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Bought for Revenge
Sarah Mallory
A SOLDIER’S RETURNMajor Lucas Blackstone has survived Waterloo and come home uninjured while many of his loyal men have not. His body might be whole and still handsome, but as he returns to the burnt-out shell of what was once his family mansion his soul is dark and troubled.Bright-eyed debutante Annabelle Havenham has no idea her fate is in his hands. His plans to settle old scores could mean her ruin. Is he villain enough to do it? Especially when Annabelle’s innocence has started to melt his black heart…
‘Lucas, you are no villain. You believed you were doing what was right.’
‘How can you say that?’ He shrugged her off. ‘How can you defend me?’
‘Because if you were truly wicked you would not feel like this.’ Her hand touched him again, this time on his cheek.
He opened his eyes. Annabelle was kneeling beside him, her face just inches below his own, and there were tears in her eyes. He shook his head.
‘No. I am my father’s son—’
‘You are your own man, Lucas.’
She cupped his face, gently pulled him down to her and kissed him. It was balm to his wounded spirit and he responded, holding her against his heart, allowing himself to forget everything except the relief, the joy of having her in his arms.
AUTHOR NOTE
‘Feisty’ is a word that is often applied to heroines these days. A quick look at the online dictionary gives us these two definitions: (a) having or showing exuberance and strong determination, and (b) being touchy and aggressive.
I wanted my heroine to be neither of the above. I envisaged Annabelle as a very ordinary lady, well brought up by a loving father, and with a sweet, caring nature that makes her a favourite with everyone. The danger is that such a heroine might well be (oh, heavens, dare I say it?) a little boring.
However, we all know that adversity can bring out unexpected traits in people, and Annabelle is challenged by a great deal of adversity when she meets Lucas. He is an ex-soldier who for the past fifteen years has thought of nothing but revenge upon the man he thinks has wronged him. He sees Annabelle as a weapon he can use against her father, but he soon discovers that she has a core of steel beneath that soft exterior.
This whole story came about because of two places I pass regularly. One is a turning called Burnt Acres Lane and the second is a ruined ancient house. At one time it was a substantial manor house, but has been abandoned and partially burned down, so that now only the stone walls and a few roof timbers remain. Whenever I pass this sad old ruin I long to rebuild it, but since that is not possible for me I have done the next best thing and turned it into a story! So was born Morwood Manor, a house struck by tragedy—but, hopefully, if my hero and heroine can overcome their differences, Morwood can once more become a lovely family home.
Happy reading!
About the Author
SARAH MALLORY was born in Bristol, and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen-name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award from singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice for Gentlemen in Question. Sarah Mallory has also twice won the Romantic Novelists’ Association RONA Rose Award for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and Beneath the Major’s Scars.
Previous novels by the same author:
THE WICKED BARON
MORE THAN A GOVERNESS
(part of On Mothering Sunday)
WICKED CAPTAIN, WAYWARD WIFE
THE EARL’S RUNAWAY BRIDE
DISGRACE AND DESIRE
TO CATCH A HUSBAND…
SNOWBOUND WITH THE NOTORIOUS RAKE
(part of An Improper Regency Christmas)
THE DANGEROUS LORD DARRINGTON
BENEATH THE MAJOR’S SCARS* (#litres_trial_promo)
BEHIND THE RAKE’S WICKED WAGER* (#litres_trial_promo)
* (#litres_trial_promo)The Notorious Coale Brothers
And in M&B:
THE ILLEGITIMATE MONTAGUE
(part of Castonbury Park Regency mini-series)
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Bought for Revenge
Sarah Mallory
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To TGH
Chapter One
‘The terms are very favourable, Mr Havenham. Messrs Powell & Son say their client is willing to pay the full asking price for Morwood and is ready to settle immediately.’
Annabelle looked hopefully towards her father to see how he would take this news.
‘And what is this client’s name, Mr Telford?’ she asked. ‘Do we know him?’
The lawyer adjusted his spectacles and studied the paper in his hand. ‘A Mr Monserrat. Not a local man, I think.’
Mr Havenham sighed, the gold tassel on his cap dancing merrily as he shook his head.
‘No one in Stanton has any money to spare. What with the war, and then last year’s poor crops, it is a bad time for everyone.’
‘Waterloo was more than a year ago, Papa,’ said Annabelle. ‘And I know last summer was particularly bad, but the worst of the winter weather is over now and that always makes me feel hopeful. With a little economy, and the new mortgage Mr Telford raised for us on Oakenroyd, we shall come about.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed the lawyer. ‘And the money from the sale of Morwood will pay off most of your creditors.’
‘But not the gambling debts,’ said Samuel. ‘I should never have gone to Harrogate.’ The regret in her father’s voice made her heart ache, but Annabelle said nothing. Her father had gone to the spa town to take the waters, leaving her to run Oakenroyd, and he had returned with his health no better and his purse several thousand pounds lighter after being persuaded to enter the card room of the Dragon Hotel for several nights running.
Mr Telford shifted uncomfortably and sifted through the papers in his hand.
‘No, not those. But I have had some correspondence with your, er, creditor at Harrogate. He is willing for you to pay off that loan in instalments.’
‘But that is very good,’ declared Annabelle. ‘Once Burnt Acres—I mean Morwood—is sold and we have settled the other debts then we shall be able to pay him off, too. It will mean careful management for a few years, but nothing we cannot cope with.’
‘I agree, Miss Havenham.’ The lawyer nodded. ‘That is the reason I think you should consider this offer very seriously, sir. If we act now then the sale of Morwood can go through before Lady Day.’
‘But to sell Burnt Acres,’ sighed Samuel. ‘After all this time.’
