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Blackmailed Bride
Sylvie Kurtz
Dr. Jonas Shades needed someone to play his wife in order to secure the funds required for his critical research. Cathlynn O'Connell was the perfect candidate. Except with time running out, he had no choice but to blackmail his bride….Each day spent in Jonas's fortress of a home brought Cathlynn one step deeper into the dangerous mystery surrounding his life. And each minute spent in his brooding presence, each second spent in his passionate embrace brought her one step closer to losing control. Her life was on the line, but what Cathlynn really feared was losing her heart…to the husband she hardly knew.
He wanted her
He needed her.
He couldn’t have her.
Not now.
Not ever.
A faint whimper escaped her in her sleep. Cathlynn’s eyelids fluttered with the mad movements of a dreamer dreaming. Dark shadows of distress slipped across her innocent face. Fear spread her breaths raggedly through her parted lips.
Fear. Yes, she had a right to fear him, Jonas thought, watching her sleep. He’d do her no good. Having Cathlynn pretend to be his wife so he could acquire the trust fund was the most important thing in his life now. He needed the money to continue his work, to save his life and his brother’s. He would sacrifice anything to find the cure.
His dreams were grounded in reality, in his vision for a brighter future for all, not in fantasy. He had to remember that. In two weeks, Cathlynn would be gone, and everything could go back as it was.
Anger rose. A disturbing anger that shook him to the core. Damn Cathlynn and her irresistible appeal!
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
Sunscreen, a poolside lounge—and Harlequin Intrigue: the perfect recipe for great summer escapes!
This month’s sizzling selection begins with The Stranger Next Door (#573) by Joanna Wayne, the second in her RANDOLPH FAMILY TIES miniseries. Langley Randolph is the kind of Texan who can’t resist a woman in trouble. Can he help unlock a beautiful stranger’s memories…before a killer catches up with her first?
Little Penny Drake is an Innocent Witness (#574) to a murder in this suspenseful yet tender story by Leona Karr. The child’s desperate mother, Deanna, seeks the help of Dr. Steve Sherman. Can Steve unlock her daughter’s secrets…and Deanna’s heart?
Dr. Jonas Shades needs a woman to play his wife. Cathlynn O’Connell is the perfect candidate, but with time running out, he has no choice but to blackmail his bride. Each minute in Jonas’s presence brings Cathlynn closer to understanding her enigmatic “husband” and closer to danger! Don’t miss Blackmailed Bride (#575) by Sylvie Kurtz.
Bestselling Harlequin American Romance author Tina Leonard joins Harlequin Intrigue with a story of spine-tingling suspense and dramatic romance. She’s created the small town of Crookseye Canyon, Texas, as the backdrop for A Man of Honor (#576). Cord Greer must marry his brother’s woman to keep her and her unborn baby safe. But is it fear that drives Tessa Draper into Cord’s arms, or is it something more than Cord had hoped for?
Indulge yourself and find out this summer—and all year long!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
Blackmailed Bride
Sylvie Kurtz
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Flying an eight-hour solo cross-country in a Piper Arrow with only the airplane’s crackling radio and a large bag of M&M’s for company, Sylvie Kurtz realized a pilot’s life wasn’t for her. The stories zooming in and out of her mind proved more entertaining than the flight itself. Not a quitter, she finished her pilot’s course and earned her commercial license and instrument rating.
Since then, she has traded in her wings for a computer keyboard, where she lets her imagination soar to create fictional adventures that explore the power of love and the thrill of suspense. When not writing, she enjoys the outdoors with her husband and two children, in addition to quilt making, photography and reading whatever catches her interest.
You can write to Sylvie at P.O. Box 702, Milford, NH 03055.
Books by Sylvie Kurtz
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
527—ONE TEXAS NIGHT
575—BLACKMAILED BRIDE
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dr. Jonas Shades—With time running out, he had to convince a beautiful stranger to play his wife for two weeks. Yet how far would his “marriage” go once she was by his side…?
Cathlynn O’Connell—She was playing the role of a lifetime. What price was she willing to pay to get what she wanted?
Alana Chandler Shades—The faithless socialite was missing. Was it by choice? Or was it murder?
Sterling Ryder—Did the family lawyer and trust fund’s trustee have a motive of his own to see Alana dead?
Geoffrey Chandler—Alana’s cousin. Greed was always a good motive for murder.
