The Australian Heiress Read Online Free PDF

enchanting creature. Does it bother you I knew her?”
    Bother her? Quite simply, it staggered her. “My father never once mentioned you in that connection.”
    “He wouldn’t.” Nick paused. “There was nothing admirable in Harry’s behavior. Thanks to him, less than a month before your mother was to have wed my uncle Hugo, she broke off the engagement.”
    Camille saw with astonishment the pain in his eyes. “I don’t believe this,” she murmured. “There’s not a shred of evidence to support what you’re saying.”
    “A lot of people knew.”
    “Then why didn’t I ?” she demanded. “I suggest you’re making it up.”
    His brows drew together. “People trod very cautiously around your father. He had certain connections he used to…intimidate people. My uncle wasn’t a Lombard. He was a Vandenberg. My mother’s only brother.”
    Camille sought a leather armchair and sank into it “You say was. Is he…?”
    Nick Lombard turned to look at the portrait of the late Harry Guilford. It emanated real power, with more than a hint of brutality.
    “Like your mother, my uncle is dead,” he said starkly. “He took his own life the day your mother was buried. He was a brilliant young man with a promising legal career. It was a tragedy and a terrible waste. My uncle never hurt anyone. Your father hurt a great many people, you and your mother included. Harry waged a war in pursuit of her. My uncle made the mistake of thinking your mother would see throughhim. By the time she did, it was too late for all of them.”
    Camille put her head in her hands, feeling weak and indecisive. “I can’t listen to any more.” There seemed to be an eerie haze in front of her eyes.
    Somehow he was in front of her, his fingers warm and firm on the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry. I meant for all of this to keep.”
    She was aware he was half kneeling, and now his hand was sweeping the hair from her face. He swore softly, taking her cold hands and slapping her wrists gently.
    If she had fainted, it was only a momentary thing.
    “Here, drink this.” He was holding out a crystal goblet containing a measure of brandy, or was it whiskey? She didn’t know or care.
    “I can’t make any sense of anything.” She felt dreadfully shaken.
    “This will make you feel better.”
    “Nothing will make me feel better.” Nevertheless she took a sip, recoiling at the taste, but it went down like liquid fire and lent a quick fix to her scattered senses.
    “Sit quietly,” he said. “No one will bother you.”
    “Your house already, Mr. Lombard?” she rallied. “I’ve never had such a reaction—even when I was told about my father.”
    “Perhaps you subconsciously knew,” he suggested quietly.
    “I knew I couldn’t help. I never could.”
    “That was part of your father’s paranoia. No blame could be attached to you.” He shook his head. “Don’t let’s talk of it anymore.”
    Against the whiteness of her skin, her eyes blazed a deep green. “It was you who introduced our shared history,” she reminded him, realizing with something akin to horror that she was sexually attracted to him.
    “The truth matters, Camille. Of that I’m very certain.”
    She had not given him permission to use her Christian name, yet it sounded exquisite on his lips. Like a memory of lost delight. “Are you saying the truth was deliberately buried?”
    “I’m saying it would be better to discuss it at another time. You almost fainted just now.”
    “You’re not listening, Mr. Lombard. I repeat— there won’t be another time. If what you say is true and not another fiction in an avalanche of lies, then I guess Harry did wage a sort of war against your uncle for my mother’s affections.”
    He stared down at her where she sat, an extraordinarily beautiful young woman whose appearance resurrected the tragic past
    “I admit to a deep hatred of your father,” he said in a grim tone. “It has consumed me for more than half my life. My