“It seems I have no choice but to marry you,” Jarvis said at last.

He hated being cornered. He hated the way she’d rescued him by flaunting her wealth. He almost hated her.

“I’ve had more ardent proposals,” she observed wryly.

“You offered me a business deal and that’s what I’m accepting. After our wedding you’ll take possession of your inheritance, and my estate will get your dowry. And then you’ll go back to your real life in New York.”

“Eventually. It wouldn’t do your dignity much good if I rushed away next morning, would it? Besides I’ll need to be here to oversee the final paperwork.”

“And then you’ll leave?”

“If you still want me to. You might have changed your mind….”

It’s the countdown to the Big Day: the guests are invited, the flowers are arranged, the dress is ready and the sparks between the lucky couple are sizzling hot…. Only, our blushing bride and groom-to-be have yet to become “engaged” in the bedroom!

Is it choice or circumstance keeping their passions in check? Read our brand-new miniseries WHITE WEDDINGS to find out why a very modern bride wears white on her wedding day!

A Convenient Wedding
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

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 ONE

MERYL WINTERS had driven cheerfully and confidently in many of the world’s great cities, but New York was her home town, and something in its air gave her driving an extra edge.

As soon as the banks were open she swung her cheeky red sports car out of Broadway, into Wall Street, screeched to a halt, ignoring a ‘No Parking’ sign, and jumped out. Tossing the keys to the doorman, she swept on into the head office of the Lomax Grierson Bank. The doorman had just scrambled into the car when a traffic cop approached with an expression of doom. ‘You can’t book this car,’ the doorman protested, aghast. ‘It belongs to Miss Winters.’

The traffic cop hastily backed off.

Inside the bank Meryl strode on through the marble halls, knowing that all eyes were on her. She’d been an object of curiosity since she was fifteen and her father’s death had left her fabulously wealthy. Since growing up she’d also attracted attention because she was five feet ten inches in stockings, with a pencil-slim frame that any model would have killed for, racehorse legs, huge green eyes and long black hair. Heads turned. Male heads. That was fine by her. Masculine admiration was one of the great pleasures of her life.

But right now nothing was further from her thoughts. She was in a scorching temper and someone was going to die. Looking neither to the right or the left, she continued on up as far as the Chairman’s office.

The secretary was new, and didn’t recognise her, but she was instinctively in awe of this blazingly self-confident young woman. ‘Er—Mr Rivers is very busy,’ she ventured. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘Why should I need an appointment?’ Meryl asked in surprise. ‘He’s my godfather, as well as my trustee. Besides—I have something to say to him.’

‘Yes, but you can’t—’ She found herself talking to empty air. Meryl didn’t recognise the word ‘can’t’.

She flung the door open and stopped on the threshold, surveying the man inside. ‘So there you are,’ she purred.

Lawrence Rivers, a large, greying man with a jowly face, rose from behind his desk and smiled with implacable geniality. ‘Meryl, my dear—what a delightful surprise.’

Meryl raised one elegant black eyebrow. ‘You’re surprised that your outrageous letter brought me here? I don’t think so. Larry, how often do I have to tell you not to interfere in my private affairs?’

‘And how often do I have to tell you that the disposal of a large sum of money isn’t your private affair?’ he retorted.

‘I’m twenty-four years old and—’

‘And until you’re twenty-seven I can prevent you tossing money away as though it was going out of fashion. Your father knew what he was doing when he made that will.’

‘Dad was under your influence or he wouldn’t have thought of it,’ she flung back.

‘True. Craddock Winters knew everything about oil wells and machinery, and nothing about anything else, including his daughter. You were headstrong at fifteen and you haven’t grown any better. When you tell me you want to waste ten million dollars on a man of no account like Benedict Steen I know I was right to protect you.’

‘Benedict is not a man of no account—’

‘Well, I know what I think of a man who spends his life making frocks,’ Larry Rivers declared complacently.

‘He does not “make frocks”,’ Meryl said indignantly. ‘He designs high fashion, and he needs a backer to put him at the very top of the tree. It wouldn’t be a waste of money; it would be an astute business investment.’

‘Ten million dollars on a dress shop?’ Larry demanded. ‘You call that an astute business investment?’

‘It’s not a dress shop. Benedict needs proper premises—’

‘Surely he already has somewhere?’

‘Yes, a back room down a side street,’ she replied. ‘I want to see him in a decent place, in central Manhattan, where he can show a big collection and attract international clients.’

‘Ten million dollars,’ Larry repeated slowly, trying to get through to her.

‘He needs to take the collection to Paris, Milan, London and New York,’ Meryl explained. ‘He needs staff. He needs to advertise in the top fashion magazines. It all costs money.’

‘Ten million dollars!’

Meryl shrugged. ‘I like doing things properly.’

‘And when would you get it back?’

‘Who cares about getting it back?’ Meryl asked expansively.

‘Aha! Now we have the truth. So much for an astute business investment!’

‘OK, it’ll be fun. What’s wrong with that? I can afford it, can’t I?’

‘You wouldn’t be able to afford it for long if I let you be manipulated by a plausible charmer like Benedict Steen. I can see why you’re crazy about him. He’s handsome—if you like those kind of flashy looks—’

Meryl breathed fire. ‘Larry, I’ve told you till I’m blue in the face—I am not in love with Benedict. And may I remind you that he has a wife?’

‘A wife he’s in the process of divorcing. I dread to awaken one morning and find your engagement announced in the New York Times.’

‘Well, if I married him—not that I want to—at least you’d have to hand over my money,’ Meryl pointed out. ‘In fact, you’ll have to do that whoever I marry.’

‘Do you have a bridegroom in mind?’

‘No, but anyone will do. Larry, I’m warning you, I want my money freed from your shackles. And if I don’t get it I swear I’ll marry the next bachelor I see. Do I make myself plain?’

‘Certainly my dear. Now let me make myself plain. You will not—repeat not get me to release ten million dollars for this harebrained scheme. And that’s my final word on the subject.’

Meryl looked at him with smouldering eyes for a long moment, but, reading no relenting in his face, snapped, ‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ before storming from the room.