David Forester—Jonas’s trusted assistant knew everything that went on between the thick monastery walls.
Meara O’Connell—Would Cathlynn’s grandmother appreciate the sacrifice her granddaughter made for her sake?
Lorraine Forester—The local seamstress was happy to oblige Jonas’s every request.
Bertha Lane—There was no love lost between David’s grandmother and the mistress of the monastery.
Scott MacPhearson—The private eye was a bulldog when it came to tracking down a clue. Jonas had paid his salary, but no man could buy the truth from him.
To my grandmothers—for the fond memories.
Contents
Prologue (#uc79c325e-f27e-5f6e-8faf-65e36e469120)
Chapter One (#uc917cb4a-8409-5f8c-bd2f-06d49e0106ba)
Chapter Two (#ud5df6f5a-89e4-59dd-9124-b19ec4be3e8b)
Chapter Three (#u4d60a46e-4762-5779-972e-f451e61749de)
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)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
A paper-thin moon hung in the ink-blue sky, mutating grotesque shadows behind the three crosses in the courtyard of the Ste-Croix monastery in rural New Hampshire. But Alana Chandler Shades didn’t care. The creepy place with its eerie shadows and haunting chantlike winds had ceased to frighten her a long time ago.
Now, it merely bored her.
At thirty, she’d wasted almost half her life in this godforsaken place. As she hurried over the courtyard’s cobblestones, she smiled, ignoring the ominous whispers of fall leaves from the nearby woods. Soon she’d be free. She threw her head back and laughed, defying the morbid sounds of night. She’d waited a long time for this freedom—a freedom she’d earned with her filial duty; a freedom which would now be greatly enhanced by her coming inheritance. She’d have plenty of time to make up for all the deprivation she’d endured over the last thirteen years.
As she opened the garage door, it creaked. For now, she’d settle for the simple pleasures of the flesh. Her latest conquest was strong and virile, and Alana licked her lips in anticipation of the feral passion they’d share. She hopped into her red Miata and roared into the bleak night.
Too bad that husband of hers had found the papers and ruined his Christmas surprise. He’d been amiable enough about the whole situation, with her conditions. But with him, who knew?
Their love had died a long time ago, hadn’t it? Had they ever truly been in love? She’d been too young. Her dreams hadn’t had a chance to gel yet. She’d realized too late the price she’d paid for her father’s approval. And he’d made sure with his manipulations of her trust fund that she couldn’t undo the damage until too late. All this sacrifice and for what? A miracle cure that would never happen; a marriage that was doomed to fail before it began.
And the differences in their backgrounds, the five-year difference in their ages so exciting at first, had soon grown into rifts, then chasms. The fool, he’d turned such a brilliant future into nothing with his misguided vision and his righteous anger. An anger that had grown over the years, and sometimes managed to frighten even her.
But not tonight. Tonight was her weekly escape from tyranny, and she was determined to make the most of it. The car rattled over the loose boards of the old covered bridge, echoing like thunder into the oppressive night. Alana hid the Miata in the thicket of pines and slipped into the small one-room cottage.
She sensed movement from the bed. “You’re here already. Why didn’t you light the lamp?”
She lit the hurricane lamp, blew out the match and turned to her new friend. A black-robed monk stepped forward from the shadows, his face hidden by his cowled hood, his hands buried in opposite sleeves. She smiled when she saw the way the robe strained over broad shoulders, the way the thick cord at his waist defined his trim hips.
“Ah, so you like to play little games, do you?” Alana laughed. She unbuttoned her coat and flung it on the bed. She started toward him, shedding her scarf, then her sweater. “Shall I play your sacrificial virgin?”
The monk’s hood fell back. Malevolence burned in his eyes. Laughter froze in her throat. Her fingers went rigid against the zipper of her tailored pants. His hands came into the light. A rope snapped between them. Fear paralyzed her limbs, her voice, her breath.
The rush of adrenaline came too late.
Chapter One
Cathlynn O’Connell glanced around the living room of the monastery turned mansion, looking for her treasure with, she hoped, what passed for cool composure. Her heart fluttered with excitement, but she forced herself to present her usual calm professional appearance. People expected that from her; she’d built her reputation as a top-notch antiques dealer with her fairness and levelheadedness.
Where was the sculpture? What if—But no, she wouldn’t even entertain such a thought. The auction brochure had clearly printed the description, and the picture had left no doubt.
