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The Bachelor's Bargain
Jessica Steele
It was Jarad Montgomery who picked Merren up and dusted her down after she'd been mugged. He even offered to replace her stolen money.Merren was determined to repay Jarad, and he was happy to suggest a solution: be his steady girlfriend for a year! At first, Merren reckoned she'd got the better part of their bargain–being escorted by Jarad was no hardship–until he decided that their deal included other duties as well!
“It’s clearly important to you that I find some way for you to pay back that money.”
“You’ve found some work for me?”
He smiled. “I’ve found a job for you—if you’re willing to do it.”
“I’ve told you, I’m prepared to do anything legal.”
“Oh, this is legal,” he assured her. Then evenly he enquired, “How would you like to be my steady girlfriend for a year?”
Merren stared at him. “You’re not serious?”
“I promise you I am.”
“But—but—we don’t even know each other!” she protested.
“We don’t have to—it will be an in-name-only courtship.”
Jessica Steele lives in a friendly English village with her super husband, Peter. They are owned by a gorgeous Staffordshire bull terrier called Florence, who is boisterous and manic, but also adorable. It was Peter who first prompted Jessica to try writing and, after the first rejection, encouraged her to keep on trying. Luckily, with the exception of Uruguay, she has so far managed to research inside all the countries in which she has set her books, traveling to places as far apart as Siberia and Egypt. Her thanks go to Peter for his help and encouragement.
Books by Jessica Steele
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3588—THE FEISTY FIANCÉE
3615—BACHELOR IN NEED
3627—MARRIAGE IN MIND
The Bachelor’s Bargain
Jessica Steele
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ud2aa548a-c5d4-54e2-9c38-24c35b6f4732)
CHAPTER TWO (#u2b87b0f9-1e71-584b-96fe-5a933fe7da67)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud8554734-b8ed-5da4-becb-fb78db203f44)
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 ONE
MERREN tried to look on the bright side—or even find a bright side. By nature she was a cheerful person, but just lately there had been little to cheer about.
Looking on the bright side, however, she had the money in her bag which would take the look of strain from the face of Robert, her brother. It had been extremely disappointing that the sale of her mother’s sapphire and diamond ring hadn’t fetched anywhere near its insurance valuation. But the two thousand pounds she had been forced to accept was just enough to keep the bailiffs from Robert’s door. Though since six weeks ago Robert, his wife and their three children had moved into the house she already lived in, it was her door too.
Not that he and his family didn’t have a right to live there as well, Merren reminded herself as, having delivered an envelope in the area, she made her way past elegant and expensive houses en route to public transport.
It had to be today that Robert had wanted to borrow her car to go for a job interview. Though, she acknowledged, in the last six weeks it had become more like the family’s car, rather than belonging exclusively to her. But Robert’s need was greater than hers, and if he was successful at his interview, a company car, as in his old job, went with the territory.
Just as it had to be today that Robert’s need of a car was greater than her own, it had to be today that her boss, Dennis Chapman, ‘up to his eyes in it’, to use his expression, had asked if she’d mind dropping some urgent documents off to one of his business associates on her way home. She had done so once before, and Dennis had obviously assumed she’d had her car outside today.
Merren’s thoughts went back to her brother as she reflected on the mess he was in. If only he’d told someone a year ago that he’d been made redundant they might, collectively, have been able to find some way out of his problems. But he hadn’t told anyone—not even his wife!
True, Carol, a terminal worrier at the best of times, had been four months pregnant with their third child then. But even so, though Robert had thought he’d get another job straight away, Merren felt sure that, had Carol known, she would have pulled with him rather than against him, as was happening now.
A year ago they could have…Merren’s breath caught, the sadness she was having to come to terms with coming over her. A year ago her mother had been alive. A year ago she and her mother had lived happily together in the house Merren’s father still owned. Ten months ago her mother had been out walking when a car coming round a sharp bend had gone out of control. It…
Merren turned her thoughts away from the shock and horror of that devastating time after her mother’s death. She had valued Robert’s support in the background then. But, aside from her love for her brother, Merren saw it as only right and natural that now, in his time of need, she should support him.
Their father lived in Cornwall, but, since he hadn’t stirred himself to attend his estranged wife’s funeral, they hardly expected any help from him in this financial crisis. Although before Robert had told Carol that their small savings were gone, that he hadn’t been paying the mortgage and that they were soon to be homeless, he had written a number of times to his father for help—so far, he had received no reply.
Merren was deep in thought, and was passing one of the tall, imposing houses, when a young man in his early twenties came galloping out down the steps, a travel bag in his hand, and only just avoided cannoning into her.
‘Sorry!’ he called, his eyes appreciative of her face and figure.
He was soon from her mind and Merren walked on. She must get home. She didn’t think Robert had told Carol that she was going to try to sell their mother’s—and, before her, their grandmother’s—ring. But he would be waiting. She must get home. She must…
All thought suddenly ceased when what happened next happened so fast she could hardly believe it was happening at all. One moment she was stepping purposefully out on the hard pavement; the following she was being pushed violently from behind—and the pavement was coming up to meet her.
