His Australian Heiress Read Free

lion, you were a black panther. He told me that the last time I saw him, which was about two months ago. He also told me I had to watch out for you.”
    He gave her a searching look out of his silver-grey eyes. “Do I remind you of a black panther, fanciful as it sounds?”
    Charlotte canted her head to one side. “There is a quality, but ask me again when you’re forty. In the meantime, I’ll be keeping a close watch on you. My father could have made a good job of filling Poppa’s shoes. He was clever, but much gentler, thank the Lord, with far more understanding. Artistic, too. My dear uncle Conrad, who has managed to forget I even exist, couldn’t possibly have stepped into Poppa’s shoes. Uncle Conrad, now a famous author, though he’s a mite slow coming up with another blockbuster, I notice.” She paused for a moment, as though she was trying to settle something in her mind. “Oddly enough, it was my father who was the compulsive writer, recorder, whatever. He always had a notebook handy, jotting things down. I do it myself. Phrases I think need to be captured. Certain words. Lovely words that stimulate the imagination. I love language. I’m the class freak that way.”
    â€œI don’t know about freak,” he said dryly, well aware of Charlotte’s abilities. “Top of the class, straight A student. Your uncle Conrad has been swanning around the country house for years now.” He didn’t bother to hide his distaste. Conrad Mansfield, in his opinion, was a self-important, callous man. One didn’t expect a fine writer to be cruel. On the contrary, a writer would need to be a person of compassion.
    â€œMaybe he needed some encouragement from Poppa, who despised him,” Charlotte said by way of explanation. “You don’t happen to know the reason, do you?” She shot him a keen glance.
    Brendon tried to give her at least part of the truth. “I think Sir Reginald found it painful that your uncle bounced back so quickly after his brother’s tragic death. It’s no secret Conrad had a lifelong problem with sibling jealousy.”
    â€œI expect it was hard for him, with my father being Poppa’s clear favourite and heir.” Charlotte always tried to be fair. “Anyway, Uncle Conrad has made a name for himself in literary circles. Personally I didn’t think he had a book in him, let alone what is considered a minor masterpiece.”
    â€œYou’ve read it?” Brendon raised an enquiring black brow.
    â€œOf course I’ve read it, Bren,” she said, tartly. “Don’t be ridiculous. Have you?”
    â€œLike you, I didn’t think he had it in him.” Brendon shrugged. “They’re talking about making it into a film. I believe Cate Blanchett has been approached.”
    â€œReally? She would be perfect as Laura,” Charlotte said. “This is a strange conversation, isn’t it?”
    â€œAll our conversations are strange, Charlie.” There was an enigmatic look in his luminous eyes, made more startling in contrast to his bronzed skin and his jet-black hair and brows. “Are you sad?” he asked, unsure what was going on behind her small, composed face.
    She shook her head slowly. “I wouldn’t term it like that, Bren. Poppa was a very distant figure, with a whole side of his life not accessible to me. At the time of my parents’ death, I was still a child, remember.”
    â€œA highly intelligent, thinking twelve-year-old landed with as much grief as any child could bear. I remember how observant you were even then. Observant well beyond your years.”
    Charlotte’s slender shoulders rose and fell. “More’s the pity! I’d have done better not to have been so watchful. I’ve hardly seen Poppa in the past five years. I really have no reason to love him, except I do. Did. As my grandfather, which is not to say I liked him. I