скачать книгу бесплатно
A Deal To Mend Their Marriage
Michelle Douglas
Her ex-husband is back!Antiques dealer Caroline Fielding is married more to her job than she is to dashing Jack Pearce. After five years apart their relationship should be over – only when Jack shows up asking for a divorce, the chemistry is as strong as ever…Caro tries to ignore her heart and sign the papers that will let go of Jack. But now her professional reputation is on the line and only her private investigator husband can help her! Working together 24/7 may be emotionally heartwrenching…but it could also save her job and their marriage…
‘Tell me about this job you’d like me to do for you.’
He didn’t owe her for her signature on their divorce papers, but if by doing this he could end things between them on a more pleasant note then perhaps he’d find the closure he so desperately needed.
‘And, yes, you have my word that I will never reveal to another soul what you’re about to tell me unless you give me leave to.’
She stared at him as if trying to sum him up. With a start he realised she was trying to decide whether to trust him or not.
‘You don’t trust my word of honour?’
‘If you were after any kind of revenge on me, what I’m about to tell you would provide you with both the means and the method.’
He didn’t want revenge. He’d never wanted revenge. He just wanted to move on with his life.
And to kiss her.
A Deal to Mend Their Marriage
Michelle Douglas
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MICHELLE DOUGLAS has been writing for Mills & Boon since 2007 and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books and an eclectic collection of ’60s and ’70s vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website www.michelle-douglas.com (http://www.michelle-douglas.com).
For Greg, who brings me glasses of red wine whenever I need them and supplies hugs on demand—the benchmarks of a romantic hero. :)
Contents
Cover (#ue352f3cd-18ec-5933-b9fa-8dcb16ef52e7)
Introduction (#u80ef260c-7d7b-5706-bb41-20ed2388d8db)
Title Page (#uc516a4e9-4669-5a03-ba3d-282267c977d2)
About the Author (#u8e9c1bf9-e565-5c8f-9f85-8b62744ac2e0)
Dedication (#u25b6e469-aa61-5006-ac81-618b6aaca09f)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a4b4e0a6-cda8-5660-a6de-8875e957eb91)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_67dfd9bd-2674-58ce-a44f-1d62a7753b3d)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_2cedbe51-c6ac-5378-a218-77c409a99138)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4606cfc3-3adc-5118-8a05-8d6fc3661dae)
THE FIRST PRICKLE of unease wormed through Caro when the lawyer’s gaze slid from her to Barbara and then down to the papers in front of him—her father’s will, presumably. The lawyer picked up a pen, turned it over several times before setting it back to the table. He adjusted his tie, cleared his throat.
Even Barbara noticed his unwillingness to start proceedings. Turning ever so slightly, her stepmother reached out to pat Caro’s hand. ‘Caro, darling, if your father has disinherited you—’
Caro forced a laugh. ‘There’ll be no if about that, Barbara.’
It was a given, and they both knew it. Caro just wanted all the unpleasantness over so she could put it behind her. Her father was about to utter the last words he ever would to her—albeit on paper. She had no expectation that they’d be any kinder in death than they had been in life.
‘Mr Jenkins?’ She prodded the lawyer with the most pleasant smile she could muster. ‘If you’d be so kind as to start we’d both appreciate it. Unless—’ she pursed her lips ‘—we’re waiting for someone else?’
‘No, no one else.’
Mr Jenkins shook his head and Caro had to bite back a smile when the elderly lawyer’s gaze snagged on the long, lean length of Barbara’s legs, on display beneath her short black skirt. At thirty-seven—only seven years older than Caro—Barbara had better legs than Caro could ever hope to have. Even if she spent every waking hour at the gym and resisted every bit of sugar, butter and cream that came her way—which, of course, she had no intention of doing.
The lawyer shook himself. ‘Yes, of course, Ms Fielding. We’re not waiting for anyone else.’
‘Come now,’ she chided. ‘You’ve known me my entire life. If you can’t bring yourself to call me Caro, then surely you can call me Caroline?’
He sent her an agonised glance.
She made her smile gentle. ‘I am prepared, you know. I fully expect that my father has disinherited me.’
She didn’t add that the money didn’t matter. Neither Mr Jenkins nor Barbara would believe her. The fact remained, though, that it had never been money she’d craved but her father’s approval, his acceptance.
Her temples started to throb. With a superhuman effort she kept the smile on her face. ‘I promise not to shoot the messenger.’
The lawyer slumped in what had been until recently her father’s chair. He pulled off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘You have it all wrong, Caro.’
Barbara clasped her hands together and beamed. ‘I knew he wouldn’t disinherit you!’
The relief—and, yes, the delight—on Barbara’s face contrasted wildly with the weariness in Mr Jenkins’s eyes. Cold fingers crept up Caro’s spine. A premonition of what, exactly...?
Mr Jenkins pushed his spectacles back to his nose and folded his hands in front of him. ‘There are no individual letters I need to deliver. There are no messages I need to pass on nor any individual bequests to run through. I don’t even need to read out the will word for word.’
