Ghost Gum Valley (19 page)

The key turned in the lock and Marmaduke Gamble strode into the room.

No longer diminished by fear or hunger and fortified by fine wine, Isabel had her first chance to evaluate by daylight the man to whom she had been sold.

The reality of Marmaduke Gamble totally appalled her. There he stood nominally English, but clearly a hybrid version. One of the new species called Currency Lads, he did not fit into
any
of the categories of the English class system she had known all her life.

It took her only ten seconds to reach her verdict of him and feel insulted. He had not made the slightest attempt to create a good impression on his English bride. Tall and long-limbed, he stood planted in the centre of the room wearing moleskin trousers tucked into mud-stained thigh-high boots. In place of a gentleman's stock was a crumpled neckerchief. The width of his shoulders was accentuated by a red shirt open at the throat, revealing the hair on his chest. He wore a suede waistcoat and a flashy silver-buckled belt. His coat jacket was hooked by one finger and slung over his shoulder. She noted his flamboyant ruby ring. And the final insult – he did not bother to remove his broad-brimmed hat.

Piercing dark eyes stared back at her from a rugged face tanned by the sun and when he turned his head Isabel was startled by the long mane of hair that hung like a horse's tail halfway down his back – wavy dark brown hair that caught the light.

Damn him, his hair's more luxuriant than any woman's.

She was shocked by his hands.
He's clearly never done a day's work in his life. And that ruby ring belongs in an Indian bazaar. His manners are uncouth. He didn't even bother to say good morning. I'll be damned if I'll curtsey to him in this bed sheet.

Isabel refused to be intimidated by the direct, challenging stare that no English gentleman would ever direct at a lady.

When at last he spoke his deep voice had an odd accent, like a lazy version of their common mother tongue.

‘So that's the
real
colour of your hair,' he said. ‘Quite an improvement. I see you've discovered the bathroom. I didn't want to disturb you by sending up a housemaid to help you dress.' He gestured to the sheet. ‘That the latest Paris mode, is it?'

Her tone was icy. ‘What did you expect? My carpetbag and clothes were stolen.'

‘Nah, don't panic. I've got your books in safe-keeping. But you won't need that grey outfit. It's far too heavy for our July.'

‘Must I wait for
your
winter before I can appear in public?'

‘This
is
our winter.'

‘I knew that. I just forgot,' she said, lying to conceal her humiliation. ‘All my trunks went missing at sea.'

‘Yeah? Sorry to hear it. You must feel pretty riled about the crooks who stole your Paris trousseau and no doubt all your antique stuff from home, eh?'

Isabel wasn't sure if she detected irony or disbelief but she continued the pretence. ‘Indeed. My guardian gifted me with heirlooms that had been in our family since the reign of Richard III.' She added on a note of challenge, ‘God rest his soul.'

‘Yeah, I forgot Dick the Hunchback was one of your mob. He murdered his nephews, the two little princes in his Tower of London, didn't he? Or did Shakespeare get it wrong?'

Isabel could hardly restrain her anger. ‘Clearly your knowledge of English history has been confined to biased Tudor historians and sycophants.'

‘You must put me straight some time, Miss de Rolland,' he said.

Isabel was infuriated by the trace of laughter in his eyes but she could not resist rising to the defence of a royal Plantagenet king.

‘To begin with King Richard was
not
a hunchback. At his coronation many witnesses were present when he was stripped to the waist for the traditional ritual anointing. There are no contemporary accounts of Richard having any deformity! Do you think all those nobles would not have noticed?'

‘I stand corrected.' Marmaduke made a mocking bow. ‘I regret I failed to welcome you properly to our fair Antipodean shores.'

He's insufferable. Anyone would think he's doing me a favour entering this benighted marriage contract
.

Isabel responded coolly. ‘I'd been warned not to expect the manners of an English gentleman.'

‘Then I won't disappoint you, Miss de Rolland. That's the last thing you'll ever get from me.'

‘I regret I cannot offer you tea, Mr Gamble,' she said quickly in the hope of disguising the rumbling in her belly.

