His Australian Heiress Read Free Page B

absolute certainty.
    She smiled at him, with very nearly a tear glistening. “You’re my man, Bren!”
    â€œI try to be,” he said wryly, knowing full well it was going to turn out to be a very difficult role.
    * * *
    So, at seventeen years of age, Charlotte Mansfield became Sir Reginald Mansfield’s heiress, the primary beneficiary of his will, ahead of a long list of expected beneficiaries, institutions, charities, and the like. Charlotte had taken precedence over Sir Reginald’s remaining son, Conrad, who nevertheless had been amply provided for, as was Conrad’s son, Simon, his only child.
    The reading of the will, however, remained in everyone’s memory as a horror session. Conrad Mansfield had afterwards taken expert legal advice to contest the will, but all efforts had come to nothing. Sir Reginald had seen to that. Conrad Mansfield had been left a rich man. He was no longer a partner in Mansfield-Macmillan after all. He was an author with, in most people’s opinion, a dream of a life.
    If he had ignored his niece for much of her life, his hostility and resentment burned ever brighter as his teenage niece grew into womanhood. His resentment surprised no one, least of all Charlotte. Conrad Mansfield had not been appointed her guardian until she attained her majority. That role had fallen to Sir Hugo Macmillan. Sir Hugo had been handed considerable responsibility, which he took very seriously. Charlotte Mansfield had been brought up understanding the concept of power. It was in the blood.

Chapter 2
    Four years later...
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    C harlotte took the elevator to the top floor of the Mansfield Building with rippling waves running through her. She exited the lift and then walked down the carpeted corridor to Brendon’s office, giving the very pretty young woman at a front desk, bearing the name tag, Rebecca, a wave. Rebecca waved back. A moment later, she knocked on the door with Bren’s name on it and then opened it.
    â€œGot a minute?” she asked, walking in regardless.
    â€œHit me,” Brendon said, humour in his silver-grey eyes. He was slouching back elegantly in his chrome and leather chair, two hands behind his handsome dark head.
    â€œI won’t hold you up. I know how busy you are, even if you don’t look it.”
    â€œYou can always come back later,” he said, slowly straightening up.
    â€œOh, sorry, sorry, sorry. My lord.” Charlotte threw back her mane of golden hair. It waved deeply to her shoulders, where it flipped out in foaming curls. “I’ll only take five minutes of your precious time.”
    â€œNo need to call me ‘my lord,’ Charlie. At least not yet.”
    â€œYou sure you want to be a judge?” she asked, studying him closely. No wonder so many women got carried away by Bren. He was an extraordinarily attractive man, sophisticated and sexy, the sort of man women hankered after and longed to meet. For all that, he didn’t have a conceited bone in his body, which was more than she could say for most males of her acquaintance.
    â€œMy vocation, Charlie,” he said. “You look great, by the way.” He looked her over with an approving smile. At almost twenty-one, it was hard to take one’s eyes off of Charlotte Mansfield, the heiress. Apart from her beauty, her dress code made everyone sit up and pay attention. Her bronze leather jacket spoke top Italian design, as did her custom-made jeans. Underneath she wore a collarless white silk shirt. All garments worn with flair. Wedge-heeled boots gave her five-three an extra few inches. An expensive-looking leather tote bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder.
    Charlotte took a chair opposite him. “How kind of you to say so, Brendon dear.”
    â€œWell, you certainly don’t need Marella these days.”
    â€œOf course I need her,” Charlotte said loyally. “She’s my honorary aunt. I’ll never look as good as