Was she going to tell him that she’d changed her mind about marrying him? When Seth realised it was a possibility he sensed his heart race in protest.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s nothing … I just—I just …’

As she brushed aside her hair, where it glanced against her cheek, Imogen’s gaze was surprisingly steady. Seth couldn’t attest to the fact that he even breathed right then. The look in her eyes stopped all thought in its tracks. What he saw in those silken burnished depths was a seductive mix of desire, need and longing … all the things he’d secretly yearned for her to want from him and more …

‘What are you trying to do to me?’ he husked.

‘Don’t worry … I just want you to kiss me …’

Whether the gesture was meant, or purely unconscious, she moistened her heavenly shaped lips with her tongue.

‘Is that allowed on the night before we get married, Seth?’

MAGGIE COX is passionate about stories that can uplift and transport people out of their daily worries to a more magical place, be they romance novels or fairy tales. What people want most, she believes, is true connection. She feels blessed to be married to a lovely man who never fails to make her laugh, and has two beautiful sons and two much loved grandchildren.

Required to Wear the Tycoon’s Ring

Maggie Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my dear friend Mietzche for your love and support during a challenging time and your wonderful ability to make me laugh when I feel like crying! Maggie x

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

It doesn’t matter how long it takes... I’ll wait for you. No one is going to keep us apart. There’s nobody else on this earth for me but you. You’re the only one who can calm the lightning in my soul and help me find peace. If you ever doubt the strength of my love I want you to know that I love you more than life itself and always will...

IMOGEN READ THE words and it was as though they bled onto the page, such was the impact they conveyed. The depth and power of the sentiment pierced her heart, and something inside, something that had been tight and unyielding for so long, started to melt and unravel... Before she could stop it a stinging hot tear splashed down onto the once tightly folded piece of notepaper in her hand.

In her spare time she often browsed the charity shop shelves in the hope that she might find something new or interesting. The note she was reading had been carefully inserted inside the anthology of a well-known romance poet. As she’d flicked through the well-thumbed pages the unexpected addition had spilled out and revealed itself. The note had landed at her feet.

There was no indication of the writer’s name, just the initials SB. Was the writer male or female? she wondered. All Imogen knew was that the poignant promise ‘I’ll wait for you’ had her longing to experience being loved so deeply that she would never have cause to doubt that she was cared for.

Her recent excoriating experience of being jilted at the altar had almost entirely crushed any hope she had that there were men out there who were genuinely loving and considerate. Yet in a secret corner somewhere Imogen refused to relinquish that hope. Had the note’s writer reconciled with his or her lover after whatever had torn them apart? she mused.

With a trembling sigh, she momentarily shut her eyes. It wasn’t easy to deal with the tumult of the feelings that rolled through her. Sometimes they threatened to spill over and undermine what little confidence she had left.

She’d never experienced such loving devotion and she longed to. If only she could discover whether or not things had worked out well for the couple... It would mean so much to her if they had. She wanted evidence that hopes and dreams could be fulfilled and that true love could last so long as the lovers drew breath...

She made a resolve. Suddenly impatient, she finished her browsing. Carefully reinserting the note inside the book, she moved across to the cashier to pay.

The cheerful elderly assistant smelled liberally of lavender, and her pristine white blouse was perfectly ironed and starched, as though she wouldn’t dream of leaving the house unless it was.

As she surveyed Imogen her face crinkled in a welcoming smile, just as if she was a trusted old friend. ‘Found something nice, have you, dear?’

‘Yes. I have. I’d like to buy this book,’ she replied.

When the sale had been rung up on the till the woman put the purchase into a crumpled carrier bag.

After murmuring, ‘Thanks...’ as she took it, Imogen asked, ‘By the way, can I ask if you know who donated the book? Only I was in here a couple of days ago and I didn’t notice it on the shelves then...’

‘I can’t tell you who donated it, my dear, but I do know that my colleague took a delivery of books from the big house up on the hill yesterday. You must know the one I’m talking about—that splendid Gothic mansion that backs onto the woods? Evergreen, I think it’s called. It used to belong to the Siddons family, but they’re long gone now. I think there’s somebody looking after the place but no one knows who. There’s a rumour that it’s been bought by some business corporation to use for staff training... You can always enquire. Does that help?’

Although Imogen smiled, the expression didn’t come as easily to her as it had used to. She was sad about that. What she wouldn’t give to return to the land of the living, with her heart whole again and the optimism she’d always managed to somehow find well and truly restored.

Clutching the carrier bag against the black bouclé jacket she’d discovered in another charity shop, she said, ‘It does. Thanks for the tip.’ Glancing across at the shop’s thick glass doors, she added, ‘Have a good day... It looks like the sun might come out if we’re lucky.’

‘It does, doesn’t it? But it probably won’t shine on us for very long. Still, I hope that won’t spoil things for you. Perhaps reading some of those wonderful poems will help?’

As she walked back to the small flat she rented in a Victorian mid-terrace down a narrow side street, her route took her across the city’s historic cobblestones, and Imogen automatically glanced towards the formidable cathedral that rose up before her. It was a real Mecca for tourists, but personally she found it intimidating.

To her eyes it spoke of too many spirits not at peace. She’d only explored it once, and it hadn’t invited her for a second visit. If a person was hoping for comfort, would they honestly find it within those oppressive ancient walls? Somehow Imogen didn’t think so.