If Larry had seen Meryl an hour later, standing half-dressed in Benedict’s work-room in a basement off Seventh Avenue, while he fitted a dress on her, addressing her occasionally as ‘darling’, he would have felt his worst fears confirmed. But Larry wasn’t a perceptive man, and he wouldn’t have noticed that Benedict touched her with the impersonal hands of a doctor, and his endearments were mechanical. He called every woman ‘darling’, especially the two devoted, elderly seam-stresses who made up his garments.

Meryl had been his goddess and benefactor since they were both fourteen, and had met at her expensive boarding school, where he’d been the gardener’s son, and she’d saved him from bullies. Thereafter she’d protected him and he’d run her forbidden errands into the nearby village.

‘You might as well talk to a brick wall,’ she sighed now. ‘I keep telling Larry that I’m not in love with you, so why won’t he believe me?’

‘Perhaps he’s heard of my lady-killing charm?’ Benedict suggested, turning her slightly. ‘Lift your arm, darling, I want to pin you just here.’

Meryl did so, smiling as she watched him work and saw the beautiful creation coming to life. She’d calmed down by now and her sense of fun, never far in abeyance, had returned.

Her mother had died when she was six, after which she’d been raised by her father, a self-made oilman, who’d prized her and showered her with indulgences while seldom having much time to spend with her. His death had left her fabulously rich but alone in every way that counted.

She knew the value of her looks and her wealth, but she might have grown up ignorant of all other values but for a naturally warm heart. She had a temper, but an impish sense of the absurd was constantly undermining it, and if she possessed one charm greater than her beauty it was her ability to laugh at herself. Nobody knew where that gift came from for her mother had been a gentle melancholy lady, and her father had been too busy making money to laugh. It had grown out of her own nature, and it occurred to nobody that it might be a defence. Why should the beautiful, privileged Meryl Winters need defences?

After her explosion at the bank she’d stormed off to see Benedict and they’d been wrathful together, until she’d repeated Larry’s remark about ‘making frocks’. Then Benedict had produced an explosion of his own, which had reduced Meryl to laughter.

Now she was asking teasingly, ‘How’s your lady-killing charm working on Amanda these days?’

‘Don’t mention that woman,’ Benedict snapped. ‘The worst mistake of my life was to marry her, and my best decision was to leave her.’

‘Says who? She threw you out. I heard your neighbours were kept awake by you banging on the door pleading to be let in.’

‘Lies. All lies.’

‘And don’t forget you called her from my apartment with your speech of reconciliation all worked out, and she slammed the phone down as soon as she heard your voice.’

‘Don’t upset me when I’m pinning,’ he begged. ‘There could be an accident.’

‘Not if you want my ten million dollars.’

‘Well, I’m not going to get it, am I?’ he reminded her peevishly. ‘Not until you’re twenty-seven. And not even then if Larry Rivers has anything to do with it.’

‘He won’t. Absolute control passes to me on my twenty-seventh birthday—unless I marry first. Then I get it on my wedding day. But I’m blowed if I’m waiting another three years. I’m fed up with Larry controlling my life.’

‘He hardly controls it. You’ve got that apartment on Central Park, another one in Los Angeles, you spend a fortune on clothes and cars, and he pays the bills without question.’

‘But if I want a lump sum he can block me. I’m going to change that, even if I have to do as I said and haul someone in off the street to marry them.’

‘You’ve got men pursuing you by the dozen. Won’t one of them do?’

‘No, it should be someone right outside my normal life, who’ll serve his purpose and then vanish.’

Benedict laughed. ‘Then why not advertise?’

The next moment he wished he’d held his tongue, for Meryl whirled around on him, her eyes shining. ‘Benedict, you’re a genius. That’s exactly what I’ll do.’

‘There’s something wrong with this whisky of yours,’ Ferdy Ashton observed, studying the bottom of his tumbler.

Jarvis, Lord Larne, raised his head from the desk where he was working. ‘Something wrong with it?’ he asked, frowning.

‘It keeps disappearing,’ Ferdy complained. ‘I could swear this glass was full a moment ago. So was the bottle. And look at them now.’

Jarvis’s rather stern face softened into a grin. ‘You’ve got my special vanishing whisky,’ he said. ‘It always seems to be around when you’re here.’

‘Well, it’s certainly vanished now.’

‘You know where it’s kept.’

Ferdy looked around him at the library of Larne Castle as though expecting a fresh bottle to present itself for inspection. Behind the thick brocade curtains a window rattled slightly in the night wind. It was tightly shut, or at least as tightly as could be managed, but there wasn’t a window in the building that didn’t let in a draught. The place was eight hundred years old and urgently in need of repairs to help it withstand the gales. Its inhabitants protected themselves as best they could with heavy drapes and roaring fires. There was one in the grate this minute, casting a red glow over the two Alsatians stretched out on a shabby rug before it.

Nearby sat their master, also shabby despite his ancient, aristocratic title. From his appearance Lord Larne might have been one of his own tenants. His dark brown hair looked as if it needed a cut, and its shaggy disarray somehow typified him. His corduroy trousers were old and darned, as though in continual use for hard country work, which, in fact, they were. The sweater Jarvis wore over them had started life in an expensive shop, but it too had come down in the world.

He was a tall, powerfully built man, massive about the shoulders but lean in the face, with dark eyes that easily grew fierce over a nose with a faint hook. That nose told the story of the awesome Larne temper that he let rip only occasionally, often at the stupidity of the world, especially when it threatened his ancient heritage.

But with anyone who had his affection the fierceness vanished, replaced by an all-forgiving tolerance. With Ferdy Ashton tolerance was often tinged with exasperation, but the fondness never wavered, which baffled observers.

Just what the serious, puritanical Jarvis saw in the irresponsible Ferdy nobody could fathom. He was as willowy slender as Jarvis was bull massive, his voice as light and reedy as Jarvis’s was deep and resonant. Their friendship had started at school and they were the same age, but Ferdy’s boyish looks and manner made him seem younger.

