Celebrate the legend that is bestselling author

PENNY JORDAN

Phenomenally successful author of more than two hundred books with sales of over a hundred million copies!

Penny Jordan’s novels are loved by millions of readers all around the word in many different languages. Mills & Boon are proud to have published one hundred and eighty-seven novels and novellas written by Penny Jordan, who was a reader favourite right from her very first novel through to her last.

This beautiful digital collection offers a chance to recapture the pleasure of all of Penny Jordan’s fabulous, glamorous and romantic novels for Mills & Boon.

About the Author

PENNY JORDAN is one of Mills & Boon’s most popular authors. Sadly, Penny died from cancer on 31st December 2011, aged sixty-five. She leaves an outstanding legacy, having sold over a hundred million books around the world. She wrote a total of one hundred and eighty-seven novels for Mills & Boon, including the phenomenally successful A Perfect Family, To Love, Honour & Betray, The Perfect Sinner and Power Play, which hit the Sunday Times and New York Times bestseller lists. Loved for her distinctive voice, her success was in part because she continually broke boundaries and evolved her writing to keep up with readers’ changing tastes. Publishers Weekly said about Jordan ‘Women everywhere will find pieces of themselves in Jordan’s characters’ and this perhaps explains her enduring appeal.

Although Penny was born in Preston, Lancashire and spent her childhood there, she moved to Cheshire as a teenager and continued to live there for the rest of her life. Following the death of her husband, she moved to the small traditional Cheshire market town on which she based her much-loved Crighton books.

Penny was a member and supporter of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Romance Writers of America—two organisations dedicated to providing support for both published and yet-to-be-published authors. Her significant contribution to women’s fiction was recognised in 2011, when the Romantic Novelists’ Association presented Penny with a Lifetime Achievement Award.

Special Treatment
Penny Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THE BRIEFING WAS over. Rather unsteadily, Susannah got up and hurried out into the corridor, needing the sanctuary of the small cubby-hole that passed for her office.

Her teeth were clenched so hard that her jaw ached, and so did her head. Her nervous system, always the first thing to react when anything upset her, had gone into overdrive.

‘You rather got the cold shoulder from our new lord and master, didn’t you, darling? I wonder why,’ a slow female drawl came from behind her.

Oh, God, the last thing she wanted right now was to have to parry Claire Hunter’s acid curiosity!

The older woman had been with the magazine ever since its inception. Where her work was concerned, she was brilliant, quite without equal, witty and clever with her malicious tongue-in-cheek reporting of the foibles and fickleness of the fashionable world, which was her métier; but woe betide anyone who forgot to give Claire the recognition she considered her due.

Hazard Maine had not done so, and now she, Susannah, was having to pay the price, she reflected wryly, parrying her colleague’s inquisitive comment with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders and a casual, ‘No idea. New-broom syndrome, I suppose. I just happened to be first in the firing line. That will teach me to arrive at the last minute and get lumbered with a seat in the front row.’

Claire seemed satisfied with her response, and Susannah shut the door of her office behind her in relief. Damn Hazard Maine. Hazard Maine! What sort of a name was that, for God’s sake? He was probably American, of course, and his name was almost as familiar to her as her own. Most of his career years had been spent in New York and Sydney, and he had only recently been recalled to head the prestigious Tomorrow magazine, which was the flagship of MacFarlane Publishing.

She knew already that they weren’t going to get on. But then she had known that ever since Saturday …

Susannah closed her eyes momentarily. As if she didn’t have enough problems in her life, without adding any more! The very last thing she needed was to be on bad terms with her new boss. She and Richard had got on so well. Richard had encouraged and helped her. Richard …

It was pointless wishing Richard back in the editor’s seat. His wife, Tom MacFarlane’s only child, had made it plain that she was tired of sharing her husband with the demands of a highly successful monthly magazine, and Richard had reluctantly accepted that, unless he wanted to lose his wife, he was going to have to join his father-in-law on the board.

