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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 and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
HE really was the most disturbing man she had ever met, Domine reflected broodingly. It was not that he was good-looking, though she had to admit his dark-skinned features were not unpleasing. But no one could call that aggressive nose and those hooded eyes handsome, or compliment the thin-lipped cruelty of his mouth. His eyes, too, were a contradiction of the melting Latin eyes she had expected. Dark, so as to appear almost black at times, and without any conceivable warmth that she could see. He wore his clothes well, of course, and the dark suits he favoured accentuated the lean strength of his body, the long legs so casually crossed as he spoke politely to her brother.
Yet it was something more than that which prompted Domine’s conclusion. Perhaps it was inherent in the man himself, she considered. A combination of the charm he could wield when he chose, the air of indolence which they had learned could be so quickly discarded, and the ruthlessness of purpose he could exhibit when he spoke of his reasons for being in England. When he spoke, Domine always seemed to find herself listening, which was disconcerting to someone accustomed to finding the opposite sex somewhat boring and immature. But then what else could she expect, when from her earliest years she had been cosseted and admired by every male she came into contact with?
Was that it? she pondered, her thoughts fastening to this possibility. Was his lack of apparent interest responsible for the strange fascination he had for her? It was possible, she supposed, but hardly likely. He was not the kind of man she would have expected herself to be attracted to. She was a modern girl, with modern ideals, while he came from one of the most ancient civilisations of the Western World, with all its conventionality and taboos, and it was obvious to her, if not to her brother, that he had no intention of relaxing his rigid control of the situation.
He was an alien being in that very English room, she thought, her nerves tightening a little when she contemplated the uncertainty of their future. When Grandpa was alive, everything had seemed so safe and secure, their lives stretching ahead of them smoothly, without any sign of difficulty or upheaval. Of course, Grandpa and Mark had rowed a lot, particularly when Mark went on one of his gambling sprees and lost a month’s allowance in one night, but Domine had never seriously believed that Grandpa would deprive her brother of the cotton mills from which he had made his fortune. It was all a little unreal—Grandpa’s will had been unreal, the existence of their cousin seemed unreal, and the presence here in their drawing room of Señor Luis Delgado Aguilar was the most unreal of all.
Trying not to listen too blatantly to what Mark was saying, Domine forced her attention back to the room. It was a nice room, a pleasant room, the room she remembered from that awful morning when she was six years old, and Grandpa broke the news that her father’s yacht had capsized in the South Atlantic. Then it had not seemed at all a pleasant room, but Grandpa had held her close in his arms and told her that from now on she and Mark must consider Griffons their home, and the terror had receded. She had never known her mother. She had died a few weeks after Domine was born, and although her father had recovered from the blow, he had not married again. Consequently, Grandpa had become the pivot, the focal point of their whole world, and only Mark’s excesses had served to create trouble between them.
When Domine was younger, she had not understood all that Grandpa accused Mark of. Mark was ten years older than she was, and had already seemed grown up when their father was drowned. She had not known who ‘Edward’ was, or why Mark should so continually be identified with him. Later, she had learned that Edward was, or had been, their uncle, Grandpa’s eldest son, who he had disinherited when he ran away and married some flibbertigibbet showgirl, or at least, that was how Grandpa had described her. Apparently he had given up his studies at the university, and taken to painting birds and wild flowers, encouraged, it appeared, by his feckless wife.
Of course, Grandpa never had any time for artistic things. Brains and brass, he used to say, they were all that mattered, and naturally Mark’s penchant for the good things of life had given birth to the friction between them. Perhaps Mark was more like his uncle than his father. Certainly, James Temple had never disappointed his father. His only weakness had been sailing, and the holiday he had taken when his yacht capsized had been his first for many years.
It was strange that they had never heard what had happened to Edward and his wife, but then why should they? They had never imagined Grandpa would relent. In his considered opinion, Mark was as irresponsible as Edward used to be, therefore any change of heart was highly unlikely. What they had not known, but which Grandpa had, apparently, was that Edward and his wife had been killed some eight years ago in an earthquake in Peru, and their only child, a daughter, Lisel, had been put in the care of the nuns at the convent of the Holy Sceptre in Puerto Limas. What Edward and his wife had been doing in Peru had not been explained, but obviously their grandfather had kept in touch with the Sisters at the convent, and assured himself regularly of the girl’s welfare.
