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The Virgin's Seduction
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.The looks of an angel, the charm of the devil… Eve Robertson’s quiet life in the country takes an unexpected turn when charismatic Jake Romero arrives! Eve is desperate to put her turbulent past behind her, and doesn’t need such a dangerous distraction.Jake soon makes it clear he wants innocent Eve – and his touch leaves her aching for more, but her secrets hold her back. How long can she resist Jake's intense, exotic brand of seduction…?
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.
The Virgin’s Seduction
Anne Mather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
Cover (#ua2476e34-1d11-5980-92f6-060b1fda8b6b)
About the Author (#uf8d5bd6c-bedf-5633-8cce-a2cdbaeb742c)
Title Page (#u7cf982fc-bd4e-56a0-bedf-fdcbf45a6e4b)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf8960a72-22b9-5108-95ef-30eb5988334c)
ELLIE came to find her as Eve was shovelling manure out of Storm’s stall. The work should have been done that morning, but Mick hadn’t turned in today and Eve had offered to help out.
Nevertheless, Eve felt a little self-conscious when the old lady raised her handkerchief to her nose before saying, ‘Come outside. I want to talk to you.’
Eve didn’t argue. You didn’t argue with her grandmother, and the old lady’s cane tap-tapped its way back along the aisle between the row of empty stalls. Meanwhile, Eve jammed the fork she was using into her wheelbarrow and, after checking to see that she had no dirt on her hands, followed Ellie out into the crisp evening air.
It was November, and the scent of woodsmoke banished the smell of the stables. Already there was a tracing of frost on the trees in the copse, and the lights that surrounded the stable yard had a sparkling brilliance.
‘Cassie’s coming tomorrow.’
The old lady waited only long enough for Eve to emerge from the doorway before making her blunt announcement, and her granddaughter’s stomach tightened. But she knew better than to show any obvious reaction, and with a shrug of her thin shoulders she said, ‘Don’t you mean Cassandra?’
‘No, I mean Cassie,’ retorted the old lady shortly, wrapping the woollen pashmina she was wearing over her tweed jacket tighter about her ample form. ‘I christened my daughter Cassie, not Cassandra. If she wants to call herself by that damn fool name, I don’t have to follow suit.’
Eve acknowledged this with a wry arching of her dark brows, but she thought it was significant that Ellie was wearing the wrap Cassie had given her several years ago. Was this a sign that she’d forgiven her daughter at last? That the rapidly approaching demands of old age had reminded her that her time was slipping away?
‘How long is she coming for?’ asked Eve casually, aware that, whatever Ellie said, this was not going to be an easy time for any of them. She and Cassandra could never be friends, and it might be easier all round if she simply moved into a hotel for a couple of weeks.
‘She didn’t say.’ Ellie’s tone was grumpy. ‘As usual, I’m supposed to accommodate myself to her needs. Oh, and by the way, she’s bringing some man with her. I don’t know who he is, but knowing Cassie he’s probably someone who can help her with her career.’
‘Oh, well…’ Eve tried to sound philosophical. ‘If she’s bringing a boyfriend I doubt if she’ll be staying long. He must have commitments; a business, maybe.’ She tugged her lower lip between her teeth. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Ellie’s eyes, which were extraordinarily like her granddaughter’s, narrowed in surprise. ‘Why should I want you to do anything?’ She gave a shiver as the wind, which had a decidedly northerly bite to it, whistled across the stable yard. ‘I just thought I ought to—to—’
‘Warn me?’
‘To tell you,’ she insisted tersely. ‘If I could put her off, I would.’
‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Eve’s tone was dry. She wasn’t taken in by her grandmother’s last remark. ‘You’re really delighted she’s coming to see you, even if she is using this place as her own private hotel. As usual.’
‘Eve—’
‘Look, I understand where you’re coming from, Ellie. I do. So—would you like me to find somewhere else to stay while she’s here? I’m sure Harry—’
‘We’ll leave the Reverend Murray’s name out of this.’ The old lady looked scandalised at her suggestion. ‘You can’t stay with him. It wouldn’t be seemly. In any case, this is your home. I don’t want you to move out.’
‘Okay.’
Eve was dismissive, but the old lady wasn’t finished. ‘This is Northumberland,’ she said, with a quaver to her voice. ‘Not north London. You’re not living in some smelly squat now.’
That was a low blow, but it was a sign that her grandmother wasn’t as blasе about Cassie’s visit as she pretended. Ellie seldom if ever mentioned where Eve had been living when Ellie had arrived to rescue her, and she could see from the old lady’s expression that she already regretted speaking so bluntly. But Ellie must remember that the last time Cassie was here she and Eve had barely said a word to one another.
As if needing some reassurance, she added, ‘Are you saying you don’t want to be here while Cassie’s staying?’ All the ambivalence she was feeling about the visit showed in her lined, anxious face. ‘Because if you are—’
‘I just thought it might be easier all round if I left you to it,’ Eve muttered unwillingly. She didn’t want to hurt the woman who was her closest relative and her friend.
‘Well, it isn’t,’ declared her grandmother, pushing the hand that wasn’t holding her cane into her pocket for warmth. ‘So we’ll say no more about Henry Murray. And it’s too cold to stand here gossiping, anyway. We’ll talk about this again later. Over supper, perhaps.’
But they wouldn’t, Eve knew. Her grandmother had spoken, and in her own way she was just as selfish as Cassie. Oh, she would never have abandoned her child at birth, or ignored its existence for the first fifteen years of its life. But she liked her own way, and Eve rarely felt strongly enough about anything to argue with her.
‘You’ll be in soon, won’t you?’ Ellie asked now, and Eve nodded.
‘As soon as I’ve got Storm back in his stall,’ she promised.
‘Good.’