‘I only drink billy tea in the bush. And you can drop the Mr Gamble
tag. That's my father's title. I answer to nothing but Marmaduke.'

He still hasn't removed his hat!
Infuriated by his confidence she was determined to force him to make the running.

‘You can rest easy,' he said. ‘I've had the name Walter de Rolland removed from your charge sheet. I notice you didn't use our Gamble name to get yourself off the hook.'

‘I have no wish to attract scandal to your father's name. The man has done me no harm.' She gestured to the silver dressing-table set. ‘Please thank him for his gift.'

Marmaduke raised one eyebrow. ‘How very sensitive. Quite unlike Father, but then
he
is the one who's impressed by your family tree.'

Isabel seized her chance. ‘I take it my episode in prison gives you the perfect excuse to break off our engagement?' She hoped her voice had not betrayed her.
You've no idea just how much I want that but I can't appear too eager.

Marmaduke's expression was unreadable but he avoided her question. ‘Did your mob give you the chance to decline my father's offer? Or did they twist your arm to accept me?'

Furious to be cornered into this humiliating position, Isabel tried evasive tactics. ‘Surely your father kept you informed? Both our lawyers examined the fine print for two years past.'

‘The first I heard of your existence was a few months back. To be frank I hadn't the slightest desire to marry you or any woman, certainly not an upper-class Pommie.'

‘Are all Colonials as forthright as you? You are about as blunt as a rusty nail.'

He looked pleased he had drawn blood. ‘Yeah, I like to think we are. The truth cuts through a lot of polite social crap. What's to be gained from pussy-footing around at this late stage of the game? We both know why we're here and the brass it cost my father to pay up your guardian's debts and keep him out of the nick.'

Isabel was equally shocked by his blatant reference to her family's financial plight and by his vulgar underworld cant. She rose with what dignity she could salvage.

‘I will have you know I do not appreciate being regarded as some prize ewe imported for breeding purposes. Like those Spanish merinos
John Macarthur brought down here to improve the poor quality of his sheep.'

Marmaduke's expression told her nothing. Was his voice insultingly polite or amused? ‘I see you've done your homework. I hadn't reckoned on a girl of your
exalted breeding
being interested in Australian rural life, except maybe a tapestry of our landscape.'

Exalted breeding? If only he knew the truth about me.

Isabel was at a loss to know how to talk to him. None of the rules of etiquette learned during her sheltered county existence were applicable. Fighting off a wave of panic she rapidly considered her options. What hope did she have of extricating herself from this mess?
I did sign that marriage contract. I can never return to England. If I became a governess I'd need to work for a hundred years to repay the money. I have only one chance. Somehow I must force
him
to jilt
me.

Aware that Marmaduke was observing her bare feet, she tucked them under the chair.

‘I don't shock easily, Isabel. If you want to pad around barefoot, feel free. Our heat plays havoc with English complexions and swells your feet. I'm used to seeing English heads grow too big for their hats. But that's a national trait. Can't blame our heat for that, huh?'

‘You are insufferably rude!'

Knowing she had totally lost control she bombarded him with questions. ‘If you consider we British are so inferior, why was your father so desperate to marry you off to a girl from an English Old Family? I'm not even an heiress. Now
that
would have made sense to a Colonial mind like yours, would it not? Money breeds money. It can buy anything or any
one
, isn't that what you think? Tell me, wasn't there a Currency Lass brave enough to walk down the aisle with you? Or was your avoidance of marriage due to the fact you prefer
your own kind?'

Isabel stopped, suddenly aghast that she had sunk to the level of a fishwife.

The lines around Marmaduke's mouth tightened but his quiet response was more effective than rage.

‘To borrow a boxing term I see the gloves are now off. So let's get things straight. I'm a bachelor by choice – some would say a dedicated libertine. I have not the slightest intention of giving up that pleasure, married or otherwise.'

The intensity of his gaze caused her to flinch when he continued. ‘No doubt my interest in gemstones triggered your assumption about my masculinity. I'm not a man to sit in judgement on other men's sexual practice if it involves adults. But for the record I've never had the inclination to sleep with any man.'