Why he had left the mills and their considerable income to Edward’s daughter was not so easy to understand, or forgive, but Domine still felt too stunned to nourish any resentment. Only Griffons remained, as a bulwark against the future, given to herself and Mark jointly, to live in or sell as they wished. Mark had been left an income, but knowing his extravagant life-style, it would hardly be sufficient to keep him in pocket money, and although Domine’s own allowance was to be increased to one thousand pounds a year, it would hardly be enough to pay the rates on Griffons, let alone support and feed her. Grandpa had left her a message, something about expecting her to use the education he had given her, and not to let Mark sponge upon her, as he had done frequently in the past. She guessed, rather wryly, that even if her grandfather had been tempted to leave the mills to her, he would never have done so. He distrusted Mark, and he distrusted his influence over her. He would never believe that she had a will of her own, strong enough to stand up to Mark, when she chose to do so. The trouble was, she had seldom felt inclined to oppose him, and no doubt that had been her downfall.
She sighed, somewhat cynically. Well, it was too late now. Their cousin Lisel was the heiress, and in a curious way Domine was relieved she had not been burdened with the responsibility for so many lives. There were three thousand men and women who relied on the Temple Mills for employment, and in her more generous moments she sympathised with Mark in his rebellion against such responsibility. Their grandfather had never understood why Mark had felt that way. He had thrived on work, and responsibility, and up until the day he died he had been ordering the day-to-day life of the mill offices.
Even so, that did not alter the fact that things were bound to change now, and not necessarily for the better. Her education had been sound, as Grandpa had pointed out in his last words to her, but an ability to write good English and understand half a dozen other languages was not in itself a qualification. She had never considered going to university. She had been a bright and willing pupil, but when at seventeen she had succeeded in passing her ‘A’ level examinations, she had happily left the schoolroom behind, and devoted herself to enjoyment.
Last summer she and Aunt Barbara, her great-aunt really, on her mother’s side, had toured Italy, and the countries of the Mediterranean, and at Christmas she and Mark had joined a group of other young people at a ski resort in the Bavarian Alps. This summer she was hoping to persuade her aunt to chaperon herself and a friend on a camper holiday from the east to the west coast of North America, but somehow that no longer appealed. It wasn’t just that now that Grandpa was dead there was no one to demand she take a chaperon along. It was simply that she felt too uncertain of her future to contemplate a holiday, and her longed-for independence seemed curiously flat now that it had been realised.
She could see Mark’s face getting redder and redder, and wondered what Señor Aguilar was saying to him. This morning in the solicitor’s office she thought Mark had handled himself remarkably calmly, considering the predicament he was in, but in private he was furious, and seething with resentment, an emotion he was trying hard to hide in the face of such implacable opposition.
Would it have been easier if Lisel had come herself? Domine frowned, adjusting the folds of her long velvet skirt. Of course it would. But equally, it would not have been so easy for Lisel. For one thing, she had been living with the nuns for more than eight years, since she was eleven or twelve, and naturally she was rather unworldly—or at least, that was Señor Aguilar’s description. She was, in his words, a shy retiring sort of person, a charming personality, much admired by the Peruvian Indians she served. The convent where she had been living was also a small hospital, catering to the needs of the villages around Puerto Limas, and she had recently completed her training as a nurse. Her visits away from the convent had been few and far between, except to visit the villages, and the small town of Aguilas close by, and the idea of travelling to England to meet the lawyers who presently controlled her inheritance, was naturally a terrifying proposition. That was why Señor Aguilar had come in her stead. To attend to the outstanding business on her behalf, and to meet the relatives from whom Lisel would have to learn so much.
Personally, Mark had been infuriated when they first received Aguilar’s cable. ‘Damned cheek!’ he had fumed, stamping around the house for days, and threatening to walk out before the man even arrived. ‘What the hell does he mean by interfering? Inquisitive old so-and-so! I bet he wants to see what’s in it for him, before he gives her his advice about what to do next! What in heaven’s name will he know about running a mill, or the price of wool, or where the next pay rise is coming from?’