Annabelle turned to him, taking his hands.
‘Papa,’ she said gently, ‘We both love Morwood, with its trees and the ruins of the old Manor, but you know we have never made use of it as we should. Indeed, it is because it is so wild and neglected that I love it, but Morwood is the least profitable of your lands, and we must sell something.’
‘We were very fortunate to find a buyer so quickly,’ added the lawyer. ‘And one who is willing to pay the full price.’
‘Then I suppose it must be.’
‘Indeed it must, Papa,’ said Annabelle. ‘We have no choice if we are to continue living here at Oakenroyd in the style we have come to enjoy.’
Mr Havenham straightened his shoulders.
‘Very well, Mr Telford. Draw up the contracts. We will sell Morwood.’
The tree began to fall and Lucas stepped back, listening to the satisfying crack as the remaining section of trunk broke away. There was the swish of the branches sweeping down to the ground, the flutter of startled birds, then silence as everything settled once more. He lowered his long-handled axe and was contemplating his handiwork when the thud of hooves made him look round.
A rider was cantering towards him through the trees, a woman in a nut-brown riding habit mounted on a powerful grey horse that sidled and snorted as she drew rein. He guessed who she was, of course. No one else would be riding in this place save the daughter of its owner. The man he had vowed to ruin. Lucas had removed his jacket and waistcoat while he worked and he glanced at them now, knowing it was impolite for any gentleman to greet a lady in just his shirt. But she was the daughter of his enemy and he would not show her any courtesy. He watched her approach, acknowledging with reluctant appreciation the expert way she brought the powerful animal to a stand just feet from him.
‘What are you doing?’
Her voice was low and musical, the tone not unfriendly, but Lucas was not minded to reply in kind.
‘I should have thought that was obvious.’
Her brows went up. She said with a touch of hauteur, ‘Have you asked permission to cut down trees on this land?’
He regarded her in silence, knowing his cool stare was an insult. She frowned and it was with no little satisfaction he noted the spark of anger in her grey eyes. ‘Well?’
He rested the axe against the newly felled tree trunk. ‘As a matter of fact I haven’t spoken to anyone about it.’
‘Then I think you should cease work here until you have done so.’
He allowed himself a smile and took a step closer. ‘Oh? And are you going to make me stop?’
‘I shall report you to the steward.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He reached out and caught the reins. The grey’s ears came forwards and the animal snorted nervously.
‘How dare you. Let go immediately.’
She kicked her heel against the grey’s flank, but Lucas kept a tight grip on the reins and the animal merely sidled.
‘You will learn I don’t take orders from anyone,’ he growled.
‘Release my horse. You cannot keep me here.’
‘I think you will find I can do whatever I want.’
Alarm flashed across her face, but it was quickly masked. She said haughtily, ‘Release the reins. I will not ask you again.’
He bared his teeth, his next words a deliberate, taunting challenge. ‘Perhaps you should try begging me.’
Those grey eyes positively flamed now and she raised her riding crop. She brought her arm swinging down, but he was ready for her. He reached up with his free hand and caught her wrist. The horse, unsettled, reared and plunged, unseating the rider. Instantly Lucas released the reins and caught the lady as she fell.
He had braced himself for her weight and was surprised at how light she was in his arms. Her face was only inches from his own and he could see the tiny flecks of green in her eyes. For a few moments she was still, shocked, then she began to struggle, pushing against him.
‘Let me go, you brute.’
‘Brute, is it?’ With a laugh he put her down, but kept hold of her arms, for although she no longer had her riding crop she tried to beat him with her fists. His hands slid to her wrists and he forced them behind her, pinning her to him. ‘Now, madam, do you still call me a brute?’
He could feel her pressing against him as her breast heaved with indignation. The top of her head only came up to his chin. She was so delicate he thought he might crush her with one hand. she threw back her head and glared at him with an angry, fearless gaze.
‘Monster,’ she threw at him. ‘Beast… . Certainly not a gentleman!’
He hardly heard her. His eyes were fixed upon her lips. They were red and full and without thinking he lowered his head and kissed her. She froze. Then, surprisingly, she yielded, becoming soft and pliant in his arms. But only for a moment. The next she was struggling to free herself. He raised his head, shaken by his actions. He had intended to antagonise her, but had been unable to resist the invitation of that extremely kissable mouth. Desire had leapt up immediately, fuelled by that one brief instant when she had leaned into him. He had sensed then a kindred spirit, a passionate nature to match his own. But even as his body hardened and the heated blood pounded through his veins he had known an overwhelming impulse to protect, to cherish the delicate creature imprisoned in his arms.
It would not do, he had no use for sentiment and must remember that she might well be a weapon he could use against his enemy. Better to befriend her, if he could.
‘Ooh, that is, is infamous,’ she declared, struggling to free herself. ‘To steal a kiss when I am quite helpless to resist you. I shall add thief to the epithets I heap upon your head. Let me go this instant!’
He laughed, but self-preservation made him hold on to her.
‘Very well. Only stop spitting like a wildcat and I will release you. Stop it, I say.’
She ceased her struggles and stared up at him, her eyes wary. He released her and stepped back.
‘There. You are free to go, Miss Havenham.’
‘You know my name?’
‘Of course. Perhaps I should introduce myself.’
She tossed her head and turned away from him, saying over her shoulder, ‘Pray do not. I have no wish to know you.’
She began to walk to where the big grey was quietly cropping the grass.
‘Oh, but I think you should, since we are to be neighbours.’
That stopped her in her tracks. He felt a grim sense of satisfaction as she turned slowly back to face him.
‘You are the new owner? Mr Monser…’
