstrated. The eggs and brandy were curdling together nastily in her stomach.
‘It will be soon. I have debts to repay and then we shall be together. My older brother has died of consumption – the estate is now mine. I would sail late February if you were willing?’
‘England?’ Claire could scarcely believe what he was telling her. She leant back in the wicker chair.