He was an artist, when he bothered to be anything. He had talent, which he was too lazy to use, treated life as a joke, never troubled about tomorrow, and would probably be shot by an enraged husband before he was fifty. No worries troubled his brain, and perhaps that was the secret of his attraction for the permanently troubled Jarvis.

‘Not a drop of whisky in the place,’ he mourned now. ‘You’re a hard man, Jarvis Larne.’

‘I’m a poor one; I know that.’

A young woman with handsome features and an air of disapproval spoke from the library steps. ‘You’d be less poor if you didn’t let spongers soak up your whisky and live rent-free in your cottages.’

Ferdy surveyed her cynically. ‘If that’s meant for me, sister dear, I’ll thank you to keep your observations to yourself. Jarvis and I settled the rent of my cottage long ago.’

‘I know you settled it, but when did you last actually pay it?’

‘Don’t split hairs. I pay for my cottage and my drink, not in cash, but in the pleasure of my company.’

Sarah Ashton made a noise that was perilously close to a snort. ‘I’d like to see Jarvis pay his bills with the pleasure of your company—such as it is,’ she remarked acidly.

‘Leave him alone, Sarah,’ Jarvis advised amiably. ‘You know he’s incorrigible.’

‘He wouldn’t be if you didn’t encourage him.’

‘Yes, I would,’ Ferdy said at once. ‘I was born incorrigible.’ He went to the drinks cabinet, considered its sparse contents, and returned to his seat empty-handed. On his way he caught his heel in the shabby carpet and almost fell into the chair. He grasped the arms to steady himself, and heard a dismal wrenching sound as the threadbare material tore. ‘I’ve made a hole in your chair,’ he announced with an air of discovery.

Jarvis shrugged. ‘I doubt I’ll notice it among the others.’

‘You know what you could do with, Jarvis lad?’

‘A new chair, probably.’

‘A rich wife.’

Jarvis’s grin returned. ‘To be sure, they’re going begging, aren’t they?’

‘As a matter of fact they are.’ Ferdy picked up the newspaper which he’d been reading a moment earlier. ‘See here,’ he said, jabbing with his finger at an advertisement.

Jarvis took the paper and read, “‘Wanted—one fortune-hunter to marry heiress: Millionairess seeks nominal husband in order to gain control of her own fortune. Generous terms to the right man”.’

He tossed the paper back to Ferdy. ‘Someone’s idea of a practical joke,’ he growled. ‘Either that or a journalist. If you think I’m going to offer myself up to ridicule you’ve taken leave of your senses.’

‘But suppose it’s for real? Why pass up the chance?’

‘Because for one thing I’ve nothing to offer a millionairess—’

‘Nonsense,’ Ferdy ribbed him. ‘You’re a fine upstanding fellow and the answer to any maiden’s prayer.’

‘And you’re incurably vulgar,’ Jarvis said without rancour.

‘I agree,’ Sarah added acidly.

‘And for another,’ Jarvis continued, ‘the last thing I’d ever do would be to offer myself to a rich woman in a meaningless marriage simply to get my hands on her money.’

‘Quite right,’ Sarah announced. She descended from the steps and pointed to a large portrait over the fire. It showed an elderly man with a belligerent face that bore a notable resemblance to Jarvis’s own, standing very upright, in the splendour of a general’s dress uniform. ‘What would your grandfather have said?’ she demanded. ‘I’ll tell you. He’d have reminded you of the Larne family motto—“Let invaders tremble”. Then he’d have shown this woman the door.’

‘But he’d have tumbled her in the hay first,’ her brother said wickedly.

‘Ferdy!’ she snapped.

‘Well, it’s true. He was a terrible man for the women. Father told me there was hardly a family in these parts that didn’t have a little Larne bast—’

‘That’s enough. You’re shocking Sarah.’ Jarvis grinned.

She took up the paper. ‘If this isn’t a journalist but a real woman she must be lacking in all sense of decency.’

‘She’s certainly not a woman I’d ever care to meet,’ Jarvis agreed.

‘You’re a puritan,’ Ferdy rebuked him.

Jarvis nodded. ‘I’m afraid you’re right. Don’t worry. I’ll save the estate, but I’ll do it on my own.’

‘How?’ Ferdy demanded.

Jarvis sighed.

A few minutes later Sarah requested a private conversation with Jarvis, who courteously left the room with her. Ferdy could heard the hum of their voices through the door. ‘So what’s this little chat about, eh, Sarah?’ he murmured. ‘Some earnest advice about nothing? Whatever excuse you’ve found, you’re wasting your time. You’ve given Jarvis a hundred chances to propose to you, and he’s taken none of them. You’re like a sister to him, I’m glad to say. It wouldn’t suit me at all to have you the mistress here.’

He surveyed his empty glass with a sigh. Then a wicked smile spread over his face. He crossed over to the desk, quickly purloined a couple of sheets of estate notepaper, and was sitting by the fire again when the other two returned.

‘Where exactly is Yorkshire?’ Meryl asked Benedict as they shared a bottle of champagne.

‘In England. That’s all I know. Why?’

She chuckled. ‘It’s where my prospective husband lives.’

‘You actually had a reply?’

‘It came this morning.’ She yawned and leaned back against the leather arm of Benedict’s huge sofa. She was lying lengthways on it while he sat sprawled at the other end.

‘No kidding!’ he said. ‘Who?’

‘Jarvis Larne. A lord, no less. He lives in Larne Castle in Yorkshire.’

Benedict took the letter from her and scanned it hilariously. ‘He’s very upfront about his poverty,’ he noted. ‘Castle falling down, cracks everywhere, whisky running out—heiress urgently required.’

‘It’s a joke. I bet he doesn’t exist at all.’

‘He does,’ Benedict said unexpectedly. ‘I’ve seen the name in a book of English peerages I bought in case I ever get any titled customers. It’s on that table.’ She gave it to him and he began flicking through the pages. ‘Here we are. Viscount Larne of Larne Castle. Hmm! Quite a pedigree.’

He began to read aloud, “‘Jarvis, Lord Larne, twenty-second viscount, age thirty-three, inherited the title when he was twenty-one.” Hey, fancy being a lord at twenty-one. All that droit de seigneur.’

‘What?’

