‘You were young,’ he told her. ‘Far too young to marry.’
‘So how old is old enough to marry?’ she demanded, momentarily distracted.
‘Eighty maybe?’ He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Or never. Marriage has never seemed anything but a frightful risk. How the hell would you ever know you weren’t being married for your money or your title?’ He shrugged. ‘Enough. Let’s get things moving. We have three short weeks to get things finalised.’
‘You’ll go to Australia?’
‘I can do it from here.’
‘You’ll go to Australia.’ She was suddenly decisive. ‘This is a huge thing we’re asking.’
‘We’re relieving this woman of her responsibility.’
‘Maybe,’ Charlotte whispered. ‘But we might just find a woman of integrity. A woman who doesn’t think money or a title is an enticement, either for herself or for a child she loves. Now wouldn’t that be a problem?’
CHAPTER ONE
A TRUCK had sunk in front of his car.
Wasn’t Australia supposed to be a sunburned country? Maxsim de Gautier, Prince Regent of Alp d’Estella, had only been in Australia for six hours, but his overwhelming impression was that the country was fast turning into an inland sea.
But at least he’d found the farm, even though it wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d envisaged a wealthy property, but the surrounding land was rough and stony. The farm gate he’d turned into had a faded sign hanging from the top bar reading ‘Dreamtime’. In the pouring rain and in such surroundings the name sounded almost defiant.
And now he could drive no further. There was some sort of cattle-grid across the track leading from road to house. The grid had given way and a battered truck was stranded, halfway across.
That meant he’d have to walk the rest of the way. Or swim.
He could sit here until the rain stopped.
It might never stop. The Mercedes he’d hired was luxurious enough but he’d been driving for five hours and flying for twenty-four hours before that, and he didn’t intend to sit here any longer.