Maybe Aunt Emily was right, and it was Susannah’s vibrant chestnut hair that attracted all the problems that seemed to clutter her life. She ought to adopt Claire Hunter’s cool, dismissive approach to life, instead of allowing herself to become so involved in the problems of others—problems which inevitably, in some alchemic way, became her own.

Take last Saturday, for instance. Susannah groaned, pushing long, slim fingers into her already unruly curls. God, the very last thing she wanted to do was to remember that!

It had all been David’s fault, damn him. Susannah scowled ferociously, glowering at her typewriter.

She had been a fool ever to allow herself to become involved with David Martin, and it didn’t help knowing that she had fallen into the same trap as a good proportion of the rest of her sex.

Falling in love with a married man was so … so tacky, she fumed, hazel eyes glowing green as her temper got the better of her. She ought to have known … but how could she have done? They had met initially as guests on a local radio chat show. He had been working in television then, she for a local newspaper. They had had so much in common that, when he suggested dinner and a drink after the show, she had not even thought about refusing. Caution had never been one of her strong points and, by the time she had discovered he was married, she was almost in too deep.

It had been a friend who told her, a very concerned and apprehensive girl-friend who had known her for years, and who had guessed that she couldn’t know what, apparently, everyone else did—namely, that David was married.

Susannah had taxed him with it, and rather shamefacedly he had admitted that he had deceived her, pleading that it had only been by omission.

At first, he’d pleaded, he had not thought it important to tell her that he was married, and then by the time that it was … Well, he had been too scared of losing her to admit the truth.

Torn between the strength of her feelings—her own impulsiveness and the old-fashioned moral strictures she had grown up with—she hadn’t known whether to thank or curse Aunt Emily. Orphaned in the first months of her life, when a freak storm had overturned her father’s small boat, killing both her parents, she had been brought up by her only living relative. Being brought up by an elderly spinster, who was more properly her dead father’s aunt and not her own, did not equip one for life in the eighties, she had reflected miserably at the time. Another girl would have pushed aside her moral scruples and taken what life offered, but Susannah wasn’t like that. David was committed to someone else, and so, heartbreaking though it had been at the time, she had announced to Aunt Emily that it was time she spread her wings, and had started looking for a new job in London.

She had been lucky, thus confirming the old adage about those unlucky in love, or so she had told herself at the time.

In eight months, she had come a long way from the miserable twenty-three-year-old who had left Leicestershire feeling that nothing in life was worth while.

Richard, her boss, had practically adopted her. He had a keen eye for up-and-coming young reporters, whom he took a pride in nurturing and encouraging. She was lucky to have found a job working under him, so she had learned on the newspaper grapevine, and she was forced to concede that it was right. She was just beginning to get back her self-confidence, just beginning to feel that life, after all, might be worth living, albeit a different sort of life from the one she had envisaged that she and David would share, when David himself had shown up in London.

How he had inveigled her address out of Aunt Emily, Susannah didn’t know. He had arrived late one cool summer night, when it hadn’t stopped raining all day. She had been feeling tired, but exultant. A piece she had done, from an interview with a girl who had accidentally got caught up in a siege situation, had been highly praised by Richard and, as if to confirm that she was at last finding her feet in the fast-paced world of the city, two of Susannah’s female colleagues had insisted on her joining them for lunch. They were older than she was, and far more experienced and sophisticated, and it had been a heady experience to have them including her in their conversation as an equal.

She was, they had informed her, marked out as a woman who would go far.

‘We owe it to our sex to help and encourage one another. It’s time we found a way of beating the Old School Tie male system.’

Susannah had come away from the lunch feeling both elated and drained at the same time, her mind made up. From now on, she was going to concentrate on her career. From now on, no more men for her, married or unmarried.

To open her front door and find David standing there, and, what was worse, to feel her heart lurch in the old familiar way, had been dauntingly depressing.