‘The ancient feudal right of the lord to have any virgin on the estate.’

‘You made that up!’

‘No way. It’s the tradition. It goes back centuries. That’s why half the estate workers look alike. When you give him a son you won’t be able to tell him from the others.’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not going to marry him. I put that advertisement in because I was mad at Larry, but I’ve cooled down now.’

‘Goodbye ten million dollars,’ Benedict sighed.

‘Nope, I’ve sorted that,’ Meryl announced triumphantly. ‘I’m getting a bank loan. The Lomax Grierson isn’t the only bank in New York. Any one of the others will be glad of my business. I’d have done it before but it seemed so silly when I didn’t need to.’

‘Bless you. Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?’

‘I was waiting for the call to confirm it, but that’s just a formality. When the phone rings—you’ve got it!’

Right on cue her mobile shrilled and she seized it up, giving Benedict a delighted wink. But then he saw her smile fade, replaced with a look of outrage. When she spoke it was through tight lips.

‘You said there’d be no problem—what’s Larry Rivers got to do with anything? He doesn’t run your bank—yes, I know he’s my trustee but—legal action?’

By the time she hung up Benedict had a tolerably exact idea of what had happened. ‘I guess Larry’s tentacles spread further than we thought,’ he sighed.

‘He actually dared warn them off—’ Meryl seethed. ‘Well, there are other banks—’

‘Which he will also have warned off,’ Benedict pointed out.

‘He threatened them with law suits,’ Meryl fumed. ‘Oh, I could—’

The mobile rang again. Benedict got quickly out of the way.

‘Larry,’ Meryl said sulphurously, ‘I’m warning you—’

‘Warn away if it amuses you, my dear,’ came her godfather’s complacent voice down the line. ‘Try your wiles elsewhere if you like wasting your time. Then tell Benedict Steen that he won’t get a cent out of you for the next three years. Bye.’

He hung up.

‘Oh, won’t he?’ Meryl breathed. ‘Right! That’s it! Benedict, how do I get to Yorkshire?’

He stared. ‘You mean tomorrow?’

‘I mean today!’

What on earth was she doing?

And why hadn’t her guardian angel made sure there wasn’t a flight until next morning, thus giving her a night to see sense?

But the angel must have been off duty, because there had been a flight at nine that very evening to Manchester. Before she knew it she was on her way.

A belated attack of conscience had made Benedict try to argue her out of it.

‘You don’t know anything about this place. It’s isolated up there and you’ll be on the edge of the North Sea—gales and—and things.’

‘Stop fussing like an old hen and find me a hotel at Manchester Airport. I’ll need a room if we land at three-thirty in the morning.’

‘England is five hours ahead of us. It’ll be eight-thirty.’

‘Not in here,’ she said, pointing to herself. ‘For me it’ll be the early hours.’

She was glad of her decision when she landed and could zonk out on a comfortable bed. But after only a couple of hours she awoke feeling fine, and a shower followed by a hearty breakfast completed her recovery.

She was humming as she dressed in Benedict’s latest creation, an elegant olive-green trouser suit in a silk mo-hair blend, with a tawny sweater and matching silk scarf.

‘I suppose I should have called Lord Larne first,’ she mused, putting the finishing touches to her make-up. ‘Well, I would have done if I really meant to marry him. As it is, I just had a temper tantrum, and serves me right! Oh, Larry, the things you make me do! This is all your fault!’

Briefly she thought of catching the next flight home, but outside her window the day was glorious, and an adventure beckoned.

At the car rental firm she picked up an open-topped red sports two-seater that reminded her of her beloved car back home. A few minutes getting used to having the steering wheel on the left, and the traffic on the ‘wrong’ side of the road, and she was away on the hundred and twenty miles to Larne.

Driving carefully, she reached York without mishap, and went for meal in an oak-beamed restaurant. As she ate she studied her map, noting that the castle was on a small island just off the coast. But the road travelled straight across the water, so obviously there was a bridge.

She read Lord Larne’s letter again and was charmed by its light-hearted air. He spoke of poverty but with a humorous touch that suggested he might be pleasant to know.

It was getting late when she restarted her journey. By the time she’d reached open country the light was already fading and there was a nip in the air.

The map informed her that she’d reached North York Moor. Luckily there was a clearly marked road across it, and twenty miles would bring her to the coast and the bridge to Larne Castle.

As she headed across the moor the sun vanished and black clouds began to scud across the sky. The road had no lighting, and she soon had to switch on her headlamps. Outside their glowing circle the bleak land stretched away for miles. She was totally isolated, and beginning to feel a tad dismayed. All around her the earth grew blacker and the wind gusted strongly. The light sports car didn’t hold the road well, and the rain was getting heavy now. She stopped and got out to try to put up the top. It stuck.

She became chillingly aware of her isolation in this bleak place, with no sign of life in any direction. Not a light. Nothing. It was like being the last person left alive on earth.

But this was an adventure, right? A headless horseman might come galloping past. Just now even a headless horseman would be welcome company.

‘So what the heck if I’m alone?’ she demanded of the starless sky.

Incurable honesty made her add. ‘And lost. And confused.’

She abandoned the attempt to raise the top and got back into the car. There wasn’t much further to go. But ‘adventure’ was definitely fraying at the edges.

‘How do I get myself into these situations?’ she muttered. ‘Oh, well, it can’t be far now. All I need is a friendly local to direct me.’

Right on cue a torch gleamed just up ahead, and soon she discerned the outline of a very tall man. In the headlamps’ glare she could make out that he was wearing faded, muddy trousers and a leather-patched jacket that had seen better days. Here was the ‘local’ she’d wanted, except that he definitely wasn’t friendly. He planted himself rudely in her path and waited for her to stop.

Muttering dire curses, Meryl braked. The car responded sluggishly and the gap between her and the stranger narrowed with alarming speed.

‘Move!’ she shrieked, swerving madly and missing him by a whisker. He hadn’t budged.

She vaulted out of the car and placed herself in front of him, furious, terrified and soaked by the downpour. ‘Have you got a death wish?’ she yelled. ‘What’s the idea of just standing in front of me?’

‘The idea was that you should stop,’ he yelled back against the wind.