‘Then maybe—’ Barbara glanced at Caro ‘—you’d be kind enough to just give us the general gist.’
He slumped back and heaved out a sigh. ‘Mr Roland James Philip Fielding has left all of his worldly goods—all of his wealth and possessions—to...’
Caro braced herself.
‘Ms Caroline Elizabeth Fielding.’
It took a moment for the import of the lawyer’s words to hit her. When they did, Caro had to grip the arms of her chair to counter the roaring in her ears and the sudden tilting of the room. Her father had left everything...to her? Maybe...maybe he’d loved her after all.
She shook her head. ‘There must be a mistake.’
‘No mistake,’ the lawyer intoned.
‘But surely there’s a caveat that I can only inherit if I agree to administer my mother’s trust?’
Her father had spent the last twenty years telling her it was her duty, her responsibility...her obligation to manage the charity he’d created in homage to her mother. Caro had spent those same twenty years refusing the commission.
Her father might have thought it was the sole reason Caro had been put on this earth, but she’d continued to dispute that sentiment right up until his death. She had no facility for figures and spreadsheets, no talent nor desire to attend endless board meetings and discuss the pros and cons of where the trust money should be best spent. She did not have a business brain and had no desire whatsoever to develop one. Simply put, she had no intention of being sacrificed on some altar of duty. End of story.
‘No caveat.’
The lawyer could barely meet her eye. Her mind spun...
She shot to her feet, a hard ball lodging in her chest. ‘What about Barbara?’
He passed a hand across his eyes. ‘I’m afraid no provision has been made for Mrs Barbara Fielding in the will.’
But that made no sense!
She spun to her stepmother. Barbara rose to her feet, her face pinched and white. Her eyes swam but not a single tear fell, and that was somehow worse than if she’d burst into noisy weeping and wailing.
‘He doesn’t make even a single mention of me?’
The lawyer winced and shook his head.
‘But...but I did everything I could think of to make him happy. Did he never love me?’ She turned to Caro. ‘Was it all a lie?’
‘We’ll work something out,’ Caro promised, reaching out to take Barbara’s hand.
But the other woman wheeled away. ‘We’ll do nothing of the sort! We’ll do exactly as your father wished!’
Barbara turned and fled from the room. Caro made to follow her—how could her father have treated his young wife so abominably?—but the lawyer called her back.
‘I’m afraid we’re not done.’
She stilled and then spun back, swallowing a sense of misgiving. ‘We’re not?’
‘Your father instructed that I give you this.’ He held out an envelope.
‘But you said...’
‘I was instructed to give this to you only after the reading of the will. And only in privacy.’
She glanced back at the door. Praying that Barbara wouldn’t do anything foolish, she strode across and took the envelope. She tore it open and read the mercifully brief missive inside. She could feel her lips thinning to a hard line. She moistened them. ‘Do you know what this says?’
After a short hesitation, he nodded. ‘Your father believed Mrs Fielding was stealing from him. Valuables have apparently gone missing and...’
And her father had jumped to conclusions.
Caro folded the letter and shoved it into her purse. ‘Items may well have gone missing, but I don’t believe for one moment that Barbara is responsible.’
Mr Jenkins glanced away, but not before she caught the expression in his eyes.
‘I know what people think about my father and his wife, Mr Jenkins. They consider Barbara a trophy wife. They think she only married my father for his money.’
He’d had so much money. Why cut Barbara out of his will when he’d had so much? Even if she had taken the odd piece of jewellery why begrudge it to her?
Damn him to hellfire and fury for being such a control freak!
‘She was significantly younger than your father...’
By thirty-one years.
‘That doesn’t make her a thief, Mr Jenkins. My father was a difficult man and he was lucky to have Barbara. She did everything in her not insignificant powers to humour him and make him happy. What’s more, I believe she was faithful to him for the twelve years they were married and I don’t believe she stole from him.’
‘Of course you know her better than I do—but, Miss Caroline, you do have a tendency to see the best in people.’
She’d been hard-pressed to see the best in her father. She pushed that thought aside to meet the lawyer’s eyes. ‘If Barbara did marry my father for his money believe me: she’s earned every penny of it several times over.’
Mr Jenkins obviously thought it prudent to remain silent on the subject.
‘If my father’s estate has passed completely to me, then I can dispose of it in any way that I see fit, yes?’
‘That’s correct.’
Fine. She’d sell everything and give Barbara half. Even half was more than either one of them would ever need.
* * *
Half an hour later, after she’d signed all the relevant paperwork, Caro strode into the kitchen. Dennis Paul, her father’s butler, immediately shot to his feet.
‘Let me make you a pot of tea, Miss Caroline.’
She kissed his cheek and pushed him back into his seat. ‘I’ll make the tea, Paul.’ He insisted she call him Paul rather than Dennis. ‘Please just tell me there’s cake.’
‘There’s an orange syrup cake at the back of the pantry.’
