Cover Copy
Ella Beaufort knew better than to rely on a sexy stranger. But with two sisters to support on the modest earnings of the family sheep station, she accepts shearer Cal Lynton’s help—along with his intoxicating kiss. The most Ella can hope for is an affair. Something a woman in her situation wouldn’t dare—or would she?
Heir to his family fortune, Charlton Alfred Landon Lynton abandoned his privileged life to prove his independence. He doesn’t have time for a woman, but once he woos the lovely Ella into his bed, he is ready to make her his wife…until she shocks him with her refusal, claiming she can only marry a rich man! Angry and brokenhearted, the heir in disguise leaves the beautiful golddigger behind…
But amid the breathtaking landscape of South Australian, Ella and Cal are destined to meet again. Will their heated reunion lead to cruel confrontation—or the kind of passion that lasts a lifetime?
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Books by Virginia Taylor
South Landers
Starling
Ella
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Ella
A South Landers Novel
Virginia Taylor
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Virginia Taylor
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First Electronic Edition: October 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-925-5
eISBN-10: 1-61650-925-2
First Print Edition: October 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-926-2
ISBN-10: 1-61650-926-0
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To RJT, all my love forever
Author’s Foreword
I set out to tell the story of my grandmother, Daisy Elsie Aslin, who was one of the first women in South Australia to attend the university. After I’d looked up various dates and women’s rights, I wrote a story that had nothing to do with cities and education but a whole lot to do with how hard women worked during the settlement of our colony. I’ll leave education and rights for another story. Thanks, Grandma. You were the greatest influence in my young life.
Acknowledgements
To best selling author Debra Holland, who judged Ella in a competition and liked the story so much that she gave me enough heart to keep sending my ‘unsaleable’ setting to publishers.
To my sheep farmer cousin, Robert Hodges, who told me about dipping and shearing sheep.
To Dr. GregLewis, maths PhD, who researched sheepish numbers for me.
Prologue
The best part of the house faced north where the sun shone all day in summer. Edward Lynton stood staring through the French doors of his library, across his close-clipped lawns, past the tall cast-iron fountain ringed with his rose beds, and toward the rolling hills in the distance.
Stained by the red clay soil, sheep dotted the gentle rise beyond his boundary fence. His shepherds rode his fine strong horses around his flock, bringing in the dusty strays for shearing.
“Good view,” said a deep voice behind him.
He turned. “The view would be better if you were outside supervising the men. Look at those two slackers on the right.” His head indicated, and his grandson stared, his hands deep in the pockets of his fine, English-made woollen trousers.
“I wouldn’t say they’re slacking.” Charles, as if idly, flicked the pages of a leather-bound notebook on the library table. “I don’t doubt they’re discussing tactics. They have a mob in front and a mob behind, and the dogs are trying to join the groups.”
“If you’d been there, two groups wouldn’t have formed,” Edward said, his jaw stiff.
“Ah, so you do have faith in me.” Charles gave a lazy grin.
“You’ve been here long enough to know the workings. How many have been brought in now?”
“I couldn’t say off hand.”
“It’s your job to say—off hand.”
“If it matters to you, I can ask.” Charles raised his gaze from the book, his expression guarded. “But first I want you to look over my figures, if you would. I’ve been working on this for months and I—”
“I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough money on you as it is. Look at you,” Edward said, loading his tone with contempt. “Dressed by London tailors, shoed as well as the princes of England, clad in silk and linen shirts and damn me if I didn’t even import the finest mahogany furniture for your bedroom. Do you think those men outside who are doing your work for you will ever sleep in sheets as soft as you have?”
“I believe that they have the potential to be any—”
“Balderdash. None had the start you had. And they’re outside earning their wages while you stand here trying to inveigle me to spend even more money on your toys.”
“I’m inviting you to invest—”
“Just like your father. Money, money, money—that’s all you want of me. Be damned to you. If you want money, you can work for it the way I do.” Edward snatched the notebook out of Charles’s hands and threw the thing at the carved red cedar fireplace. He watched the pages flutter in the updraft from the empty grate.
Charles stood staring at him for a moment, then he nodded. “I see. I’ll get the sheep yarded and counted, and I’ll report to you.” He squared his wide shoulders, ignored his notebook, and left the room.
Edward ripped up each page