The wind that was now gusting in earnest blew her hair haphazardly across her face. With a shudder she sensed an icy chill run down her back. So much for that promising glimpse of sunshine earlier! Winter was definitely starting to make itself felt. She couldn’t wait to get back inside, light the wood burner and examine her book. Who knew? There might even be some further evidence about the identity of the original owner.

If there wasn’t, she would love to dig a little deeper and find out. But even if she found the person, she realised that being confronted with such a note might potentially elicit some kind of unsettling repercussions for the person concerned. Her sigh was heavy. The story behind the poignant note was perhaps consuming her thoughts much more than it ought to...

* * *

Seth sat himself down on the wide mahogany staircase with its faded gold-trimmed runner and stared around him. The ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall hypnotically marked the time, taunting him with the memories it scratched, as if he had deliberately dug his nails into an old, once infected wound and reopened it.

He had plenty of cause for being disturbed. The first time he had entered this house as a lad of nineteen he’d been full of trepidation at the thought of meeting his girlfriend’s intimidating father because he was going to ask for her hand in marriage. The esteemed financier James Siddons had been known to put the fear of God even into his peers—let alone the hopeful boy from the wrong side of the tracks that Seth had once been.

Although he and Louisa had only been seeing each other for a couple of months, they’d known from the very first moment that they were meant to be together. What they’d felt for each other had gone far deeper than simple attraction. But he had known the path they’d planned to take wasn’t going to be easy. She’d still been a student at the university, and Seth an apprentice car mechanic at a local dealership. Hardly of the material to render him acceptable to her esteemed family.

He’d had to garner every ounce of courage he had in him on the day of the meeting. And every one of his fervent hopes to make a good impression had been utterly dashed as soon as he’d laid eyes on the stern-faced banker. He’d barely even crossed the threshold before the man had very candidly expressed his dislike. And when Seth had bolted his courage to the floor, met his gaze eye to eye and confidently declared that he wanted to marry his daughter, he had been immediately shot down and put in his place.

‘Louisa knows perfectly well that families like ours marry into families from the same class, Mr Broden. And clearly you are not from that class, so there’s no sense in beating about the bush, is there? My advice to you is to stick with your own kind,’ Siddons had finished.

‘You’re not even giving him a chance!’ Louisa had burst out. ‘I love him. I want no one else. You have no right to put him down like that and make him feel small. Seth has nothing to be ashamed of. He came round to speak to you because he wanted to do things properly. We could just as easily have sneaked off and done the deed without telling you, but it was Seth who insisted we should do the right thing and be upfront about it.’

Appalled, James Siddons had issued her with a warning glare. ‘I don’t know what you thought you were playing at by encouraging a “nobody” like him,’ he’d said. ‘You must know that one day you’ll have to marry someone suitable so that the family’s lineage can continue. You are the last Siddons in the line, Louisa, and that makes it even more important for you to choose your husband wisely. I insist that you bring this charade with this man to an end right now. If you don’t I will make sure that every penny of your allowance is frozen until such time as you do as I say.’

That day—that bittersweet day when they had sought to get Louisa’s father’s approval to marry—the man had broken his daughter’s heart with his chillingly cold refusal. Seth would have done anything to spare her the disappointment and heartache that had followed, but his own heart had hardened like ice at James Siddons’s brutal reception.

However, he had refused to let the rejection crush him. So he was a nobody, was he? Squaring his already broad shoulders, he hadn’t been able to contain his temper. Swearing that he would show James Siddons what a fool he was for believing that he was somehow better than Seth—just because he had gone to the right schools and his family had money—he had finally vented his spleen.

There would come a time soon when he would surpass James Siddons’s wealth and power with his own, he’d vehemently told him, and Louisa would never have so much as one moment’s worry about how they would survive.

But at the end of that cold encounter the supercilious banker had banned her from seeing him again, told him he would put a watch on her to make sure she kept to the command he’d declared, and he had threatened Seth with what he would be able to do if he should dare have the effrontery to try to persuade her differently.

‘There won’t be one dealership in the country that will hire you after what I tell them,’ he’d finished.

With tears pouring down her face, Louisa had been able to do nothing else but urge Seth to go...

He sucked in a harsh breath and slowly released it. Why had he bought this place and opened up old wounds that should have long ago healed and scarred? He had nothing left to prove.

James Siddons had been dead for about a year now and—to his everlasting distress—Louisa had died not long after that volatile meeting with her father, having been mown down by a hit-and-run driver. It had been the most colossal shock, and Seth had honestly thought he would never get over it.

When the mansion had come on to the market not long after its owner’s demise, six months ago, Seth hadn’t been able to resist buying it. How could he have? It was the place where Louisa had grown up. He had an important personal connection with the place. Despite the house’s dauntingly grand appearance, she’d confided to him that it had once been a very warm and loving home, thanks to her mother, Clare Siddons.

‘My mother was a wonderful woman. She was infinitely patient and kind, and she always told me to follow my heart...not just my head,’ Louisa had told Seth. ‘She certainly wouldn’t have looked down her nose at you because you come from the “wrong” background. She would only have had to look at you to know why you have my heart.’ Her pansy-blue eyes had sparkled tenderly as she’d related that.

Now the atmospheric house she’d grown up in couldn’t help but carry the beguiling remnants of her presence. Although his decision to buy it was no doubt a double-edged sword—one that could just as soon wound him as satisfy his urge to show the local community that he was just as good as his nemesis James Siddons. Seth wondered if he’d been led purely by his ego to buy it.