‘I tried to. It’s an unfamiliar car. I only hired it this morning.’

‘And you didn’t check the damned brakes.’

‘I did check the brakes. They worked perfectly at the airport.’

‘Then I guess the firm saw you coming.’

She breathed hard. ‘I’ll pass over your rudeness, but I do want to know why you just stood in my path when you must have seen I was having trouble stopping. Why didn’t you get out of the way?’

‘That’s what the world usually does for you, is it? I didn’t move because then you might have driven on, and the road’s under water. I may consider you a total idiot for driving out here in that thing you jokingly call a car, and not dressing properly for these parts, but I don’t want you to drown because I didn’t warn you. Where are you going anyway?’

‘Is that any of your concern?’ she demanded, fighting the crick in her neck. It was infuriating to have to argue with a man so much taller than herself. Meryl could look most men in the eye, but she had to peer right up as this man loomed over her. He was built for looming, too, powerful about the shoulders, with a harsh face and eyes that flashed disagreeably over a slightly hooked nose. He would have been impressive at any time, but from this angle it was like arguing with an enraged bull.

‘It’s my concern if you drive into the sea,’ he snapped. ‘That road doesn’t lead anywhere.’

‘According to the map it leads to Larne Castle.’

‘Well, you can’t go there, so—’

‘Who says I can’t?’

He made a tearing movement at his hair which the rain was plastering to his skull. ‘It’s not open to tourists,’ he yelled over the storm.

‘I am not a tourist!’

‘Then why are you turning up out of the blue?’

‘Who says I’m out of the blue?’

‘I know this—nobody is expecting you.’

‘Oh, yes, they are—well, in a sort of way—maybe not today exactly—hell! Why am I telling you? I am going to Larne Castle.’

‘How? Swim?’

‘Over the bridge.’

The grinding of his teeth was audible even above the storm. ‘Will you listen to me? There is no—’

‘I’ll show you. The map’s just over here in my—why are there two Alsatians sitting in my car?’

‘Out!’ the man yelled and the two vast animals obediently jumped out.

‘That’s it!’ Meryl seethed. ‘I’m getting out of here before I start seeing things—if I’m not seeing them already.’

‘Fine. Turn back.’

‘Don’t give me orders. I’m continuing my journey, and if you stand in front of me again I shall drive over you.’

She thought she heard him mutter, ‘On your own head be it,’ but she couldn’t be certain because she was already speeding on her way.

CHAPTER TWO

MERYL put her foot down. This was one journey she wanted to get finished, fast.

The man had seemed strangely familiar with the castle and its concerns, and it briefly crossed her mind that he might be Lord Larne himself, but she dismissed the thought. That ill-tempered curmudgeon had never written the letter that had charmed her. Probably a family retainer.

She could see where she was going now, the shore lights, and far beyond them the lights of some huge building that must surely be Larne Castle. Straight ahead for the bridge. She squinted, trying to detect the start of the railings. With her attention thus occupied she didn’t realise how far she’d driven until she found herself surrounded by water.

‘I’m in the sea,’ she said, aghast. ‘Where’s the bridge?’

But there was no bridge, only a causeway, fast vanishing under the incoming tide. With horror she saw that the shore was fifty yards behind her. The waves were swelling strongly, and a sickening lurch warned her that her little car wasn’t built for this.

She couldn’t go back. It would have meant trying to turn the vehicle and she didn’t know if the causeway was wide enough. Besides, retreat wasn’t in her nature. She must get ahead as fast as possible. The water had covered the road by only a few inches, and she could just about discern it.

But it grew harder and harder to hold her course. She slammed her foot down, trying to force her way through, but the next moment a huge wave lifted her off the ground, sweeping her sideways, and suddenly she was right off the causeway and sinking.

She tore at her seat belt and just managed to get it open as the car went down. Then she was free, dog paddling like crazy, with no idea where she was.

‘Here! Over here!’

The voice came from behind her, and she struggled around to see the man who’d stopped her back on the road. He was waving the torch to attract her attention.

‘It’s not too deep,’ he yelled. ‘You should be able to touch down, a beanpole like you.’

She managed to feel the ground with the tips of her toes, but then another wave tore at her, pulling her out to deeper water. She went down, struggling madly, came up gasping and tried to cry out. But water filled her mouth as she went down again. The man had vanished from the causeway. Rage filled her. He’d left her to drown.

‘Where are you?’ His voice came from nearby.

‘Here!’ she screamed as the current yanked her further out to sea.

But then—oh, the relief as something that felt like a steel hawser went around her waist, holding her steady against the worst the water could do!

‘It’s all right. I’ve got you,’ said a voice she recognised.

Now she could make out details of him. Before diving in he’d yanked off his heavy overcoat and sweater. Through the thin, sodden shirt she could feel shoulders like cliffs, the swell of taut muscles beneath her hands, the hardness of a heavy torso against her body.

‘Just keep hold of me,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not releasing you until we’re on land.’

‘Suits me,’ she gasped.

‘But if you’d listened to me in the first place—’

‘Must we talk about that now?’

‘No,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Later will be better, and I have plenty to say.’

They’d reached the causeway, where he put her hands firmly onto the stones and told her not to move. She couldn’t have moved in any case. She was half frozen. When he’d climbed up he leaned down, reaching out his hand to grasp hers. She seized it with relief and he hauled her up. She achieved a toehold but slipped back almost at once, and felt a powerful arm shoot out and around her waist.

‘Grab me around the neck,’ he yelled.

She did so and felt herself once more drawn against his body, tense with effort. He lifted her until her feet were clear, and then set her down. Her heart was pounding with fear, excitement and sheer annoyance at being rescued by this man of all people. She could never account for the first words that came out of her mouth.

‘Who are you calling a beanpole?’

‘Quit yakking and get in.’ He indicated his own vehicle. It was old and shabby but very heavy, and it was holding its ground against the surging water.

‘I’ve got papers on the front seat,’ he said. ‘You get in the back.’

‘With them?’ She indicated the two Alsatians occupying the rear.

‘They won’t mind.’