The Aidan Heart was here—somewhere.
Cathlynn removed her wool hat and gloves and dropped them on one of the folding chairs. A storm brewed outside. Strong winds pummeled the ancient stone structure—one of three buildings on the grounds. The promised inclement weather hadn’t kept people away from the auction. Cathlynn didn’t blame them. Nothing could have kept her away today.
She’d raced the dark, billowy clouds all the way from Nashua to the small village of Ste-Croix on the western edge of the White Mountains, and the old Ste-Croix Monastery. Slate skies had met white snow with nothing in between to give the illusion of depth except somber evergreens and the gray branches of winter-bared maples and beeches. Taking a wrong turn along the twisty country road, she’d almost ended up in the treacherous depths of the Ste-Croix River which fed eventually into Lake Winnipesaukee. But she’d made it.
And ten years of searching for the Aidan Heart would end today.
Inside the gray stone main house, people milled about, creating a soft buzz with their chatter. Curiosity seekers or competition? The cordial fire glowing in the hearth mellowed the wind’s strong bite, but couldn’t quite keep the chill out of the air. Cathlynn scanned the room once more. The fact the walls’ only adornment was a series of paintings portraying the austere monks of the Order of the Holy Cross in black-hooded habits didn’t help. It almost seemed as if the monks followed her every move, especially the one over the fireplace whose eyes glowed red in the firelight’s trail.
What kind of person would choose to live in such a bleak environment? An involuntary shiver slid down her spine.
As she crossed the room, she recognized several rival dealers and nodded a greeting. Noticing a side room from which people emerged, and guessing the auction goods’ location, she headed in its direction.
On a series of tables a collection of high-quality antiques crowded the small adjoining room. Cathlynn looked at the rich offerings, feigning interest while her heart beat strong with anticipation of finding the Aidan Heart. She spotted a lamp and several glass bowls she could easily place with her clients, but knew she wouldn’t bid on them.
She’d come to Ste-Croix for one thing and one thing only—the glass sculpture her great-great-grandfather had fashioned for his bride almost a hundred years ago. A gift of love tragically lost when Aidan and Deirdre O’Connell had left Ireland for the United States.
Now she held the precious gift in her sight.
As she approached the twelve-inch sculpture, Cathlynn held her breath. Though shaped like the pylon paperweights popular in the late 1800s, the similarity ended there. Rather than tool the glass into shape, the artist had handblown it so the glass folded over itself, forming hanging layers of translucence from light pink to dark purple to pure transparent, with a three-dimensional heart suspended, as if by magic, in its center. The whole rested on a flat square base.
It was perfect. More beautiful than she’d imagined. The glass spoke to her, flooding her with sensations of the past, of love, acceptance, happiness. She breathed deeply to tamp down the tears of joy threatening to fragment her careful composure.
With discreet awe and a trembling finger, Cathlynn reached out to touch the object of her intense search. The glass felt warm beneath her finger. She picked it up, feeling its solid weight in her hands for the first time. Turning it over carefully, she inspected every facet. Not a chip, not a scratch in sight. The room grew unbearably warm around her, making the glass pulsate with heat, coating her hands with sweat. Even the walls seemed to shimmer in a feverlike hallucination.
Her lips trembled. She clamped them down. She had to get hold of herself. She couldn’t let herself be drawn in by emotions. Staying cool, calm and collected—that would get her the prize, not foolish emotions.
With a deep reluctance, she set the sculpture down on the table once more and turned back to the main room. Maybe the imminent storm would keep most of her competition away. Few people realized the value of the piece, but perhaps some would be drawn into the bidding by its simple yet elegant charm.
No use worrying. She’d get the Aidan Heart even if she had to sell her soul for it.
By bringing the sculpture back to its rightful owner, she hoped to give a final glimpse of magic to her dying grandmother. Gram had done so much for her. Her summers at Gram’s house had brought a measure of peace to her chaotic childhood, the stories of Aidan and Deirdre’s love, the magic of belonging. And with the sculpture she’d brighten her grandmother’s last days, see the light of recognition shine one more time in her eyes. She owed her at least that much.
Two elderly ladies shuffling through the door blocked her exit from the room. Cathlynn stepped aside to let them pass.
“Do you suppose he’ll show up?” asked the one leaning on a cane.
“Who?” asked the one whose purple feather on her hat bobbed to a palsied rhythm.
“Jonas Shades. Who else?”