Ten long years had passed since Louisa’s death—wilderness years in which Seth had distanced himself as far from his hometown as he could in order to rebuild his life without her—and he’d achieved everything he’d set out to do. He ought to let the past lie.

Yes, there had been other women after he’d lost Louisa, but throughout all the time that had passed he had never loved anyone else and most likely never would. Buying the house had probably been a completely dumb idea. Talk about rubbing salt into his wounds!

Cursing himself as a masochist, then feeling certain he could always sell it if things didn’t work out, he shoved to his feet and turned to go into the drawing room. It was now completely devoid of the once grand furniture that had filled it.

Louisa had once shown him the room when her father had been away on business. But by the time Seth had come to buy the place all that had been left were a few old books and some kitchen items. Everything else had been removed by the lawyers acting for her father—sold off to pay death duties.

As painfully ironic as it was, it turned out that James Siddons had not been nearly as wealthy as he’d claimed. Apparently he’d squandered his wealth on gambling and living the high life after Louisa had died.

Now the palatial room in front of him put him in mind of a ball that was at an end, with the well-heeled partygoers never to return. The only material items left in the lofty room were the faded red-and-gold carpets and the crimson velvet curtains that hung at the windows.

The day he’d accompanied Louisa in order to ask her father’s permission to marry her he hadn’t travelled any further than the imposing hallway. As Seth had anticipated James Siddons had hardly rolled out the welcome mat... Far from it. Instead, he’d straight away gone into attack.

He smiled grimly. Perversely, Seth was the one who had the last laugh. Now he had the satisfaction of knowing he was free to do what the hell he liked here. Never again would he be accused of not being ‘good enough’ by someone who had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, who hadn’t had to rely solely on his own ability and wits to rise higher in the world, to make it against all the odds as Seth had. He was the one who owned the house now.

In the midst of his reverie a sudden inexplicable instinct drew him to the windows. He caught his breath when his eyes settled on the figure of a young woman in the fading light. She was peering through the wrought iron gates. He froze for a moment, thinking she was a ghost. When common sense swiftly returned he wondered irritably, just who did she think she was spying on the house?

Not thinking twice about finding out, Seth strode from the drawing room and went straight to the front door. Opening it wide, he took the carved granite steps two at a time, his boot heels crunching across the gravel. The woman had started to back away, but he halted her with the demand, ‘Who are you and what do you want here?’

His visitor’s startled brown eyes showed her shock and surprise. Just then her curling chestnut hair was blown wildly across her face by a rogue gust of wind, and her slender fingers visibly trembled as she pushed the strands away. For a mesmerising, unguarded moment Seth was transfixed by the delicacy and haunting loveliness of the features in front of him—so much so that it threw him off-kilter for a moment.

‘Well?’ When he next spoke—having decided not to be so easily beguiled by the woman, and realising she was probably just one of the bevy of journalists that tracked his career, looking for a story—his voice was terse.

‘I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to bother you.’

Her voice was soft as summer rain and added to the sense that she was casting a spell on him.

Seth sucked in a breath. ‘But you are bothering me. Answer my question. What’s your business here?’

For a couple of seconds the woman didn’t seem to know. Then she said hesitatingly, ‘I— Are you the house’s owner?’

‘What’s it to you? Why do you want to know?’

‘I’ll tell you...but if you are the owner I wonder if I might have a word?’

Seth’s cobalt blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What about?’

‘About the history of the house... My name is Imogen, by the way... Imogen Hayes.’

‘And you want to know because...? Let me guess—you’re fascinated by old historic houses and you intend to study this one for a school project?’

Underneath her pale skin the girl blanched. ‘I’m hardly a schoolgirl. I’m twenty-four!’

‘Who are you, then? Someone from the local newspaper?’ he quizzed.

She grimaced. ‘No. Look, if you are the new owner, could you perhaps spare me a couple of minutes? I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.’

Even as everything inside him told him it was a bad idea—the girl probably was from the local newspaper, hoping to write an article about him along the lines of ‘poor boy made good’—he took longer than he meant to in deciding what to do.

Having made his fortune in America, and returned home a billionaire, Seth knew that his name couldn’t help but arouse local interest. This girl probably wouldn’t be the only interested party. But because he couldn’t help admiring her pretty face, and the unexpected spark of attraction it had aroused in him, he decided to relent and let her in. What had he got to lose? If the piece turned out to be defamatory he wouldn’t hesitate to sue the newspaper.

‘You’d better follow me inside.’

He pulled opened the iron gates, and the grating sound they released set his teeth on edge.

The brunette quickly edged past him. ‘Thank you. That’s very good of you.’

‘Are you sure? Goodness isn’t something I’m generally known for,’ he quipped drily.

A corner of what he could see was a pleasingly pretty mouth nudged in an unsure dimple before she glanced away and followed him across the gravel.

When they reached the front door a blast of cold air along with a couple of dried, burnished leaves flew in from the driveway to accompany them.

Seth frowned as he closed the door behind them. Answering her questions wouldn’t take long, he was sure. In truth he knew very little about the house’s history other than that it had been in Louisa’s family for generations. So why on earth had he broken his own rule to be wary and instead invited the woman inside? Was it really because it had been too long since he’d been genuinely attracted to a woman and he’d found the opportunity too good to miss?