Well, Señor Luis Delgado Aguilar was not old, at least not by Mark’s standards. He was probably thirty-five or thirty-six, at the most, and contrary to their beliefs, he knew a lot about wool and its value. He had staggered Mark by explaining that wool was in fact one of the most important exports of Peru, and continued to add that if he didn’t know that, he knew less about the wool industry than he claimed. Of course, Mark had blustered, and said that he had had better things to do than worry where the wool was coming from, and Señor Aguilar had countered this by remarking that it was just as well his grandfather had not felt the same way.
That had been at dinner. Since then, Mark had calmed down a lot. Domine guessed it had occurred to him that by incurring Señor Aguilar’s antipathy, he might also incur the antipathy of their cousin, before he had even met her, and Domine also knew that Mark was not going to walk away from a small fortune without making a fight of it. How he intended to proceed she was not quite sure, but she was convinced it must have occurred to him, as it had to her, that if Lisel was young and unmarried, she might well look with favour on a sympathetic and handsome cousin who wanted to help her.
Pressing her lips together, Domine returned her attention to the tall Peruvian, lounging with evident ease in the armchair opposite Mark. What was his interest in all this? Why had he come all this way on Lisel’s behalf? Was it merely philanthropy, or had he other motives for his generosity? Obviously Lisel had complete confidence in him, but she could hardly be experienced in the ways of the world.
Domine frowned, subjecting their guest to another puzzled appraisal. He was obviously an educated man—he spoke English with only the faintest trace of an accent—and his clothes were tailor-made and expensive. Yet for all that he was not like any man of her acquaintance. There was a single-mindedness of purpose about him that belied his studied courtesy, and although he exhibited all the refinements of Western society, Domine wondered what lay beneath the veneer. He exuded a powerful aura of cold strength and hostility, that no amount of charm or politeness could hide, and she doubted Mark’s ability to fool him about anything. He had all the contempt of the conquistadors for their victims, and recalling the little she had learned of the Spanish conquest, she knew she ought not to imagine his courteous façade was anything more than that.
Chiding herself for being so imaginative, she looked up then and found his eyes upon her. It was a disconcerting experience, particularly after her thoughts of a few moments ago, but she managed to return his stare without flinching, determined not to be intimidated by his scrutiny. He would not reduce her to the stammering wreck he had made of Mark. She had done nothing to be ashamed of, and just because he was different from the men she usually met, it did not mean he was any the less susceptible to her beauty. The conceit of her thoughts did not occur to her. She was so used to admiration, it never crossed her mind that the Peruvian might not find eyes the colour of violets appealing, or be enchanted by the coil of silvery hair that was presently confined at the nape of her slender neck.
‘Can I get you another brandy, señor?’ she suggested, meeting his gaze with enquiry, but Señor Aguilar was already rising to his feet.
‘I regret I must be leaving, Miss Temple,’ he refused politely, the faint smile that played about his thin lips belying the bland courtesy. ‘I have a long day tomorrow. There are matters which must be attended to, before I return to Peru. But perhaps you will both …’ he glanced at her brother,’ dine with me at my hotel tomorrow evening.’
Domine badly wanted to refuse. Not because she had any objection to dining with him, or indeed because she had made other arrangements, but simply to thwart him in some way. However, Mark was already accepting on their behalf, and she inclined her head with reluctant grace to signify her own acceptance of the invitation.
‘Good.’ The Peruvian walked across the room, and Mark hastened after him to open the double-panelled doors. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
His glance licked Domine like an abrasive tongue, but she was obliged to accompany them into the hall, and waited while Bayliss produced Señor Aguilar’s overcoat. His choice of dark colours accentuated the dark cast of his skin, the thick dark hair that lay smoothly over his forehead and brushed the collar of his overcoat. A kind of Mephistophelean character, she thought, giving in to her imagination again, and then stiffened when those dark eyes swept her from head to toe in a look that was as contemptuous as it was devastating. Immediately she was conscious of the off-the-shoulder neckline of her smock, and of how the belt she had tightened round her waist drew attention to the swelling fullness of her breasts. Only the long velvet skirt seemed acceptable, hiding the long slender length of her legs.
‘Until tomorrow, then.’