Even while it was dawning on her that she was being mugged, three adrenalin-activated youths were pushing and shoving and hitting and generally making short work of her grim determination to hang on to her shoulder bag at all costs, and were escaping pell-mell down the road with it.
Feeling stunned and winded, it was the violence of the assault that shocked her. She had never ever been hit before and she just sat there dishevelled and decidedly crumpled for ageless seconds, dazed, sickened, a cross between tears and fury.
She did not cry, and there was no one there on whom she could vent her anger. How could she have been hit, pushed, knocked over in this salubrious area? Why not? What better place for a mugging than this well-to-do district? What better place for rich pickings.
‘Oh, you poor thing!’ So dazed and in shock was she, Merren hadn’t heard the sound of running feet; feet running towards her, not away. She looked up and recognised the young man who’d been carrying the travel bag out to his car. ‘Can you stand up?’ he asked, his face showing his concern.
Merren, with his aid, got to her feet; it was incidental that there were great gaping holes in her tights. Everything seemed to spin about her for a second, so she was glad when the man held on to her.
‘Oh, you poor, poor thing,’ he crooned. ‘Those thugs will be miles away by now. Come on,’ he urged. ‘A cup of tea’s what you need.’
With his hand under her arm supporting her he took the short way to a house where the front door still stood open. He helped her up the steps and Merren went with him.
A few minutes later she came a little out of her shock to find she was seated in someone’s plush drawing room with barely any idea of how she had got there.
Her head had started to pound when a voice, somewhere to the back of her, started to penetrate. ‘Not another of your waifs and strays, Piers!’ It was rather a nice voice. Piers, whoever he was, apparently went in for collecting waifs and strays.
‘Aw, don’t be like that, Jarad, the poor girl’s just been mugged!’
Merren jerked upright on the sofa she found herself on. They were talking about her! Waif and stray! Indignantly she went to stand up—her legs were wobbly; she sat down again. ’So had the last one been mugged, if I recall correctly.’
‘It’s true this time. Honestly, it is.’
‘You haven’t time to plead your case. You’ll miss your plane.’ The voices were moving away, the Piers voice mumbling something, then the Jarad voice answering, ‘Yes, yes, I’ll look after her—don’t I always?’
Merren made a more determined effort to get herself together. Huh, waif and stray! Look after her—he could go take a hike. But her head hurt, her shoulders hurt, and she had an idea she’d have a few bruises by tomorrow. In fact her head felt a bit muzzy, but she’d stand up in a minute and get out of there.
She could hear some sort of a conversation going on, then silence. Then she heard a car start up. Good, they’d gone out somewhere. She heard the front door close, and, as a second or two afterwards someone came into the drawing room, Merren decided it was time to leave.
Just as she went to struggle to her feet, though, a tall man with night-black hair, somewhere in his mid-thirties, came and stood in front of her, and she found herself pinned by what she could only describe as a pair of cool grey eyes. He certainly wasn’t going to believe a word she said, she could tell that, and that was before she so much as opened her mouth.
Which was why she decided that she wasn’t going to bother saying anything. Though, since he was standing so close, she had to amend that decision. ‘If you wouldn’t mind getting out of my way, I’ll leave.’
She hated his cynical right eyebrow that lifted at her haughty tone. ‘You’re different; I’ll say that for you,’ he drawled.
‘I’m certainly no “waif or stray”!’ she told him snappily. Though if she’d hoped to embarrass him by tossing back at him the words she’d overheard, she could have saved herself the bother.
He did not look a scrap embarrassed, nor in the slightest apologetic when he apologised dryly, ‘Forgive me. I find it a trifle tedious being left to care for the lame dogs my brother constantly brings home—then, when his Samaritan impetuosity wanes, leaves me to deal with his problems.’
Problems! Lame dogs! Of all the insufferable… ‘You miserable worm!’ she flared. ‘I was mugged!’
The epithet about the miserable worm didn’t touch him, either. ‘Very conveniently mugged on my doorstep,’ he drawled, giving no quarter for her ruined tights and dishevelled appearance.
But she’d had it with him. Abruptly, too abruptly, she shot to her feet. She took one step, and as waves of dizziness assaulted her she needed something to hang on to. She stretched out her hands and held on to him until her world righted itself.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled from a proud somewhere, dropping her hands from his arms as if burned, going to take another step. Only this time he held both of her arms and pushed her back to the sofa.
‘Stay there,’ he ordered, and, while every instinct in her urged her to tell him what he could do with his orders, she was feeling too drained just then to do anything other than obey.