‘I would suggest we talk in the living room, but as yet there isn’t any furniture. I’m only here to look round today. You were lucky to find me in.’

‘But you are the new owner?’ The girl’s even white teeth nervously clamped down on her fulsome lower lip.

‘Yes, I am. Don’t worry...I haven’t invited you in under false pretences.’ Combing his tawny hair back with his fingers, Seth made a half-hearted attempt at a smile. A sense of bitterness had seeped into his tone. The memory of James Siddons not thinking him good enough to cross his threshold, let alone marry his daughter, still had the power to sting even after all these years...

‘I wouldn’t dream of thinking anything like that. Perhaps you could tell me who you are?’

‘My name is Seth Broden. What else do you want to ask me, Miss Hayes?’

Curling a strand of lightly waving rich brown hair round her ear, Imogen didn’t hide her relief that he wasn’t going to change his mind and tell her he’d made a mistake—that he didn’t have time for her questions after all.

Whether by luck or design, her spontaneous evening stroll had skirted the imposing manor house, and when she’d spied its impressive turrets reaching up into the sky she hadn’t been able to deny herself the impulse to take a closer look. At the back of her mind she’d been hoping for just such an opportunity, and that was why she carried the book with the note inside with her.

‘I heard from someone local that the previous owner’s family was called Siddons?’

The heavy thud of her heart was close to painful when she saw a guarded glint of steel invade his eyes, but she still couldn’t help being drawn to him. The man’s charismatic good looks had made her catch her breath as soon as she’d seen him up close. Acting purely on instinct, she had decided to stay and find out who he was...

‘Yes...it was. You heard right.’

‘And you knew them? I mean, you knew them when they lived here?’

‘Why do you want to know? I presumed it was the house that you were interested in.’

‘I am, but it’s the people who make a house into a home...no matter how grand or intimidating it might be.’

Seth’s brow furrowed. ‘You think this place is intimidating?’

The girl reddened. ‘Yes, I do, but only because it’s so far removed from my own life. I can’t envisage what it must have been like for anyone who lived here and could afford to run a place like this.’

‘Having great wealth isn’t all roses, you know. It doesn’t change who you are fundamentally, be it bad or good. Look...this is all rather pointless. I don’t think I can help you after all. If there’s anything else you want to know, then I suggest you do some research at the local records office.’

‘The information I’d like to find out is more of a personal nature, Mr Broden. I’d be so grateful if you could help.’

‘I’m sure you would... But if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that the answers to life’s questions don’t always reveal themselves so easily, Miss Hayes.’

Guilt combined with an uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment washed over Imogen. She wondered if she’d come across as being insensitive. ‘I know that, but... Can you perhaps tell me why the family moved away?’

‘You could say that fate stepped in and took them down a very different path from the one they expected...’

Seth Broden’s voice was huskily pitched and his gaze held hers unflinchingly. It was becoming very evident that he was in no hurry to reveal what he knew about the Siddons family, and Imogen quickly intuited that she’d have to tread carefully if she wanted to learn the truth about the note in her book.

‘That holds true for a lot of us, I’m sure. The dreams we have don’t always come to fruition.’

‘I take it that’s been your own experience, Miss Hayes?’

His comment took her aback. But she wasn’t ready to share the events of her life that had taken her down an ‘unexpected path’ with a complete stranger—no matter how much his seductively handsome face and glittering blue eyes might compel her to. She should know by now the dire consequences of trusting people too easily, and if she didn’t, she really was in trouble...

‘Like most people, my life hasn’t always gone smoothly.’

There was a flash of what looked to be empathy in Seth Broden’s eyes. Folding his arms across his impeccable wool coat, he sighed. ‘But you’re young enough not to become cynical about the cards you’ve been dealt and you can move on. At least you have that in your favour.’

Surprised by the remark, Imogen shrugged. For a long moment it was hard to duck the beguiling blue gaze that suggested he would have no trouble in persuading any woman to share her innermost secrets. Just who was this man? If it was true that he owned the mansion, he had to be someone important. There was an air of exclusivity about him that said if a situation called for it he would be the one taking charge.

If only she’d thought a bit longer about giving in to her impulse to look at the house. But after talking to the assistant at the charity shop she hadn’t been able to resist. Having viewed it, she’d found the imposing and beautiful facade had piqued her curiosity even more.

‘I’m sure you’re right. Trouble is that’s harder to do than you might imagine...’

‘Then, my advice to you, Imogen, is to focus on the things that you can do and not worry about the rest. Now, are you going to tell me the true reason for your visit, because I sense that researching the family who lived here isn’t the real reason why you’re here.’

Seth Broden had stopped Imogen in her tracks on two counts. First by so familiarly using her name, and second by instinctively seeming to know that the reason for her interest in the Siddonses’ family history was specific.

She realised she’d become more than a little possessive about the note, and didn’t easily want to relinquish it. That was, not until she found out who its author was. She was uneasy. She realised she would have to tell him about it, even if it meant he demanded she return it.

‘The other day I bought something from a local charity shop,’ she began. ‘I was told it had come from here. They’d taken delivery of a box of books from the house.’

Not commenting, Seth walked across to the window next to the door with a distinctly unhurried gait and stared out. What was he thinking about? He was still not saying anything, and his closed-off demeanour hardly suggested he was eager to break the silence.

The formidable quiet that ensued started to worry her. She was just about to ask if anything was the matter when he suddenly snapped out, ‘So you found a book...? Care to tell me the title?’