She climbed gingerly in and sat squashed up against the two dogs, who welcomed her with delighted yelps and licks.

‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Wouldn’t have been necessary if you had any sense,’ he observed.

‘You might have told me there was no bridge.’

‘I tried, but you wouldn’t listen. There’s just the causeway and it’s only above water at low tide. Luckily I was coming this way in any case, so I knew I’d be there to rescue you from your own foolishness.’

‘You’re going to the castle?’

‘Right.’

‘You know Jarvis Larne?’

He gave a brief flickering glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the road. ‘Is it him you’ve come to see?’

‘Yes, and I wish I hadn’t. I didn’t mean to turn up like this.’

‘You sound as if you’ve come a long way.’

‘I’m American,’ she said, answering the implied question. ‘From New York.’

‘That’s quite a distance to see a man who isn’t expecting you. What’s your business with him?’

His familiarity irked her enough to make her snap, ‘I’m thinking of marrying him, actually.’

The stunned quality of his silence was very satisfying. It was nice to have found something that would shut him up.

‘Would you mind saying that again?’ he said at last.

‘It’s a long story,’ she said, wishing she’d held her tongue. It wouldn’t do for this tale to reach Jarvis Larne before she did. ‘What I’ve just told you is in confidence.’

‘You wouldn’t want your engagement announced prematurely,’ he agreed.

‘Yes, and there are—things to be settled—’ she said delicately.

‘You mean you haven’t proposed to him yet?’

To her annoyance she felt herself reddening. ‘I mean no such thing!’ she said crossly.

‘You have proposed to him. Did he accept?’

‘I’m not going to discuss this with you.’

‘No, it would be better to discuss it with him, wouldn’t it? After all, he might turn you down.’

‘He can’t afford to,’ Meryl said before she could stop herself, and regretted the words instantly.

‘Really? Then you’re probably right not to let him know you’re coming. Why bother with courtesy if you don’t have to?’

‘Now look—!’

‘We’d better leave this for the moment.’

His assumption of authority irked her but she was shivering too much to make a point of it. To her relief they had nearly arrived, and she could just make out the huge bulk of the castle rearing over them. The car was laboriously climbing a steep road that ended in front of a large wooden door. It opened, and an elderly woman came out.

‘Hannah!’ the man called. ‘Will you look after this lady before she freezes to death?’

Meryl got stiffly out of the vehicle and went gladly to where the light and warmth welcomed her.

‘Come you in,’ Hannah called, standing back to let her pass, and shutting the front door behind her.

To Meryl’s dismay the warmth turned out to be largely illusory. The castle was just about warmer inside than out, and that was all that could be said.

‘You need a fire,’ Hannah said, understanding. ‘And you must get out of those wet clothes.’

She showed Meryl into a room lined with old books, where a log fire burned in an old-fashioned grate. Shivering, she hurried into its blessed circle, and stood with her hands held out to the flames until Hannah reappeared with a bathrobe and some towels.

‘Quick, before you get pneumonia,’ she urged.

Thankfully Meryl threw off her drenched clothes and vigorously scrubbed herself dry while Hannah held the bathrobe up to the fire. Hannah took a hand towel and began to rub her hair, clucking sympathetically.

‘What on earth were you thinking to come here in a storm at this hour?’ she murmured.

‘I was thinking of marrying Lord Larne,’ Meryl said through chattering teeth.

‘What was that?’ Hannah sounded startled. ‘He’s never told any of us he was getting married.’

‘Perhaps he just thought it was private.’

‘Not for him,’ Hannah said at once. ‘There are too many people depending on him. If he could find a pot of gold, we’d all rejoice.’ She darted Meryl a sharp look. ‘Would you be a pot of gold, by any chance?’

Meryl chuckled, liking the old woman’s frankness. ‘I might be,’ she said. ‘But don’t count on the marriage. It’s starting to look like one of my crazier ideas.’ She gave a rueful sigh. ‘I’m afraid I have a lot of those.’

Hannah didn’t answer. She was examining the discarded clothes, noting their luxurious quality. ‘I’ll take these to dry,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You stay by the fire until your room is ready.’

She hurried out and Meryl huddled before the flames, feeling herself thaw out blissfully. The bathrobe was made for someone much larger and could almost have wrapped twice around her slim figure. She tightened the belt, but still had to clutch the edges together at the front.

The room seemed to be a library. Everywhere she saw signs of one-time grandeur declined to shabbiness. The carpet was threadbare, but no more so than the heavy curtains, battling with small success, to shield the rattling windows.

‘He really needs me,’ she murmured. ‘Maybe we can do business. If only I hadn’t arrived like this! Me! A damsel in distress, for Pete’s sake! Rescued from peril like some Victorian heroine. I’ll never live it down.’

She looked up quickly as the door opened. It was her rescuer, wearing fresh clothes and with his hair rubbed until it was almost dry. She saw now that it was dark brown, shaggy and needed a cut. With him were the two dogs, who made straight for Meryl.

‘Good evening,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster, fending off Alsatians with one hand and holding the robe with the other. ‘You know who I am, but—’

‘I’m Jarvis Larne,’ he said.

Her head whirled. ‘You? Lord Larne? You can’t be!’

It was more wishful thinking than conviction, and Meryl could have bitten off her tongue the moment the words were out. But it was too late now. The man’s sardonic face showed that he could follow her thoughts.

‘Why can’t I be? Because I don’t stand to attention for you? Just who did you think you were talking to back there? The bailiff?’

This was too close for comfort. ‘Certainly not,’ she said with dignity. ‘I never dreamed you could be Lord Larne because you’re so different to your letter.’

‘What letter?’

‘The one you wrote in answer to my advertisement.’

‘Advertisement?’

‘Oh, look! That ad was foolish, I admit, but don’t deny that you answered it. Now I’ve seen this place I can understand why.’

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, peering at her more closely. ‘Are you the woman who was looking for a fortune-hunter?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted defensively. ‘It might have been better put, but—’

‘And you think I’m the answer to your prayers?’

‘No,’ she said with spirit, ‘just the answer to my ad. My prayers are for something quite different.’

‘Then why bother with me?’

‘You wrote to me.’

