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Celeste heard nothing except that she was the only woman he'd ever loved. Her heart swelled to bursting point and with it the tears flowed anew. Byron strode back to gather her in and if she hadn't known better she might have thought he cried too for a short while.
'I did fall in love with you,' he admitted huskily. 'So wildly and so passionately that it worried me sick. I always thought that kind of love was like a disease, an unhealthy thing that made men do wicked and reckless things which had the potential to destroy their own and other people's lives. I was a ready and willing victim for Irene's lies about you-oh, yes, I can see now that they were lies-and I sought refuge from my feelings by escaping into a marriage which could never make me feel the same earth-shattering madness I felt when I was with you. I know people said I married Irene for Campbell Jewels, but that's not true. I married her because I thought it would make me safe from the type of love my father had felt for my mother, the consequences of which have haunted me all my life.'
Surprise had Celeste pulling out of Byron's arms. 'But people always talked about your mother and father as being the perfect couple. What was wrong with their love for each other?'
'Didn't your father ever tell you, Celeste? You must have wondered what happened between Stewart Campbell and David Whitmore to start off such a vicious feud in the first place. After all, they'd been best mates ever since they met on the boat that brought them to Australia as emigrants from the UK. They did everything together. When times got tough and jobs were hard to come by, they went mining together. Didn't you ever wonder what could have happened to destroy such a strong bond? It wasn't some silly argument over that opal, I can assure you.'
'Of course I did. But Dad never talked about the old days. He always clammed up whenever I asked him. All I know is he was still best friends with your father when the war broke out because they joined up together.'
'They were best friends up till the time my father was wounded in 1943 and was sent home early.'
'But how would that have ruined their friendship?'
'Your father sent my father to his own home to recuperate. To his wife.'
'His wife?' Celeste was confused. 'But Dad didn't marry Irene's mother till after the war.'
'He was married to my mother first,' Byron said drily.
Celeste gasped her shock. 'You don't mean .. .'
'Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Can you imagine what your father felt when he came home on leave to find his beloved Lucy with me growing in her belly?'
'Oh, God, Byron. Knowing his pride and his ego, he would have been devastated. And so hurt! No wonder he hated your father with such a passion.'
'And no wonder he kept the real reason a secret. My own father did the same, but when I was about twelve your father came round to see my father. They had the most awful row. It started about their business rivalry but soon all the old ugliness came out. I couldn't help but overhear every word and it made a big impression on me at the time. I was utterly appalled at my father, who'd always been so strong on morals, yet he himself was nothing but the worst kind of adulterer. All he could say to excuse himself was that he couldn't help himself. He'd fallen madly in love and that was it. He made it sound as though everything was totally out of his control. And he did something that shocked me even more. He started to cry, blubbering away that he was sorry. He begged your father to accept the Heart of Fire as a symbol of his sorrow and remorse apparently he'd found it while your
father was still at the front and this was the second time he'd offered it but your father spat on him and stormed out.’
'I decided that very day that that kind of love had to be the worst thing in the world. I vowed never to succumb to such a destructive disease. Never would a woman be able to make me do anything against my better judgement. Never! And I managed very well, till I was twenty-seven years old. Then, one day, this vision of loveliness walked into my office and I was a goner .. .' His expression was apologetic and rueful at the same time. 'So you see, Celeste, there are excuses for what we both did, don't you think? Can we perhaps forgive each other and start again? Or is it too late for that?'
'It's never too late to love one another, Byron.'
His relieved but joyous smile was rather wonderful, she thought. Suddenly, she glimpsed the real man behind the arrogant and sometimes impossible facade. Byron had more strength and passion in his little finger than most men had in their whole bodies.