With a helpless shiver Imogen hugged her arms over her coat. ‘It’s a book of love poems by William Blake.’

‘Is it, indeed? You admire his work, do you?’

When Seth turned to face her she was mesmerised. The carved contours of his face might have been fashioned out of marble, they were so still. There was no expression in them whatsoever...none. And yet the burning blue of his eyes was fierce...

‘Yes, I do...very much.’

‘I once knew someone else who was fond of his poetry.’

The admission came out of the blue, and stunned Imogen because she hadn’t expected it.

‘Was it someone who lived at the house?’ The question was out before she could check it.

‘It might have been. Wasn’t the owner’s name in the book?’

‘No, it wasn’t. There was only—’

The man in front of her raised a dark eyebrow interestedly. ‘You were going to say, Miss Hayes...?’

Fearing she’d said too much too soon, Imogen parried the question with another one of her own. ‘Was the person who enjoyed Blake’s poetry a woman?’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

Her companion’s lightly lined forehead warningly grew tighter, and it was easy to sense the shield that had slammed down into place. But no shield—however strong and impenetrable—could hide the truth. It was right at that instant when Imogen remembered the initials that had signed off the note—SB.

The person who’d written in such beguiling and heartfelt tones was Seth Broden himself...

CHAPTER TWO

SETH IMMEDIATELY SAW what he took to be dawning realisation on Imogen’s face. He didn’t know why, but his heart started to pound.

‘Do you have the book with you? I’d like to take a look if you have,’ he said.

The sigh that escaped her was no more than a whisper but he heard it easily. The melting brown eyes before him were fused to his for the longest moment, and he wondered the reason behind it. Then, delving down into her shoulder bag, she produced a compact yellow book without a jacket. Flicking through the pages, she carefully extracted a piece of paper. Not knowing why, he caught his breath.

Crossing the floor, she handed him the note.

‘What’s this?’

‘It was inside the book when I bought it.’

Seth’s insides clenched hard as a painful sense of knowing gripped him. Seconds later his glance fell upon the words he had written all those years ago.

The realisation that Louisa had kept his message inside the pages of her favourite poetry book was bittersweet. He hardly knew what to think, what to feel.

He had sent the note to her at the university, to make sure she received it. They hadn’t met since that humiliating meeting with her father.

She’d been utterly distraught when she had realised there was no hope that he’d consent to them being together—‘not even if World War III is threatened!’ That was how intransigent the man had been.

As all her hopes had seemingly turned to dust she hadn’t been able to hide her sorrow. Before Seth had been able to reassure her that nothing would break them apart, she’d mouthed a forlorn I’m sorry, then quickly fled upstairs. He’d hardly known what to do.

After that, things had just gone from bad to worse. Once again he’d tried to get Siddons to relent and see sense but it had been useless. The man had been about as flexible as an iron wall. There had been no ‘give’ in his heart whatsoever.

Seth had slammed out through the door in a temper, vowing again that no matter what he and Louisa were going to be together. The pompous banker could do his worst, but Seth would find a way.

The next day he’d left Louisa this note at the university, because before he’d left the house her father had cruelly declared that he was confiscating her phone. To leave her a note had been Seth’s only means of reaching her until he’d figured out something better. One thing was for sure: Siddons would burn the missive if he found it first.

But a few days later his whole world had shifted on its axis and been demolished, all his hopes and aspirations turned to rubble. A friend of Louisa’s had knocked on his door in the early hours of the morning to inform him tearfully that she’d been killed in a hit-and-run accident. Seth had wanted to die, too. Just how was he going to carry on without her?

Now, tightly clutching the note, he walked across to the staircase and sank down onto one of the steps. He knew that it should comfort him to know that Louisa had read the message before she died and briefly treasured it, but he had been waiting too long to find that out, and in the meantime the damage had been done.

All that seeing it had done was reaffirm the fact that he should have tried harder to be with her, much harder... Even if her unrelenting father had come up with some trumped-up reason to prosecute him and had him thrown into jail.

Feeling enraged, he muttered a furious curse.

Watching Seth, Imogen felt two things hit her at once. The man was distraught. The repercussions that she had been wary of had come to pass. The muscle that flickered at the side of his lean, carved jaw immediately informed her that he was having significant trouble in containing his emotions. One thing was certain—seeing the note hadn’t given him any pleasure.

That led to her next realisation. He and his loved one hadn’t stayed together. No matter how much she’d hoped, true love hadn’t sustained them after all. She felt like crying.

But her deep sense of disappointment was quickly overridden by her concern for the man sitting on the stairs. Leaning towards him, she gently laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

Even as the words left her lips Imogen knew the question was futile.

Turning his haunted blue eyes towards her, Seth Broden’s mouth twisted grimly. ‘Meaning, am I still breathing and alive despite the fact that I probably should have gone to hell for my part in what happened?’

Contemptuously jerking his head, he stood up and shook off her hand.

‘I need a drink.’

Imogen turned pale. Outside, the fierce wind battered against the leaded windows as if it would break through the glass. Suddenly she felt as though freezing jagged ice had invaded her veins. What did he mean by such a statement? Had something terrible happened?

Why hadn’t she really thought about the wisdom or lack of it in contacting the note’s author? Because now that she had found him it seemed to have delivered anything but happiness to him. Not meaning to, she’d blundered in regardless and brought pain to this man. As to what she’d achieved for herself—she’d just smothered another longed-for dream.