‘I never wrote to you.’

She pounced on her purse, thankful that this, at least, she’d managed to save from the waves. Pulling out the letter, she thrust it at him. Watching his face as he read the contents, she saw disbelief change to outrage.

‘I’ll kill him,’ he said at last. ‘I will personally wring his stupid neck, and then I’ll boot his rear from here to kingdom come.’

‘Who?’

‘Ferdy Ashton. I recognise his writing and his turn of phrase.’

A cold hand was beginning to clutch Meryl’s stomach. There was something horribly convincing about his exasperation. She’d come all this way—

‘Are you telling me someone else wrote this in your name?’ she demanded. ‘I don’t believe it. Nobody would do such a stupid thing.’

‘Then you don’t know Ferdy,’ Jarvis Larne said bitterly. ‘There’s nothing that idiot wouldn’t get up to. I told him I wanted nothing to do with it—or with you.’

‘For a man who needs money as badly as you do, you’re very high-handed.’

‘My need for money is my business and certainly none of yours. I don’t believe a word of this nonsense. You’re a journalist, aren’t you? Well, you’ll not get a story out of me. I don’t like you. I don’t want you here, and the sooner you’re gone the better I’ll be pleased.’

‘A journalist? Me?’ He was briefly taken aback by the fierceness of her outrage, but his face remained unyielding. ‘My name,’ she said emphatically, ‘is Meryl Winters.’

‘So?’

‘My father was Craddock Winters.’

He still looked blank. ‘Of whom the world says—?’

‘He drilled a few oil wells.’

‘And that made him rich enough for his daughter to act like a headless chicken?’

‘Yes!’

‘All right, we’ll assume that I believe you. I’m not saying I do, but let’s pretend. Why find a husband this way? I’d have thought the world was full of fortune-hunters without having to advertise your desperation. And you don’t look too bad.’

Meryl stared at him, almost beyond speech. ‘Not too bad?’

‘OK, you’re passable—for a man whose taste runs to brunettes. Mine doesn’t, and even if it did you’re the last woman I’d want.’

She breathed hard. ‘I was not proposing a love match—’

‘Luckily for both of us—’

‘It’s a serious business proposition.’

Jarvis Larne snorted. ‘And I’m Santa Claus.’

‘I said business and I meant business. Nothing else would persuade me even to consider marriage to a man who has all the charm of a scrubbing brush. Unfortunately I need you almost as much as you appear to need me—’

‘I do not need you, madam!’

‘Let me finish. Under my father’s will I don’t get full control of my money until I’m twenty-seven, which is nearly three years away. Unless I marry. Then I get it on my wedding day. But until then I’m stuck.’

‘Sounds like somebody knew you pretty well,’ Jarvis Larne said grimly. ‘If you were my daughter I’d make you wait until you were fifty, and even then I doubt you’d have learned common sense.’

‘Now look—’

‘You look. You’ve got cuckoos in your head. So you got an answer to this stupid ad. You couldn’t telephone? Or find a way to check up? Oh no! You jump on the first plane and come to a place you know nothing about, to throw yourself into the arms of a man you also know nothing about.’

‘I had no intention of throwing myself into your arms or anyone else’s,’ Meryl said, speaking with difficulty. ‘What is on offer is my cash in return for the use of your name. Just that. No extras, because you don’t appeal to me—’

‘Well, you’ll excuse me if I don’t shoot myself—’

‘As for knowing nothing about you—I thought I did know something. The man who wrote this letter is charming, which rules you out, I see that now.’

‘Nobody has ever called me charming,’ he agreed. ‘It’s been very useful in keeping me safe from silly women.’

She regarded him with her head tilted. ‘You wouldn’t find my dowry silly. It would mend the holes in this place. Do you have any other way of mending them?’

‘That does not concern you,’ he said in a dangerous voice.

Meryl didn’t answer at once. It was typical of her that, at the height of the row, her temper faded and she began to see that this had a funny side.

‘Please don’t be nervous,’ she told him sweetly. ‘I promise you I have no designs on your virtue.’

That infuriated him, she was glad to note. ‘Don’t push me too far, madam.’

‘Let’s get to the bottom line. I need your name; you need my money.’

‘What I need is your absence,’ he retorted through gritted teeth. ‘Preferably at once, but it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.’

‘And then I’m supposed to leave? How? In my drowned car?’

‘We’ll find it when the tide’s out.’ He became suddenly very interested in the contents of his desk.

‘When I’ve got it back I’ll decide what to do. And would you please have the decency to look at me while I’m talking to you?’

‘It’s for the sake of decency that I’m not looking at you,’ he growled, keeping his gaze averted.

Glancing down, she saw that the belt had become untied, and the bathrobe had sagged open, so that her nakedness was completely revealed. She was briefly too nonplussed to move, and in that moment Jarvis, thinking it safe, turned his gaze back to her. He looked away again almost at once, but in the split second she met his eyes she saw a flash of reaction. Meryl hastily retied the belt, feeling dizzy.

So he thought she was only passable, did he? She knew differently now.

He began talking, still with his face averted.

‘It serves you right for acting without thinking,’ he said unsympathetically. ‘The sooner this nonsense is over, the better.’

‘It’s all right, you can look now.’

He did so. ‘Hannah will see you to your room, and take you up some supper.’

‘You mean you’re not inviting me to eat with you?’

He regarded her. ‘Wearing that?’

‘Aren’t there some clothes I could borrow?’

‘You’ve already got my robe. What else can I offer you?’

She folded her arms and regarded him challengingly. ‘Lord Larne, anyone would think you didn’t want me to dine with you.’

‘You amaze me.’

‘Well?’

‘I was being polite about it. I still think there’s something fishy about you—’

She gave a choke of laughter. ‘After that swim I should think there is.’

Her unexpected humour disconcerted him, but he recovered. ‘I don’t trust you and I won’t spend another moment talking to you.’ He raised his voice to call, ‘Hannah, you can come in now.’

The door opened so quickly that it was clear Hannah had been eavesdropping and that her employer accepted it as normal.

‘Please take Miss Winters to the Green Room, make sure she’s warm and well fed.’

