His Australian Heiress by Margaret Way

and private lives.
    The dance finished in spectacular fashion, with Brendon’s strength only increasing, holding Charlotte in a challenging arched-back position with her golden head only inches from the polished floor. There were a few gasps, as though she might crash, but no such thing happened. Charlotte looked perfectly secure. There was an instant of crackling silence, and then happy, laughing faces, ringing cheers, and loud applause that rolled in waves around the room. A few of the young men gave in to the temptation to piercingly whistle their appreciation. The impressive, very sexy performance had certainly upped the already high-voltage mood of the party.
    â€œOkay?” Brendon asked Charlotte as he brought her gracefully to her feet.
    â€œBrilliant!” she said, when in truth she was breathless. “All those ballet lessons finally paid off.”
    * * *
    The buffet table was groaning beneath the weight of sumptuous dishes, hot and cold. Waiters circled, filling and refilling crystal flutes with champagne. Some of the young men preferred ice-cold beers. Those beverages too were supplied, as well as frosty cold soft drinks and juices. Everyone, including the most diet-conscious guests, put their diets aside just this once.
    Outside in the entrance hall, the great Christmas tree shimmered and glittered, the countless tiny LED lights twinkling like stars amid the green needles of the fir tree. Circling the tree were Charlotte’s birthday presents, extravagantly wrapped in richly patterned papers and ribbons. Charlotte had invited the trio to the buffet. In the absence of their music-making, Christmas carols were being piped softly through the house.
    The sweets table, covered in starched white linen, looked irresistible: cheesecakes decorated with kiwi fruit and all the red berries piped with whipped cream. There were baby pavlovas, trifles, variations of the always-popular tiramisu and crème brûlée tarts. There were even frozen ricotta cakes that disappeared before they could melt.
    To cap it all was Charlotte’s twenty-first birthday cake, a magnificent four-tiered chocolate-raspberry cake made by a lady in the village renowned for her superb birthday and wedding cakes. It was so beautifully decorated it seemed a shame to cut it.
    This was, indeed, a birthday to remember. As it turned out to be, but perhaps not in the way everyone expected.
    * * *
    At another party, Carol Sutton was in the middle of a pleasant conversation with Beth Reed, a friend from University days, when Simon, his sun-streaked blond head held high, strode up to them. Without a preliminary word, he broke rudely into the conversation, laying a firm hand on Carol’s shoulder. “We have to get a start right now,” he said in his arrogant fashion.
    Beth, who didn’t like Simon Mansfield one little bit and couldn’t for the life of her see why her friend Carol would, took him on. “Get started where? I thought you were enjoying the party?” It was a good party. No one had left so far.
    â€œWe have another party to attend,” Simon said, dislike in his voice.
    â€œReally? Which one?” Beth looked him in the eye.
    â€œMy cousin’s, of course.” His expression also showed a degree of exasperation. He hated being challenged by women. He didn’t see females as his equal. “You know of her. Everyone does. Charlotte Mansfield.”
    â€œCharlotte Mansfield? Big time!” Beth crowed. “People really admire her, you know. Especially us girls. She has the makings of a leader. Rumour has it you weren’t invited to her party, Simon. You screwed up somehow or other.”
    Beside her outspoken friend, Carol was near hyperventilating. A surefire method to make Simon angry was to cross him. Her father was like that. Simon’s expression was full of loathing of her friend.
    Simon Mansfield was, without doubt, a handsome man, rich to boot, but no prize in the