He had insisted on coming in. He had left Louise, he had told her. Their marriage was over, and he was now free to start a new life with her.

She had been tempted. It was no good pretending that she hadn’t. David had wanted to spend the night with her, and she had almost given way. Only the uncomfortable memory of how Aunt Emily would look at her if she knew what Susannah was doing had stopped her. It was ridiculous in this day and age to have such Victorian scruples, but she couldn’t help it. Aunt Emily had done her work too well. As a teenager, Susannah had believed that, once she met the man she loved, all her moral doubts about the rights and wrongs of premarital sex would simply fade away, but it wasn’t as easy as that.

‘What are you trying to tell me?’ David had demanded incredulously. ‘That we can’t make love until we’re married?’

Put like that, it sounded archaic, and worse, scheming—as though she was bartering her body for a wedding ring.

‘No … It’s just that I’m not ready yet, David … I can’t explain …’

She had been perilously close to tears, shaking her head to try and blink them away, but to her relief David hadn’t been annoyed. Instead he had laughed and taken her into his arms.

‘What a fraud you are,’ he had teased her. ‘What would the world think if they knew that Ms Susannah Hargreaves, that champion of free will and women’s rights, is really a timid little virgin?’

She had been too relieved then to feel angry at his aura of sexual superiority; that had come later. She shivered a little, remembering the glitter of anticipation in his eyes. How much had David wanted her because he genuinely loved her, and how much because he saw her as a challenge?

What did it matter now? There could be nothing between them any more. She had made that abundantly clear to him.

Her flat wasn’t large enough for David to stay. It only had one small bedroom, so he had returned to Leicester, telling her that he would be back at the weekend and that they would sit down and make plans for their future together.

Only, before he came back, she had had another visit. This time, from David’s wife. Susannah knew her by sight, a small blonde woman, who looked permanently harassed.

The sight of her body, bloated by a very obviously advanced pregnancy, had shocked Susannah even more than her visit. Wordlessly, she had allowed her to walk into the flat, to sit down and to tell her in a savagely bitter monotone that David was demanding a divorce and leaving her with their unborn child. At first, Susannah hadn’t been able to take it all in. David’s wife pregnant … carrying his child? She wasn’t completely naïve; she knew that men—for a wide variety of reasons—made love to women for whom they felt little or no emotion. But this child must have been conceived before she had left for London, and now David wanted to pretend that it had never happened. He wanted to turn his back on his wife and child and simply walk away from them. In that moment, Susannah knew that no matter what she felt for him, she couldn’t marry him.

Looking into Louise’s white, bloated face, she wasn’t sure which of them she pitied and despised the most: Louise, for wanting her husband so desperately that she was prepared to beg like this for him, David, for being so weak that he had allowed his wife to become pregnant and then discarded her, or herself, for not realising the weakness that lay behind that charming smile of his. Well, she realised it now. Aunt Emily had once said to her, when Susannah asked her why she had never married, that she had never found a man she considered worthy of her respect and her trust. Susannah had laughed then, as teenagers do, not understanding what her aunt was telling her, but she understood it now. She loved David, and wanted him, but she did not respect him; she could never lean on him, never trust him.

The interview that followed was burned into her heart for all time. David had pleaded with her, wept tears of frustration and regret, but somehow she managed not to weaken. She had no idea whether or not he intended to go back to his wife. Somehow, she felt that he would, and she sincerely pitied the other woman for all that her life with him would probably be.

She told herself that she had had a narrow escape, that she was the fortunate one, that hers had been the choice, but somewhere deep inside her she still ached and wept for the love she had lost.

And it had been in that mood of bitter self-contempt and misery that she had gone to the Sunderlands’ ‘do’ on Saturday evening.

The Sunderlands were the closest thing she had to godparents. Neil Sunderland had been at school with her father. She had spent many holidays with the family, both at home and abroad, and now that their own two sons were married and living away from home, one in Canada, the other in Australia, she made a point of visiting Neil and Mamie just as often as she could.