‘Like I’m a horse,’ Meryl observed.

‘Miss Winters, if I was to give my honest opinion about what you are we’d be here all night and one of us would be arrested for murder. Let’s both quit while we’re ahead.’

He strode out, without waiting for her reply.

Hannah produced a pair of slippers. ‘They’re Jarvis’s,’ she said. ‘You could have had mine but I’m afraid—’ She paused delicately.

‘I’ve got big feet,’ Meryl said without rancour. ‘It comes with being built like a beanpole—as a certain person described me tonight.’

‘It’s just until your own things are dried out. I’ll show you to your room.’

Lord Larne’s slippers were three sizes too large, forcing Meryl to walk without flexing her feet. Crossing the great hall she caught a glimpse of herself in a long mirror and realised that between the huge robe and the floppy footwear she was waddling like a duck in a duvet.

Adventure.

Then her attention was claimed by her surroundings. Stone walls covered with shields and weapons arranged in circles, paintings of battles, suits of armour: the English Middle Ages came to life all around her as she turned and turned in dazed circles.

‘I’ll show you over the place tomorrow,’ Hannah said as she gently urged her up the vast curving staircase.

‘He’s going to throw me out tomorrow,’ Meryl informed her cheerfully. ‘Either that or murder me in my bed. I don’t think he’s quite decided.’

‘Are you going to let him throw you out?’

‘Certainly not. I might decide to leave, but if he thinks I’m going at his command, he’s got another think coming.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Hannah said, sounding pleased.

They were passing down a poorly lit stone corridor, Meryl moving slowly as she looked about her. ‘These walls are so old,’ she said in wonder, ‘and battered.’

She paused to run her fingertips over the rough grey stone, and stopped suddenly when she came to a panel inlaid in the wall. Some words were carved into it, and she read with difficulty.

Out of the gale, across the water,

Came one night a rich man’s daughter.

Eyes like jade, hair of ebony,

To marry the lord and save the family.

Meryl stood quite still in the dark corridor, listening to the wind that tore at the castle with powerful fingers and made the windows rattle.

‘How long has this been written here?’ she asked at last in a voice that sounded strange to her own ears.

‘Oh, hundreds of years,’ Hannah said. ‘It was written after the fifth viscount married a French heiress. The lord’s minstrel made a song of it and sang it at their wedding, and then someone wrote it up here.’

‘And she had “eyes of jade and hair of ebony”?’

‘Well, they say her eyes were greenish,’ Hannah admitted, ‘but her hair was more a dark brown. You can see her in the Picture Gallery. He said ebony because it was the closest he could get to family.’

‘So it really happened?’ Meryl asked. It was absurd and superstitious to be so relieved, but for a moment she’d felt as though eyes were peering at her out of the darkness. ‘It’s about the past, not the future?’

Hannah didn’t seem to hear the question, for she strode on, calling, ‘Your room’s just along here.’

Meryl hurried and caught up as Hannah threw open the door to a large apartment with a wooden floor on which a few scattered rugs tried unsuccessfully to look adequate. The tall windows were shielded by heavy curtains of dark red brocade, and in the centre of the room stood a four-poster bed, also with dark red curtains.

‘A real four-poster!’ Meryl exclaimed with delight. ‘But I would have thought the curtains would be green. After all, it’s called the Green Room, and I can’t see anything green in it.’

‘Probably the last curtains were green,’ Hannah said vaguely.

‘That must have been a hundred years ago, then. These look as if they’d fall apart if I touch them.’

‘They’re sturdy enough, and they’re grand for keeping out the draughts.’

The warmth of the coal fire didn’t seem to reach this part of the room. Meryl shivered and went closer to the grate. ‘I suppose you don’t have such a thing as central heating?’

‘In a place this size?’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘When I think of what that would cost—and him not having a penny to bless himself with! But there, I suppose central heating is what you’re used to, isn’t it?’

Meryl nodded. ‘It is a bit chilly,’ she said.

‘Never mind,’ Hannah told her consolingly. ‘You’ll soon get used to it.’

She went out, leaving Meryl aghast. Get used to it? No way!

Soon Hannah returned with supper and a nightdress of thick flannel, patterned with huge roses.

‘One of my own,’ Hannah confided. ‘It’ll keep you nice and warm tonight. And so will these.’ She produced a pair of thick socks. ‘They’re the master’s,’ she said. ‘But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. We all sleep in socks until summer, and sometimes even then. Now sit down and I’ll give you the tray.’

The meal was solid and comforting, with a bottle of wine to wash it down.

‘Did he put arsenic in it?’ Meryl asked, tasting the red liquid with care.

‘As if I told him!’ Hannah said. ‘What I do in my kitchen is my affair.’

‘But he’s the “mighty lord”. Aren’t you supposed to “serve and obey” him?’

Hannah gave a snort that showed what she thought of that notion, beefed up the fire, announced that she’d return later, and marched out.

The excitements of the day, plus jet lag, were beginning to catch up with Meryl. It was cosy here by the fire, and tempting to look into the heart of the red glow, feeling the comfortable warmth enfold her, and let her thoughts drift.

They began to float through her mind in an unbroken stream, so that the dark moor blended into her first confrontation with Jarvis Larne, barring her way, being thoroughly rude to her—but then he too slipped away and she was in the icy water, struggling from the car to be hauled out of the water by a man who lifted her as if she was a feather. And the hardness of his broad chest had felt good.

None of the men she knew made her feel good. They were focused, self-conscious, measuring every word, dressed in elegant suits. They charmed her and were pleasant company, but there wasn’t one she would have gone to with her problems.

But why should she? She was the fabulously wealthy Meryl Winters, who bought whatever she wanted and had no problems.

After a while she yawned and stretched, thinking how inviting the big four-poster looked. She unhooked the curtains and drew them about the bed, discovering that they did indeed shut out the draughts. Perhaps there was something to be said for medieval life, after all.

But she changed her mind when she climbed onto the medieval mattress, which seemed to be stuffed with medieval turnips.

This must be where they put their guests when they don’t want them to come back, she thought. It would be the first thing to change—if I was going to stay here.

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