‘I didn’t know that the note would upset you so much,’ she stated huskily. ‘The message was so heartfelt. I just wanted to find out if—if the people involved had been reunited?’

‘And what...? Prove that happy-ever-after really exists?’

Feeling as though she’d been whipped, Imogen flinched. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

Seth stared. ‘I don’t mean for you to come crashing back down to earth with a bang, sweetheart...but it’s probably better if you don’t delude yourself.’

‘I’m guessing that you wrote the note?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘I don’t mean to intrude more than I’ve done already, but will you— Can you tell me what happened?’

He moved down the stairs to stand in front of her, his expression a mixture of anger and resignation, and she didn’t know why he didn’t demand she leave.

‘The lady died...end of story.’

But Imogen saw that it wasn’t the end of the story. How could it be?

‘I’m so sorry.’

She meant it with all her heart. It was only natural that she’d commiserate with his loss. It honestly grieved her that fate had intervened and stolen the couple’s happiness. God knew it was hard enough to come by.

Seth Broden wore the scars of that loss as if they were physical ones. They weren’t easy to hide in such a compellingly carved face. Amidst such perfection the smallest irregularity couldn’t fail to show.

‘How did it happen?’

‘It was a hit and run. The bastard didn’t waste his time waiting to see what he’d done. Just left her lying in the road.’

‘Dear God...’ The shock ricocheted right through her.

Seth’s tormented glance seared hers. ‘No amount of condolence or sympathy is going to bring her back, so don’t get upset on my account. Is your car outside?’ he added sharply.

‘I didn’t drive. I walked here.’

‘I take it you must live in town, then? That’s about five miles away. Clearly a long walk doesn’t faze you?’

Imogen shook her head. ‘Not at all... I love it. It helps to keep me fit.’

‘Even so, I’ll give you a lift home. It’s getting late as well as becoming dark.’ He briefly glanced down at his watch. ‘I never meant to stay here so long.’

She wasn’t going to argue. She felt strangely reluctant to leave him. Perhaps on the way he might relent and tell her a little bit more about the woman he’d lost?

‘So long as you’re sure you’re ready to leave?’

‘I am. I was checking things over, but I’m finished now.’

‘Are you going to move in here soon?’

‘I haven’t decided.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m ready to go when you are, then.’

She swept back her silky brown hair and pulled the collar of her coat more snugly round her neck...not that it would give her much added protection against the wind that was howling outside. It sounded as if it was brewing up a cyclone!

They hurried out to his car. When they were ensconced in the sumptuous leather of Seth’s comfortable sedan, he turned to her and said, ‘Where to?’

As soon as Imogen gave him the directions he nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I know exactly where you mean.’ His expression failed to tell her whether the knowledge pleased him or not.

Leaving the impressive Gothic building behind them, they headed out through the tree-lined lanes towards the centre of the town. During the journey they were both silent. Imogen didn’t feel quite brave enough to question him again, and she wanted to respect his need for what must be quiet reflection.

Just twenty minutes later they arrived, and Seth negotiated the roads that took them to her address. As instructed, he pulled up in front of a neat black door with a gilt number one on it. It was dusk, and a lone street lamp helpfully illuminated the small row of terraced houses. Apart from the ethereal soughing of the wind, all was quiet. Most of the town’s workforce had departed for home.

Turning towards her companion, Imogen breathed out a sigh. Seth’s expression was as implacable as ever, but his strong, lean hands gripped the leather-clad steering wheel as though it was a much-needed anchor.

She was sorry they hadn’t had more time to talk. But, clutching at yet another straw, she said quickly, ‘Can I offer you a drink...in payment for the ride home, I mean?’

‘You think the age-old remedy of a cup of tea might help to set things right?’

The tone of his voice registered his scorn.

Pushing his fingers agitatedly through his hair, he continued, ‘I don’t want payment, but if you’re going to offer me a drink, then I’d prefer something stronger than tea.’

She sensed her cheeks flush heatedly as his intense blue eyes roamed her face. It made it doubly hard to form a reply. ‘I—I have some brandy that a friend bought me for my birthday. Will that do?’

‘Yes, it will—but only if you agree to join me. I won’t be making any more revelations, if that’s what you’re thinking, but a companionable silence might be welcome.’

Flushing again, Imogen nodded. ‘All right, then. Why don’t you park the car and come in? I’ll leave the front door open. My flat is on the ground floor.’ The words were out before she could stop them.

After unlocking the door, she entered the house. The small apartment she rented was easily accessible and the door opened onto a cosy, compact living room. She was putting a match to the tinder in the wood burner when she sensed Seth coming in behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his interested gaze scan the room.

As was her habit, she’d left everything tidy that morning. The task helped her to get clear about the day ahead. But strangely the ability seemed to elude her now, as her glance collided with Seth’s. Suddenly she didn’t feel clear about very much at all. And ever since she’d laid her hand on his shoulder to comfort him the oddly intimate sensation of warmth and strength hadn’t left her. It didn’t help that she still sensed his agitation. The note she’d found had clearly been a great shock to him.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she invited. ‘I’ll get you that drink.’

‘Sure...’ he murmured, shrugging off his coat.

He draped it over the arm of a nearby easy chair as though it was nothing, but she glimpsed the Italian designer label attached to the silk lining. The garment was both exclusive and expensive, and it said much about the taste of its owner.

