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Legend Of Lexandros
Anne Mather
Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.Indebted to the millionaire…Dallas is horrified to learn that her younger sister is expecting a baby by irresponsible playboy Paul Stavros. But when Paul is tragically killed, his controlling, but irresistibly gorgeous billionaire father, Alexander Stavros, steps in – much to Dallas’ chagrin!Before she knows it, she and her sister are being whisked off - at his insistence - to his luxurious private island! While her sister now wants for nothing, Dallas loathes their obligation to a man who antagonises her at every turn. But with her increasing attraction to Alexander, his hold over her becomes ever more unbreakable…
Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous
collection of fantastic novels by
bestselling, much loved author
ANNE MATHER
Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the
publishing industry, having written over one hundred
and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than
forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.
This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance
for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,
passionate writing has given.
We are sure you will love them all!
I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.
I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.
These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.
We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
Legend of Lexandros
Anne Mather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#ucc6a11f3-0ca6-537a-a141-a97028fa2279)
About the Author (#u61e62ffa-9a6c-5641-9ff9-c297ffc9840c)
Title Page (#u2d2962fa-987b-5c38-9e44-28002a85284f)
CHAPTER ONE (#u253beba1-3ab5-54e9-aa7a-8ed7d08f1634)
CHAPTER TWO (#u79a80b36-af34-52f8-8cdb-aef6be8e1dc6)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_0d5b9f1e-9f5c-591c-939c-cdf0af1c39e0)
DALLAS let herself into the flat, juggling with her key, her handbag, and a pile of exercise books which she had brought home for marking. She allowed the books to cascade on to the table in the minute entrance hall of the flat, and pushing open the lounge door, called:
‘Jane! I’m home. Are you in?’
There was no reply, and Dallas glanced at her watch thoughtfully. It was already quarter to six, and as Jane’s office closed at five o’clock, that could only mean one thing. Paris Stavros was bringing her home, and they had made a detour on the way.
Dallas sighed heavily, and removing her sheepskin coat she flung it wearily over an armchair. Then, determinedly straightening her shoulders, she walked through to the kitchen to prepare their evening meal. Chops were sizzling appetisingly under the grill when she heard the door open, and Jane came into the lounge humming cheerfully to herself. Dallas walked to the kitchen door and looked at her sister questioningly. ‘You’re late.’
Jane nodded. ‘Paris brought me home. We called at Joe’s.’
‘I thought so.’ Dallas nodded, and turned back to attend to the potatoes she was frying. ‘Are you going out this evening?’
Jane had walked into the bedroom. It was a small flat with only one bedroom which they shared. Now she came to the bedroom door, and called:
‘Yes, I am. Why? Have you any objections?’ Her tone was sarcastic.
Dallas made a helpless movement. ‘Only the usual ones,’ she replied, and waited for the explosion. As usual she was not disappointed.
Jane stormed into the kitchen, ‘Honestly, Dallas, you infuriate me! This is the third time this week. You simply won’t believe that Paris loves me, will you?’
‘Frankly … no.’ Dallas applied the opener to a can of peas with some savagery. ‘I may be foolish and old-fashioned, Jane, but I can’t really see the only son of the owner of the worldwide Stavros Shipping Line falling for a … well, for a typist like you. Particularly one who works in his father’s London branch office!’
Jane’s cheeks were scarlet now. ‘What were you about to call me? A nonentity, perhaps?’
Dallas shrugged. ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, be honest with yourself, Jane, just for once. You’re no oil painting, and you haven’t a penny to your name. Why should he be interested in you when he can have his pick of practically any girl both here and in his native Greece! He only wants you for kicks, Jane, and the sooner you realise it the better. Once you begin to bore him, it will all be over. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.’
‘You have a funny way of showing it,’ grunted Jane moodily. ‘Anyway, I know that all you’ve said is true, in as much as the facts fit the personalities, but Paris loves me! He’s told me so, and I believe him!’
‘Oh lord!’ Dallas raised her eyes heavenward.
‘Well, I know what I’m talking about,’ Jane averred hotly. ‘Anyway, how would you know whether he loves me or not? I don’t believe you know what love is. After all, Charles is hardly anyone’s idea of the perfect lover!’
Dallas controlled her temper with difficulty. ‘I must know a little more than you do,’ she replied. ‘In any case, despite your dislike of Charles, I find his love-making perfectly adequate.’
