The Heiress Bride. Laurey Bright

she might have been just another piece of furniture in the crowded room.

      “Allie!” A rotund middle-aged man appeared at her elbow. The Clarion’s advertising manager, Howard Franklin was one of the few people who habitually shortened her name. “You’ve done a great job.”

      “Thank you, Howard.” She actually had done very little. Her father had told her which catering firm to hire and given her a list of staff members to invite. “I hope you and Mollie are enjoying yourselves.”

      Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. The younger contingent had gravitated from the swimming pool to the games room. Several couples were dancing on the terrace to music from a tape player, while older staff and their partners gathered in the lounge.

      “Great, great,” Howard assured her. “But you don’t have a drink. Busy looking after everyone else, eh? Let me get one for you.” He took her arm to guide her toward the bottles and glasses on a table in a corner.

      A burly man with a flushed face turned from it as they approached, two frothing beer mugs in his hands. Verne Hastie was the print room manager. “Allie!” he said in overhearty tones. “Long time no see. All grown up, too!” Bold blue eyes approved the shoestring-strapped dress and fitted bodice.

      Alysia stiffened as her cool gaze briefly met his.

      Verne grinned widely at Howard. “How come you’re with the prettiest girl in the room, an old fogy like you?” he demanded. He laughed uproariously.

      “I’m just getting Alysia a drink,” Howard said. “What would you like, Allie?”

      She turned to him with relief as Verne went off across the room. “Gin with lemon bitters. Make it strong.”

      Howard chuckled. “Well, you’ve had your twenty-first birthday.” He poured the drink and handed it to her. “Here you are.”

      She gripped the glass tightly in a damp hand and took a generous gulp from it. Sweeping a glance around the room, she encountered Chase Osborne’s dark eyes again. This time they were alert, his gaze dropping, apparently to gauge the level of the liquid in her glass before rising again to hers, curiosity and something that might have been a hint of concern stirring in his eyes.

      A spoon tinkling against a glass brought Alysia’s attention to her father, who was standing near Chase. Someone killed the tape player and the dancers gathered at the French doors leading to the terrace, while other people were summoned from the games room.

      Spencer cleared his throat. “Christmas being a family occasion, and you all being part of the Clarion family, this seems an appropriate time to make an announcement.”

      As Spencer’s proud gaze traveled around the room Alysia felt a surprised thrill. She hadn’t expected a formal announcement, though everyone probably knew already she was about to start working with them, her very first real job after leaving university.

      Spencer smiled and continued. “As I’m getting on in years—” he paused for muted laughter and murmured denials around the room “—it’s time I started thinking about the future. Young blood is always good for an old business and the Clarion is no exception. I’ve decided, therefore, to appoint a deputy editor.”

      Deputy? Alysia felt dizzy. Not a junior position in the newsroom after all. Instead a new position created just for her.

      The business degree she’d taken before attending journalism school might have made her father think she’d be more valuable in management. But she’d expected to work her way up, not be presented with a plum position working at his side.

      Flushing with embarrassed excitement, she took a step forward.

      “So…” Spencer raised his glass. “Please drink to my right-hand man and the Clarion’s deputy editor.”

      He turned to Chase and put an arm around his shoulders. “Chase—here’s to your new position. Congratulations.”

      All the blood drained from Alysia’s cheeks. She felt herself go pale and cold, her temples thudding.

      Everyone was raising their glasses, calling out their congratulations, and a smattering of applause broke out. Thank God no one was taking any notice of her. What a fool she’d almost made of herself.

      Chase was smiling as Spencer shook his hand. “Thank you all very much,” he said. “And Spencer, I’m deeply honored by your confidence in me.”

      Sycophant. Toady! A sour taste rose in Alysia’s throat, almost choking her. While everyone else surged around the two men, offering Chase congratulations, she left the room, almost running along the wide passageway to a door that opened onto the old back veranda and the garden. She had to get away before anyone saw how upset she was. How betrayed she felt.

      Quickly she descended the broad steps and crossed the moonlit lawn bordered by a mixture of native New Zealand evergreens and exotic hibiscus, roses and lavender. The trailing leaves of the pepper tree whipped at her face, startling her, and she breathed in their sharp scent as she went on.

      Beyond the formal garden a path wound between thick shrubs, and at its end a low stone wall served the double function of retaining the steep bank and providing a place to sit and survey the view.

      A sea of lights spread out far below, a winding curve of blackness marking the river that bisected the town. And beyond the farthest lights a range of hills created another black uneven line below the five stars of the Southern Cross and the pale misty swathe of the Milky Way.

      Alysia sat on the wall, half turned to stare unseeingly at the winking of the lights imitating the crowded night sky overhead.

      Gradually the turmoil inside her subsided, while she castigated herself for being such a fool. It didn’t mean her father didn’t love her…only that she was too young and inexperienced for a senior position and he knew it. She knew it. Her sickening disappointment was based on a fleeting false impression. She would just have to get over it.

      Once she did start work she’d show him, show everyone—she’d be the best damned reporter the Clarion had ever had. Better even than Chase Osborne. And in a few years she’d be given her rightful place as the heir to the Kingsley heritage. Because she’d have earned it.

      She stayed unmoving for a long time, scarcely hearing the revelry from the house, until the breeze wafting uphill from the river rustling and rattling the manuka and flax and occasional tall, lacy ponga fern covering the slope, made her shiver.

      Rubbing at her bare arms, she got up, stopping with a small gasp as she saw the dark bulk of a man standing rock-still a few feet away.

      “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Chase Osborne said.

      “How long have you been there?” Her tone was sharper than she’d meant it to be.

      Perhaps that was why he didn’t answer straight away. “Your father sent me to find you.”

      It didn’t answer her question, but after a half second’s reflection she decided not to pursue it. “How did you know where to look?”

      “It took me a while.” He paused. “Are you all right?”

      “Why shouldn’t I be?” He hadn’t guessed, had he, how nearly she’d invited humiliation? Her cheeks burned and she was thankful for the dim light.

      Chase said, “You seemed to be knocking back your drink in there as if you needed a fix.”

      “I can handle my liquor. It was one glass of gin and lemon and I didn’t even finish it.” Or had she? She couldn’t remember now what she’d done with it in her blind need to escape. Anyway, she was an adult. How much she drank needn’t concern him. “I’m fine,” she asserted.

      She had an uneasy feeling he didn’t believe her, but after a moment’s silence he changed the subject. “This is quite a sight, isn’t it?” He came to her side, looking down at the lights and the invisible river. The sleeve of his jacket brushed her arm, and she involuntarily