She watched thoughtfully as he dropped down onto the battered brown leather couch that had serviced several other tenants before Imogen. Even though she’d personalised it with the flowing red-and-gold Indian shawl that she’d draped over the back, it was still more ‘shabby chic’ than smart. Positioned next to the couch was a pile of hardback books on a maple-wood coffee table, and he picked up the top one to examine it.

‘Interesting,’ he murmured, reading the flyleaf. ‘I can see that you like a mystery.’

‘Thrillers aren’t really my thing, but a friend lent it to me,’ she explained. ‘She said the story was terrific.’

‘Would that be the same friend who gave you the bottle of brandy?’

‘Yes, it was, as a matter of fact...though I rarely drink that stuff at all. She was hoping I’d let my hair down and celebrate for once.’

Imogen stared at the fire and felt her cheeks heat. Why had she told him that?

‘And did you?’

‘I did—but not with brandy. I stuck to orange juice that night.’

Checking that the flame had taken hold in the wood burner, she straightened and dusted her hands down her jeans.

Her companion was studying her intently and, feeling strangely as if she’d been put under a spotlight, she said, ‘Give me a minute and I’ll go and get you that drink.’

The tiny kitchen was adjacent to the living room. It wasn’t particularly well-appointed, but it had a fairly new gas stove, an original butler’s sink that was still in good order, a plum-coloured granite worktop and a couple of sturdy pine shelves on which she’d stacked some blue-and-white crockery. The bottle of brandy was located next to the stoneware bread crock.

Pouring a proper drink for a man wasn’t something she was remotely used to. Her ex-fiancé, Greg, had been teetotal. That was until she’d found out that he wasn’t. It had been another lie amongst the many that he’d told her. But dwelling on the thought was apt to remind her of his shocking betrayal and make her mood plummet. She was determined not to let that happen. After all, she’d vowed to make a fresh start, hadn’t she? From now on she wanted to believe that good things did and could happen, despite the evidence to the contrary. How else was she going to turn her life around?

But her hand visibly trembled as she reached for the bottle of brandy and she had to take a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. Seth Broden was the first man she’d ever invited back to the flat and she shouldn’t forget that he was neither a friend nor a colleague. He was practically a stranger. And such was the contrast between the awe-inspiring mansion he owned and the modest flat she rented that it was bound to make her conscious of the difference between her life and his.

She reached up to the overhead shelf and retrieved a couple of glass tumblers and, taking the bottle of brandy with her, returned to the living room. Handing one of the glasses to Seth, she set the brandy down on the table beside him.

‘Please help yourself. I’m just going to hang up my coat. Want me to do the same for yours?’

He quirked what looked to be an amused eyebrow and said, ‘Thanks.’

When Imogen returned from hanging the garments on the coat stand the fire in the burner was nicely warming the room and, having helped himself to brandy, Seth had set down the book he’d been perusing. He’d also settled himself more comfortably on the couch. His hard-muscled legs were noticeably long in the smart black chinos he wore, she saw, and the width of his shoulders was impressive.

She would have had to be blind not to notice that fact. His girlfriend must have loved the sense of strength he exuded. No doubt it had made her feel protected.

‘I’ve poured you a drink,’ he said as she sat down in the chintz-covered armchair. ‘Perhaps you’ll make an exception tonight and join me?’

‘Sure.’ Taking a tentative sip, she felt the slow burn of alcohol register in her gut as she swallowed it down. It was so powerful it immediately brought tears to her eyes.

‘You’re not used to drinking at all, are you?’ His tone was gently teasing.

Imogen felt like an idiot. A sophisticated woman she was not. Setting down her glass, she curled some of her hair round her ear. ‘No...I’m not.’

Thankfully, her guest didn’t pursue the topic. ‘So, tell me, how long have you lived here?’ he asked instead.

Trying to relax, she somehow found a smile. ‘About a year.’

‘And you work in the area?’

‘Yes, I do.’

Still cradling his drink, Seth leaned forward. The movement stirred the air with the scent of his arresting cologne. She didn’t know what made it smell so alluring but she didn’t have to... It had got her attention.

‘And what is it that you work at?’

‘I’m a secretary. I work for a legal practice.’

‘And you enjoy it?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do. I’m lucky enough to work for a very nice woman, and the work is genuinely interesting.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I think if everyone enjoyed their work the world would go a long way to being a better place. I recently read that eighty per cent of the population hate their jobs. Thank God I’m not one of those. It’s bad enough having to deal with all the other challenges that can come at you.’

‘What do you mean, exactly?’

‘I mean like pain and disappointment and the death of loved ones. Yes, all that can grind even the most stoic person down.’

He took a generous swig of brandy, and to Imogen’s surprise she saw a sudden flare of pain in his diamond-bright eyes. His doleful words reminded her of the reason they had met—why he happened to be sitting there in her flat. Her heart squeezed in sympathy.

‘I agree. Life can seem unbearable sometimes. But we should never lose hope that things can get better.’

‘I admire your optimism, Imogen. Long may it last.’

Her guest looked to be candidly assessing her, and she suddenly found herself transfixed by him. What would it be like to have such a charismatic man’s regard? she wondered.

Fearing she was becoming too entranced, she said quickly, ‘Anyway, you said that you appreciated a companionable silence and I’ve already been talking too much...’

‘Not necessarily. Your voice is actually very soothing.’

Taken aback by the compliment, she said quickly, ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve got a couple of things to do in the kitchen. Do you mind if I leave you on your own for a while?’