Isabel leant forwards and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Neither have I. You'd best know the reason.
I
hate
all men
!'

For a moment Marmaduke looked slightly taken aback then fixed her with an unblinking stare. ‘How interesting. So it's not just
me
you can't stand a bar of?'

Isabel stammered. ‘I hate the whole male race – you're just part of it!'

Marmaduke studied her so long that the silence made her nervous. ‘Is that the truth? Can no man tempt you with romantic words and promises?'

‘There isn't a man born of woman who could seduce me!' She took a deep breath and played the desperate last card she hoped would prove to be her ace. ‘And it's only fair to tell you that your father has...what is the vulgar expression? “Bought himself a pup”.'

Marmaduke's eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me?'

‘He demanded two things. A de Rolland bride of impeccable lineage and virtue. My legitimate birth is on record and my Plantagenet ancestry dates back seven centuries so I meet your father's requirements on that score, but...'

Marmaduke eyed her speculatively, twisting the ruby on his wedding finger.

Isabel took a deep breath to control the tremor in her voice. ‘But it is only fair to tell you the truth. I am no virgin. So if you wish to break our engagement I will, of course, agree to disappear from your life and cause your family no further trouble.'

Marmaduke said the words softly. ‘Did the man to whom you gave that privilege inspire your hatred of the entire male race? Or was it other men?'

Isabel felt her cheeks burn. ‘There is no need to treat me like a wanton tavern wench.'

‘That's not what I meant,' he said quickly.

‘I've told you the truth. My shame has forever placed me outside
the pale of God's forgiveness. But it is of no importance to me what you or any man thinks of me.'

Isabel turned away to avoid the contempt she expected to see in his face. The silence was unbearable. Would he never set her free?

Marmaduke's response was unexpected. ‘I admire your honesty, Isabel. That's a quality rarely encountered in women. But decadent as my life is, no one can ever call me a hypocrite. I'm the last man on earth to demand virginity from any woman.'

Oh God, I've failed!
She felt a sickening sense of nausea as the room began to spin.

Marmaduke grasped her by the shoulders. ‘You're as pale as a ghost. You might be going down with ship's fever. That's deadly, I'll call a doctor.'

‘No! I'm not used to wine at breakfast. I only need a drink of water.'

Instead Marmaduke whipped a silver flask from his coat pocket and held it to her lips.

‘Here, get this into you. Down the hatch.'

The liquid hit her throat causing a burning sensation. Isabel pushed it away.

‘Don't worry. Brandy. I always carry it for
medicinal
purposes.' He guided the flask back to her lips and added, ‘And if you believe
that,
you'll believe anything!'

The warmth that diffused through her body brought a marked degree of pleasure.

Marmaduke leapt to his feet. ‘It's my fault you're getting a poor impression of Colonial hospitality. You must be half starved. I wouldn't insult my horse by feeding him that prison muck.' He grinned. ‘Yeah, I had a taste of gaol myself – after a duel.'

He was halfway out the door before he added, ‘Rest easy. I've ordered a fine meal to be sent up to you. Meanwhile I have something for you. Wait here, don't move.'

He returned bearing a stack of boxes tied with ribbon. ‘Just a few things I bought this morning while you slept. They'll do to go on with. I'll take you to a mantle maker and dressmaker to replace your lost trousseau. So if you decide to leave the Colony you'll be all decked out to marry a gentleman of
your own class
.'

Isabel let the jibe pass. She tried to sound nonchalant. ‘How did you know my size?'

‘A typically female question. Australian men are nothing if not practical – the key to survival in this country. I took your grey dress to show the storekeepers your size.'

‘How clever. I'll have something to wear when I face the magistrate this afternoon.'

Marmaduke shook his head. ‘I've taken care of that. You'll soon learn the way things work here. There's nothing and no one that can't be bought, if you know the ropes.' He hesitated. ‘Rest up today. Tomorrow I'll show you a typical Saturday in Sydney Town. The kind of life you can expect as Mrs Gamble. I'll pick you up at nine sharp in the morning.'