Neil had retired earlier in the year from the merchant bank of which he was a director, and they had given up their London house and moved to a small village on the outskirts of Gloucester. Susannah had visited them there several times during the summer and, even though it was the last thing she felt like doing, she knew she would have to go to Mamie’s sixtieth birthday party.

Paul and Simon and their respective wives and children were all coming over for the occasion. Susannah was expected to stay the weekend; the house was a large one, with an extensive garden, and Susannah already knew all about the lavish plans for Mamie’s party.

Mamie was half-American, which accounted not just for her name, but very probably for her love of life as well. She and Aunt Emily did not get on, and no wonder, Susannah reflected wryly—they were as different as chalk and cheese. She could not imagine any girl brought up by Mamie worrying about the ethics of going to bed with a man to whom she was not married!

She got up clumsily, cursing the lack of space in her office; uncomfortably aware of the fact that using Aunt Emily for an excuse for her lack of sexuality was taking an easy way out. She could feel the starkness of a mood of deep introspection crowding in on her, like a winter’s afternoon obliterating the light. How she resented this side of her nature, this dark, and sometimes frightening, gloom that came down over her without warning, engulfing and possessing her.

No doubt, like her temper, it went with her hair, and so perhaps it did, part of a Celtic heritage, like her pale delicate skin and stormy green eyes.

And it hadn’t helped having Hazard Maine ripping into her like that. It was the worst of bad luck that he should have spotted that yawn she had tried to smother behind her hand.

Of course, she hadn’t found what he was saying boring—quite the contrary. How could anyone be bored when listening to a diatribe against the skills of an editorial staff among which one numbered? It hadn’t just been to cover up that she had accused him of wanting to behave like a traditional new broom. She had been so happy working for Richard. Susannah scowled, wondering for how long she would be given the opportunity to continue working for the magazine. Hazard Maine didn’t like her. To judge from his lecture to them this morning, he didn’t like any of them. He had attacked the magazine, throwing them all off guard, warning them that he intended to make changes. But surely those cold grey eyes had rested on her face just momentarily longer than they had on anyone else’s?

To her horror, she had had to stifle another yawn. This time, he hadn’t even attempted to soften his contempt.

‘Work comes first for anyone who wants to succeed on this magazine, Ms Hargreaves,’ he had told her crisply. ‘That being the case, I suggest you either change your job—or your lover.’

She had flushed scarlet, mortified by the ripple of amusement that ran through the room, and all too aware of the speculative glances of her male colleagues. She had a reputation for being cool and unapproachable. Her private life was something she never discussed at work, and with one short sentence Hazard Maine had created an image of her life-style that was totally false, and yet which she was completely unable to correct.

She knew why he had picked on her, of course. Her full mouth tightened angrily. He might be a big man in size, well over six foot and athletically muscled, but he certainly wasn’t in spirit. To hold what had happened on Saturday against her like that … Of all the bad luck! She had never imagined—but then why should she? Neil and Mamie moved in completely different circles from those she inhabited. She had never dreamed …

But then, the weekend had gone disastrously wrong, right from the start …

She sat back in her chair, trembling.

CHAPTER TWO

SHUTTING THE DOOR of her flat behind her with her shoulder, Susannah put down the box she was carrying. Her arms ached and she flexed them gratefully. A quick cup of coffee, change into her travelling clothes and then she could be away.

Trust Mamie not to warn her until the last minute that it was going to be a formal ‘do’. White tie and tails, no less! She had been lucky to be able to find a dress to fit her at such short notice. She was only a size eight, and the dress hire shop she had rung up in a state of panic had told her that they stocked very few extra-small sizes.

The dress she had chosen was quite plain. She wasn’t in the mood for dressing up in anything eye-catching. She wasn’t in the mood for anything other than her own company, if the truth were known, but if she failed to turn up Mamie would pick and question until she had got at the truth, and the last thing she wanted was for worldly, sophisticated Mamie to know what a fool she had made of herself.