He went away, but returned in seconds with a glass of medicinal brandy. ‘Drink that,’ he commanded, and, at her belligerent look that said, Why should I? he flicked a glance over her shoulder-length natural blonde-streaked pale reddish hair, over her fine features and porcelain skin, and commented, ‘It could be that you’re naturally pale, but…’
‘Don’t bust a gut giving me the benefit of the doubt!’ Her spirit was returning—she felt better sitting down.
‘Just as it could be that you’re naturally lippy.’
‘It’s not every day I get mugged and then, while I’m coping with that, get accused of pretending to be mugged, for some reason my head’s in too much of a fog just now to be able to work out why.’
‘Drink the brandy.’
She tossed him a malevolent look, but, since it seemed the brandy might make her feel better, she took a sip, determined not to choke on the unfamiliar spirit, and took another couple of sips—whereupon her determination not to choke let her down. But only so far as a lady-like splutter.
She did, however, acknowledge, albeit reluctantly, that she was starting to recover from the shock and humiliation of being set upon by a trio of thugs.
‘Drink the rest of it and I’ll get a taxi to take you home,’ the man Jarad said.
A taxi—to Surrey! ‘I haven’t the money for a tax…’ Aghast, she stopped, fresh shock hitting her as, looking round for her bag, suddenly she fully remembered that the last time she had seen it some young thug was making off with it. ‘The money!’ she gasped in horror, she’d had two thousands pounds in that bag!
‘Here we go!’ drawled the man Jarad nastily. And, as Merren stared blankly at him, ‘Would it be very impolite of me, do you suppose, if I enquire what money?’
Merren had grown up loving her fellow man, but she had just come across one that she most definitely hated. She, who hadn’t a violent bone in her body, and maybe because of the violence recently done to her, felt she wanted to thump him, to hit him and keep on hitting him. But she had been better brought up than that. But her tone was full of loathing when she placed the brandy glass down on a nearby table and told him coldly, ‘Never, have I ever met a more odious creature than you.’
‘My heart bleeds—how much will it cost me?’
You’d have thought someone would have bashed that good-looking face in before this! ‘You—nothing.’
‘Let me try again. How much did the muggers get away with?’
Merren doubted that he’d decided to believe she’d been mugged after all. But pride about letting him know that she wasn’t the penniless ‘waif and stray’ he seemed so convinced she was made her answer, ‘Two thousand pounds, actually.’
‘In cash?’ She refused to answer. ‘You usually carry that amount of cash around with you?’ he questioned sceptically.
‘It was to pay some bills!’ Why did she feel she had to defend herself? She was going—getting out of there.
‘You don’t have a chequebook?’ he asked, before she had moved an inch.
She didn’t have two thousand in her account, nor even a quarter of that. Nor was she likely to tell him that Robert’s creditors had point-blank told him that a cheque would be unacceptable. Merren could only suppose he had tried to stave off the evil day by previously writing cheques that had not been honoured.
‘So either you don’t have a bank account or your creditors know your cheques are worthless.’ Oh, aren’t we the Smarty Pants! ‘Where did you get this two thousand?’ he wanted to know.
‘It’s nothing to do with you!’ she snapped, part of her wondering why she was still sitting there. Had that hard pavement addled her brain? Had the shock caused her to move in slow motion? Anyone would think she was enjoying having a slanging match with him.
‘Since it looks a certainty that I’m going to be two thousand pounds out of pocket, I’d say it has everything to do with me!’ he answered crisply.
Merren stared at him, totally perplexed. ‘You’re going to be two thousand pounds out of pocket?’
He clearly had no belief in her puzzlement, but astonished her when he replied mockingly, ‘I just know it’s going to cost me that much to keep my word to my brother that I’d look after you.’
‘You’re suggesting you’d lend me the money?’ she questioned, more to check that she’d got it right, that her brain wasn’t so addled she was beginning to believe.
‘I’m stating, not suggesting,’ he began, but, waking up fast, Merren was butting in.
‘Why should you?’ she asked, starting to realise she must have landed in either a most generous or most crackpot family.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he questioned back, his steady grey glance on her improved colour. ‘Piers, whom I promise you has cost me more than forty pounds a week just lately with his lost causes, is about to leave the country to work abroad for a year. I think I’ll be getting off lightly by making a final two-thousand-pound contribution to his waifs and strays fund.’
Insults she didn’t need. Merren got to her feet, glad to find her legs were steady and that her dizzy spell was a thing of the past. ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ she told him proudly, and, taking a few steps away from him, ‘As for your money, I wouldn’t dream of touching a penny of it.’
Grey eyes locked with deeply blue eyes. ‘Fine,’ he said, and, his glance flicking over her, ‘You won’t want to go through the streets looking like that.’ And then, a decision made, ‘I’ll drive you home.’
Had she any other choice, Merren would have taken it. But, aside from the fact she knew she looked a wreck, she didn’t so much as have the price of a twopenny bus ticket—if there was such a thing—and she certainly wasn’t going to borrow from him. ‘I live in Surrey,’ she stated.