Señor Aguilar was already descending the flight of steps which led up to the heavy oak door with its iron facings, and Mark was acting the perfect host. She heard the sound of the hire car’s engine, and presently Mark’s words of farewell, and then, as she endeavoured to recover from the state of frozen immobility that scornful appraisal had induced, her brother came back into the hall and slammed the door with unconcealed fury. He scarcely looked at Domine. He passed her, muttering to himself, and presently she heard the sound of the decanter rattling against the rim of his glass.
Bayliss, who had been at Griffons almost as long as her grandfather and was equally old, was waiting for her instructions, and after reassuring him that there was nothing else they would need that night, Domine turned back into the drawing room. As she had anticipated, Mark had poured himself a generous measure of brandy and had thrown himself down on to the couch where she had been sitting, one leg draped carelessly over the arm. He looked up at her entrance, then swallowed the remainder of the spirit in the glass and held it out to Domine to be refilled.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ she asked shortly, in no mood to suffer his self-pitying recriminations, and he pulled an angry face.
‘Don’t try to organise me,’ he directed, ‘just fill the glass!’ but she ignored him and went to sit in the armchair which earlier their guest had occupied.
Muttering once more, Mark levered himself up from the couch and refilled his own glass, swallowing another generous portion before returning to his previous position. Then he looked moodily at Domine across the rim, the tightness of his lips belied by the anxiety in his eyes.
‘What the hell are we going to do?’ he demanded, and it was more of an appeal than a question. ‘Dom, tell me what we’re going to do!’
Domine shrugged, running her palms over the arms of the chair, flinching a little as they encountered a trace of warmth left by its last occupant. It was odd why she had chosen to sit in this particular chair, but thoughts like those were not acceptable, and she tried instead to concentrate on what her brother was saying.
‘You could get a job,’ she pointed out now, trying to be practical, but Mark only snorted with impatience.
‘A job!’ he echoed. ‘What kind of job? At the mill, you mean? If you think I’m going to work in my own mills——’
‘They’re not your mills,’ retorted Domine firmly. ‘They belong to Lisel——’
‘To hell with Lisel!’
‘That’s not going to get you very far.’ She sighed. ‘Mark, you had a good education …’
‘A good education!’
‘Well, you did. We both did. We should be able to find some kind of work.’
‘Where? In Manchester? What on earth is there to do in Manchester? You know the job situation.’
Domine shook her head. ‘You’re just being obstructive.’
‘If it was London, now …’
‘But it’s not. This is our home, Mark. If you went to London, we would have to sell Griffons.’
Mark grimaced. ‘Well, I expect we will anyway.’
‘No!’
‘Yes, Domine. Be reasonable. How can we afford to keep a place like this going? Heavens, we can’t even afford Mrs Radcliffe’s wages any more.’
‘We could do without Mrs Radcliffe,’ exclaimed Domine, her heart plummeting at the thought of selling their home. ‘We could manage …’
‘Oh, yes?’ Mark was sceptical. ‘And who will do the housework? You? You’ve never picked up a duster in your life.’
‘That’s not true.’ Domine pursed her lips. ‘I’ve looked after my own room for years.’
‘Big deal.’ Mark hunched his shoulders. ‘That means you only have half a dozen other bedrooms to look after. Oh, and three reception rooms, of course, and the dining room, and the kitchen——’
‘All right,’ Domine broke in on him then. ‘All right, so we need some help in the house. Why shouldn’t we be able to afford it, if we both had jobs?’
Mark sniffed. ‘I do not intend taking some grubby little job, just to keep this place in cleaning fluid!’
‘Mark!’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m not.’ He was adamant. ‘All the same, something has to be done.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder what Lisel is like. Really like, I mean. Not this sainted creature Aguilar talks about.’
Domine moved her shoulders uncertainly. ‘She can’t be like Uncle Edward, or Grandpa wouldn’t have had a good word for her.’
‘She can’t be like me, you mean?’
Domine half smiled. ‘No one could be like you.’
‘Thanks!’
‘Oh, Mark …’ She got up from the chair and moved slowly across the room. ‘Couldn’t you try——’
‘Don’t say it,’ he interposed quickly. ‘Accept it. Griffons is going to have to be sold.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. Unless I can work something out.’
‘Like what?’ Domine was sceptical now.
‘I don’t know.’ Mark looked thoughtful. ‘If only I could get to meet Lisel! If only I could talk to her. I bet she’s not as virginal as Aguilar makes her out to be.’