Her grandmother looked as if she would have liked to say something more, but thought better of it. With a farewell lift of her cane, she trudged away towards the lights of the house.
The hired Aston Martin ate up the miles between London and the north of England. Jake liked motorway driving, mostly because the journey—this journey—would be over that much quicker. He hadn’t wanted to come, and the sooner this trip was over the better he’d like it.
‘Shall we stop and have some lunch?’
Cassandra was being determinedly cheerful, but for once he didn’t respond to her lively chatter. This was wrong, he thought. He shouldn’t be here. Bringing him to meet her mother smacked of a relationship they simply didn’t have.
Oh, they’d been spending time together, off and on, for the past six months, but it wasn’t serious. Well, in his case it wasn’t, anyway. He had no intention of marrying again. Or of setting up home with someone like Cassandra, he conceded ruefully. He liked her company now and then, but he knew that living with her would drive him up the wall.
‘Did you hear what I said, darling?’
Cassandra was determined to have an answer, and Jake turned his head to give her a fleeting look. ‘I heard,’ he said. ‘But there’s nowhere to eat around here.’
‘There’s a service area coming up,’ protested his companion. ‘There, you see: it’s only another five miles.’
‘I’m not in the mood for soggy fries and burgers,’ Jake told her drily. He glanced at the thin gold watch circling his wrist. ‘It’s only a quarter of one. We should be there in less than an hour.’
‘I doubt it.’
Cassandra was sulky, and once again Jake permitted himself a glance in her direction. ‘You did say it was only a couple hundred miles,’ he reminded her. ‘As I see it, we’ve covered at least three-quarters of the journey already.’
Cassandra gave a careless shrug. ‘I may have underestimated a little.’
Jake’s fingers tightened on the wheel. ‘Did you?’
‘Well, yes.’ Cassandra turned towards him now, all eager for his forgiveness. ‘But I knew you’d never agree if I told you it was over three hundred miles from London.’
Her fingers slipped over the sleeve of his sweater, seeking the point where the fine black wool gave way to lean, darkly tanned flesh. The tips of her fingers feathered over the dark hairs that escaped the cuff of his sweater, but he didn’t respond to the intimacy of her touch. Three hundred miles, he was thinking. That meant they had at least a couple of hours to go. It also meant they would have to stop somewhere for Cassandra to toy with a salad and sip a skinny latte. Although she rarely ate a proper meal, she insisted on drinking numerous cups of coffee every chance she got.
‘You do forgive me, don’t you, darling?’ She had nestled closer now and, in spite of the obstacle the centre console presented, she laid her head on his shoulder. ‘So—can we stop soon? I’m dying for the loo.’
Faced with that request, Jake knew he didn’t have any option, and although he didn’t say anything he indicated left and pulled off the motorway into the service area she’d pointed out. It was busy. Even in November, people were always going somewhere, and Jake had to park at the far side of the ground. He just hoped the car would still be there when they came back.
‘This is fun, isn’t it?’ Cassandra said, after they had served themselves and occupied a table for two by the window. As usual, she’d helped herself to a salad, carefully avoiding all the mayonnaise-covered options and sticking to lettuce, tomato and peppers. She sipped at the bottled water she’d had to choose when no skinny latte was available. ‘It gives us a bit more time on our own.’
‘We could have spent time alone if we’d stayed in town,’ Jake reminded her flatly. He parted the two slices of his sandwich to discover the almost transparent piece of ham covering the bread. When would the British learn that a ham sandwich needed a proper filling? he wondered gloomily, as a wave of nostalgia for his homeland swept over him. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the Caribbean right now.
‘I know,’ Cassandra said, reaching across the table to cover his hand with hers. Long scarlet nails dug into the skin of his wrist. ‘But we’ll have some fun, I promise.’
Jake doubted that. From what Cassandra had told him, her mother was already well into her seventies. Cassandra had been a late baby, she’d explained, and her brother, her only sibling, was at least fifteen years older than she was.
Jake wasn’t absolutely sure how old Cassandra was. In her late thirties, he imagined, which made her half a dozen years older than he was, though that had never been a problem. Besides, in television or theatre age was always a moot point. Actresses were as old as they appeared, and some of them got ingеnue roles well into their forties.
‘So, tell me about Watersmeet,’ he said, trying to be positive. ‘Who lives there besides your mother? You said it’s quite a large property. I imagine she has people who work for her, doesn’t she?’
‘Oh…’ Cassandra drew her full lips together. ‘Well, there’s Mrs Blackwood. She’s Mummy’s housekeeper. And old Bill Trivett. He looks after the garden and grounds. We used to have several stable hands when Mummy bred horses, but now all the animals have been sold, so I imagine they’re not needed any more.’
Jake frowned. ‘Don’t you know?’
Cassandra’s pale, delicate features took on a little colour. ‘It—it has been some time since I’ve been home,’ she said defensively. Then, seeing his expression, she hurried on, ‘I have been busy, darling. And, as you’re finding out, Northumberland is not the easiest place to get to.’
‘There are planes,’ Jake commented, taking a bite out of his sandwich, relieved to find that at least the bread was fresh.
‘Air fares are expensive,’ insisted Cassandra, not altogether truthfully. ‘And I wouldn’t like to scrounge from my mother.’
‘If you say so.’
Jake wasn’t prepared to argue with her, particularly about something that wasn’t his problem. If she chose to neglect her mother, that was her affair.
‘Doesn’t Mrs Wilkes have a companion?’ he asked now, his mind running on the old lady’s apparent isolation, and once again he saw the colour come and go in Cassandra’s face.
‘Well, there’s Eve,’ she said reluctantly, without elaborating. ‘And my mother’s surname is Robertson, not Wilkes.’
‘Really?’