‘Not at all... That is, unless you’d prefer to stay and talk to me?’

Such a simply put invitation shouldn’t make her insides flutter with the most intoxicating pleasure but it did, and her reaction warned her to tread very carefully where Seth Broden was concerned.

‘I don’t have a preference, but I perfectly understand if you want some time on your own for a while. Just call me if you need anything.’

Seth blinked and glanced away. ‘As tempting as that offer sounds, sweetheart, there’s nothing I really need right now other than the brandy.’

‘I’ll leave you in peace, then.’

His gaze immediately found hers again and he looked far from reassured. ‘Not possible—but I appreciate the sentiment.’

Even as she left the room Imogen remembered the note he’d left for his girlfriend.

You’re the only one who can calm the lightning in my soul and help me find peace.

That last remark he’d made confirmed he’d lost all faith in ever experiencing such an elusive concept again, and once more her foolish heart ached. Not just for Seth but for herself, too. No one could know the emotional wreckage that was left behind when faced with the loss of the person you loved...the hopelessness that ensued. A person had to experience it for themselves before they could even begin to understand.

* * *

It was blissfully quiet and oddly comforting as Seth sat in front of the wood burner, sipping brandy in Imogen’s simple front room.

Ahead of his return to the UK he had booked a suite at a five-star hotel, where he might rest and relax and mull over what he was going to do with the Siddonses’ house. He still hadn’t decided whether he actually wanted to live in it. All he’d known when his estate agent friend had rung to tell him that the house was up for sale was that he simply had to have it. He didn’t really know why, except that it was a significant part of his past and he wanted to right the wrong that had been done there.

But how did you right the wrong of a loved one being taken from the world too soon?

He wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of showing James Siddons that he’d exceeded his wealth, thereby proving that he’d kept his word about becoming successful. Who would have believed that a poor car mechanic would become an exceedingly rich dealer in some of the most desirable cars in the world—and friend to the rich and famous on the way?

But even as Seth reflected on what he’d achieved he couldn’t deny that underneath it all there was still a sense of something missing.

Staring back into the autumn-coloured hues of the burner’s flames, he wondered if Imogen had anyone significant in her life. She was a pretty little thing, and kind, too. He was a total stranger to her, but when he’d declared that he needed a drink she’d had no hesitation in offering him some brandy.

He’d been able to tell straight away that she was a compassionate woman. She was certainly nothing like the majority of well-heeled ‘high-maintenance’ females he usually came into contact with in New York. Yes, he enjoyed the fact that they flocked round him like bees round a honeypot whenever he was socialising, but lately the ability to attract beautiful and sophisticated women had definitely begun to pall.

Maybe that was also why he’d returned to the UK? Hopefully he could move around unremarked. He didn’t have such a glamorous profile here. Except that he might yet have to deal with the curiosity of the media when the citizens of his hometown noted that he’d returned...

The combination of the heat from the fire and the brandy he’d consumed couldn’t help but make Seth’s eyelids droop. Seconds later he’d fallen asleep, with his head resting against a diamond-patterned cushion he’d placed behind him.

He didn’t register Imogen’s return. Nor did he see the generous plate of sandwiches she’d brought with her from the kitchen. He’d fallen into the deepest sleep he’d had in years.

When he eventually stirred he couldn’t believe the time. Evidenced by the morning light that he glimpsed behind the room’s slatted rattan blinds, several hours had elapsed. The cosy fire in the burner had long perished and the room was decidedly chilly, despite the woollen throw that Imogen must have draped over his knees.

It took him aback to realise he must have been asleep for most of the night... How could that be? How could he have let his guard down like that in front of a complete stranger? It just didn’t make sense.

Rubbing his hand round his beard-roughened jaw, he pushed the throw aside and sat up. Maintaining the same position for several hours had inevitably cramped his body. A dull ache that bordered on the painful throbbed through his entire being. Rising to his feet, he stretched his arms up high over his head and rolled his shoulders. His mouth was as dry as a sun-bleached riverbed and he was in dire need of water.

Strolling out into the kitchen, he flicked on the light and immediately saw the cling film–wrapped tray of sandwiches on the worktop. Had Imogen made those to share with him last night? Even as Seth had the thought he realised how hungry he was. What an idiot he was for falling asleep like that!

Pouring a glass of water, he gulped down several mouthfuls. His thirst sated, he helped himself to a couple of sandwiches and hungrily wolfed them down. Then he returned to the living room.

He was just rolling up the blinds when his hostess walked in, wearing lavender-coloured pyjamas and a matching dressing gown, her chestnut hair a mass of eye-catching curls. It stopped him in his tracks to notice that her skin was nothing less than flawless...even at this unearthly hour.

‘Good morning,’ he greeted her huskily.

Her big brown eyes mirrored her astonishment. ‘You’re still here!’

‘I’m afraid I am. You should have woken me and told me to go home.’

Imogen smiled delicately. ‘You were sleeping so soundly when I came back from the kitchen I didn’t want to disturb you. You were obviously very tired. But shock can do that to a person.’

Seth was puzzled. ‘Shock?’

‘The note?’ she reminded him gently.

Finding himself reacquainted with the letter he’d written to Louisa all those years ago and learning that she’d read it before she died must have been responsible for lowering his defences. He would never normally make himself so vulnerable. Undoubtedly the generous glass of brandy he’d drunk had helped...

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