The Australian Heiress by Margaret Way Read Free Book Online Page B

with some asperity. “I can’t imagine how you think I did.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake, you must think me a fool. You admitted you wanted to make my father pay, and now that he’s dead, you won’t rest until you take full vengeance on the Guilford name.”
    “That doesn’t include you.”
    “Oh, right! I’m Natalie’s daughter. But wait a minute—didn’t my mother strike her own blow at your family’s pride?”
    His face hardened. “She did, but it was in the nature of diminished responsibility. She was no match for Guilford. He went after her like a conqueror of old. Overwhelmed her with the force of his personality. By the time the spell had worn off and she started to put up a fight, she had a child to care for. Not that he’d have let her get away.”
    Lombard paused, then, “She made no secret of her desire to leave him. Nor of the fact she was afraid of him.”
    “Afraid? What are you saying?” Camille felt stripped of her skin.
    “Did you think there was no speculation about your mother’s death?”
    “I won’t listen to this!” she said angrily, her pulse rapid. “How despicable to speak so ill of a man who’s not here to defend himself! My father was out of his mind with grief after the accident, nearly deranged. The whole incident was thoroughly investigated. The coroner said—”
    “I know what the coroner said,” Nick Lombard countered harshly. “That your father risked his own life. But maybe that was after he pushed Natalie off the yacht.”
    “To hell with you.” Camille threw up her head. “Not content with destroying my father, you’ve now got him a murderer. You’re the one who should burn in hell!”
    S HE WAS ALONE on the top floor. The magnificent paintings that had adorned the walls had long since been removed, but the splendid Persian rugs still graced the floor; the Rodin sculptures were in place; the furniture remained the same. No hard-edged modern decor. Her father had been a great admirer of the traditional.
    Her body trembling, Camille sat down in the carved high-backed chair behind the regal antique desk. The desk was massive, perhaps eight feet long and half as much wide. It was still set with her father’s things— his pen and holder, his blotter, his crystal ashtray.
    She swallowed over the hard painful lump in her throat. It was a very disquieting experience being in her father’s chair. The blinds were pulled, allowing only sufficient light for her to see across the room.
    What was the truth about you, Harry, she asked silently. You did dreadful things. You had ruthless people in your employ. But never did I suspect you of harming my mother. She couldn’t deal with that
    Nick Lombard was trying to tear her apart. He had planted that ghastly notion in her head. Had the fact that his uncle had taken his own life poisoned him as an individual?
    Camille was so immersed in her reflections she almost jumped out of her skin when a woman’s voice cut through the muffled quiet.
    “What are you doing here, Miss Guilford?” It was Hugh’s secretary, staring at her with disapproval and suspicion.
    “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Miss Maynard,” Camille answered quietly.
    “You shouldn’t be here,” was the woman’s grimly triumphant reply.
    “On the contrary, I intend to stay awhile longer. This was my father’s inner sanctum. I am still his daughter. You were never admitted here. Run back and report to Hugh. As a man of immense kindness he wouldn’t mind, I’m sure, if I say goodbye.”
    “Oh, do as you please.” Ruth Maynard looked around her and shuddered. “Personally I find the place quite scary.”
    “Then do us both a favor and go.”

CHAPTER THREE
    C AMILLE’S PHONE was ringing as she entered her bedroom.
    “Only me,” came Linda’s welcome voice. “How did it go with Hugh?”
    Camille sank onto the bed, kicking off her shoes and pushing them away. “First of all, how are you? You weren’t terribly well last