Jane screwed up her nose rudely. ‘It is possible to deceive yourself into believing anything—–’
‘My point exactly,’ Dallas interrupted her.
‘—and as you’ve had no other boy-friends since Charles made the scene your experience is as limited as mine,’ finished Jane triumphantly.
Dallas sighed. ‘All right, maybe I don’t know any more than you do, but at least my common sense tells me that Paris will never get around to discussing marriage lines and wedding rings with you, at any rate.’
‘Paris acts a whole lot older than his years,’ said Jane, examining her fingernails.
‘That I can believe,’ remarked Dallas dryly. ‘And that’s another thing. He’s experienced, and you’re not.’ She reached for her handbag and lit a cigarette. ‘In any case, he’s only spending six months in the London office, isn’t he? When does his term give out? Soon, I imagine, and what then?’
Jane turned away. ‘He has another eight weeks yet.’ She looked at Dallas over her shoulder. ‘The fact that he is actually learning the business from the bottom up should prove to you that he’s not just a playboy.’
‘At his father’s instigation, I’ve no doubt,’ replied Dallas, inhaling deeply, savouring the relaxation the cigarette engendered.
‘You just won’t try to understand,’ cried Jane angrily. ‘You’re so complacent! So sure you know everything!’
‘I’m not sure of anything right now,’ replied Dallas, frowning.
‘You’re becoming just like Charles,’ retorted Jane, in disgust. ‘You’re only twenty-two, but you act at least fifteen years older.’
‘Don’t you dare criticise Charles,’ exclaimed Dallas. ‘At least he’s a decent, honest man.’
Jane flounced away to wash and change, and Dallas sighed again, and began dishing up the meal for which she had no appetite. It was always like this. They argued and argued, and got no further forward. Dallas felt sure that Jane secretly thought that she was jealous, whereas in actual fact she would have been glad to see Jane dating a boy with a background similar to their own. It was all very well for Jane to talk, but she was not to know that their father had told Dallas to take care of Jane, to look after her always, for she was too much like their mother, who had run away with another man when Dallas was only ten. Jane, at five, had not known much about it, but Dallas had felt the pain and frustration that enveloped her father, never to leave him entirely.
Her father had been an archaeologist, and had spent many weeks away from his wife and family on ‘digs’. Dallas had always been interested to hear all about it on his return, but her mother had hated the lonely life she was forced to lead, and had eventually found someone who could provide her with all the entertainment she craved. They had seen little of her since the divorce, and now she was living in America, and their only communications were birthday and Christmas greetings.
So Dallas felt doubly responsible for her young sister, and there was no one, apart from Charles, to whom she could turn. And she hesitated turning to him, anyway, because he and Jane had never hit it off and were openly antagonistic towards one another. It was for this reason that Dallas had delayed their wedding for so long, concerned about Jane’s reactions to living with Charles.
Charles lived with his mother in Maidenhead. His mother owned a large house there, and as she was a semi-invalid, being permanently confined to a wheel-chair, it had been decided that Dallas and Charles should live with her after their wedding. Dallas got along quite well with Mrs. Jennings, and found this idea acceptable, but Jane was too carefree and careless of other people’s feelings to ever get along with the Jennings family for long.
After Jane had left that evening, Dallas went into the bedroom to get changed before Charles arrived. He was coming to spend an evening at the flat. They didn’t go out together very often; Charles liked television and so long as he could see his favourite programmes he didn’t mind staying in. Dallas sometimes wished they could go out more often, but with the memory of her mother’s behaviour still strong in her mind, she crushed these thoughts with impatient intolerance.
Now she stripped off the dark brown tweed suit which she had worn for school and glanced half critically at herself in the dressing-table mirror. Did Jane really think she was getting like Charles?
Then she shrugged such thoughts away as being disloyal. After all, teaching a class of eight-year-olds as she did required that she dress with some modicum of severity, for otherwise her youthful appearance would maintain no discipline. Besides, Charles did like her in plain clothes and he liked the french pleat in which she invariably dressed her hair. Both girls had long hair, but whereas Jane’s was blonde, Dallas’s was a glorious red-gold in colour. Studying her features momentarily, she thought that apart from her eyes, her hair was probably her most attractive feature. And Charles was thirty-seven, after all, and naturally he didn’t want everyone to think he was going out with a girl far too young for him, her musing continued.
When her thoughts strayed to other things Jane had said, she felt a little disturbed. Her relationship with Charles had never troubled her before, but was it possible that the reasons she had accepted Charles so readily were mixed up with a longing for security and someone else to turn to?
She determinedly thrust such thoughts aside. She was becoming fanciful, and allowing Jane’s behaviour to play upon her thoughts too much. It would not do! It simply would not do!
Shedding her underwear, she walked into the tiny alcove which they called a bathroom, and showered hastily. Then she dressed in a warm green woollen dress, which had seen better days, and rewound her hair into its knot. She refused to consider her reflection any further. Charles liked her like this, and he was all that mattered.
Charles arrived at eight o’clock, punctual to the minute. He was a man of medium height and build, only slightly veering to plumpness. He had known the girls since they were children, having been friendly with their father, and when their father died quite suddenly he had been responsible for getting them this flat, and dealing with the sale of the house in Earl’s Court which had been too big and expensive for them to keep on alone.
He kissed Dallas warmly, and said: ‘Hello, darling. How are you? You’re looking a little peaky this evening.’
Dallas shrugged. ‘Oh, can’t you guess, Charles? I’ve had another row with Jane.’
‘Over Paris Stavros?’
‘What else?’
‘Well, I wish you wouldn’t, Dallas,’ said Charles, rather irritatedly. ‘After all, she isn’t a child, and sooner or later she has got to learn that all the apples on the branch aren’t sweet ones.’
‘Don’t be pompous,’ said Dallas, sighing. ‘Jane is my responsibility, after all, and I can’t just let her ruin her life.’
‘You’re over-dramatising the situation, as usual,’ retorted Charles, shaking his head. ‘Paris Stavros is only eighteen, when all’s said and done. He’s not had time to build up much of a reputation! You’d think he was a lecherous old playboy to hear you talk!’
Dallas had to smile at this, and she lit a cigarette thoughtfully, waiting for Charles’s exclamation: ‘Dallas, must you smoke so much?’
She shook her head. ‘Why not? I don’t smoke all day. I deserve some relaxation, don’t I?’
Charles deigned not to answer this, and seating himself in front of the television set, said: ‘Is there anything exciting on this evening?’
‘There’s that detective series you enjoy,’ remarked Dallas, feeling strangely restless. ‘Charles! Why don’t we go to the pictures, for a change?’
Charles glanced round frowning. ‘We never go out on Thursday evenings,’ he exclaimed, aggrieved.
‘Oh, all right, all right!’ Dallas sank down on to the couch beside him. ‘Have you had a busy day?’
Charles was an accountant, with a firm here in the city.
‘So-so,’ he answered absently. ‘Oh, look, Dallas. The programme is just starting!’
Dallas nodded, and drew deeply on her cigarette. Whether it was the continued arguments with Jane, or whether something inside her was beginning to rebel she didn’t know, but quite suddenly she could see their lives going on in the same way for years to come, and it was quite frightening. Was this all it was about? If only Charles wasn’t such a stick-in-the-mud. She had always excused him on account of his age, but after all, thirty-seven wasn’t so old. Lots of men didn’t become so set in their ways at that age. It could only be the influence of his mother, and for the first time she wondered if they were doing the right thing, going to live with her after their marriage. It was all very well, and Dallas knew that old Mrs. Jennings was the kind of person who required someone to live with her, but she could get a companion, and they could buy a new house, in one of the new suburban developments, and then they would really have something worth saving for.
‘Charles,’ she said tentatively, ‘I don’t think living with your mother after we’re married is such a good idea after all.’
Charles paid little attention to her. He was engrossed with the television play. Dallas nudged him. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘What? Oh no, what was that? Can’t it wait until after this is over?’
Dallas stiffened. ‘No, it can’t. I … I don’t want to live with your mother after we’re married.’
Charles stared at her, aghast. ‘What?’ he said again. ‘Why?’
Dallas swallowed hard. ‘Because you’re getting too like her. You’re old before your time. Good heavens, Charles, you’re only thirty-seven, but you act sometimes twenty years older.’
Charles’s face was bright red now, and Dallas felt awful. But it had to be said.
‘Dallas, have you taken leave of your senses?’ He stared at her. ‘The house at Maidenhead is far too big for just Mother alone. Besides, it would be a waste of money buying another house.’