They had an odd relationship—sometimes friends, sometimes enemies—and there were times when Susannah envied Mamie’s daughters-in-law the oceans that separated them from her inquisitive tongue. And yet she knew Mamie loved her.

‘Don’t be frightened of life,’ she was always urging her. ‘Jump in and enjoy it.’

‘Susannah isn’t the jumping-in type. We British aren’t,’ Neil had palliated, and yet somehow even his kind words left a slight sting.

A sting that was intensified now. How much of her rejection of David had to do with what she genuinely believed to be right, and how much was because she was terrified of the implications of committing herself to him? Was it because Emily had always held her firmly at a distance that she herself was unable to allow anyone to get close, really close to her?

Angry with herself, she hurried into her bedroom, pulling a brush through her tangled curls, and quickly changing out of her jeans and sweatshirt into the separates she had bought for herself the previous week.

At first sight, pink and black might not seem the best choice of colours for a redhead, but she had the colouring to get away with them, and the pink was of that soft, intensely feminine variety that made those who could not wear it gnash their teeth with envy.

The dress, her case and the present she had bought for Mamie were all speedily packed into her Fiesta, the flat locked up and the alarm set. She should be there in time for lunch. The afternoon would probably be taken up with a multitude of last-minute tasks for Mamie, and then there would only be the evening to be got through. Thank God, Mamie knew nothing about David … David … Even now, part of her wished …

What? she derided herself. That by some magic process he could miraculously be free? But he wasn’t free, and she didn’t think she could live with herself or him, knowing that he was prepared to turn his back on his child. Susannah wasn’t sentimental where children were concerned, but she had been brought up to recognise the importance of facing up to one’s responsibilities. And, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t know how she would cope with loving a man who had already previously committed himself to another woman.

Stop thinking about him, she admonished herself. It’s over …

Easier said than done, but one look at her face would alert Mamie to the fact that something was wrong, and then she would pry and question, and Susannah really didn’t think she was capable of dealing with Mamie’s curiosity, however well meant.

She tried to think about something else—about the praise Richard had given her for that piece on the siege victim. He had been enthusiastic and flattering about her talent. He had prophesied that she would go far. But Richard was leaving and Hazard Maine was taking his place. What would he be like, this American who had spent his life between continents, when he wasn’t reporting from some war-torn part of the globe?

She had read up his biog. They all had, once they had known that he was taking over the editor’s chair. He was thirty-four years old, ten years older than she was; unmarried. That had surprised her until she remembered that he had been a war correspondent, and war correspondents rarely married. He had edited papers in New York and Sydney, and now he was going to head Tomorrow, MacFarlane’s most prestigious publication.

Jokes had flown round the office about ‘wild colonial hicks’ and ‘clever New York hacks’, but none of them really knew what they were going to have to face. He had a formidable reputation; he was coming in with the power to hire and fire at will, to make his own rules and to do what he wished with the magazine. They had heard that much on the grapevine. Just as they had also heard that, at first, he had turned down the job, claiming that he was a newspaper man and that magazines, no matter how highly prized, did not interest him.

At least, that was the gist of what he had said. Rumour had it that his actual phraseology had been considerably more earthy!

Apart from being rather in awe of his professional reputation, Susannah had no strong feelings about Hazard Maine. She had run out of feelings of any kind. She simply felt she wanted to be left alone to pick up the pieces of her life. She knew that she was going to miss Richard. One or two of the staff had teased her about him, but no one who knew Richard could ever seriously imagine that his interest in her was anything other than professional.

Richard was very much in love with his wife. He had to be to give up a job he loved to take one in which he had very little interest but, as he had told Susannah, he felt he owed it to Caroline.

‘Newspaper men don’t make good husbands, she says, and she’s quite right. Now that the boys are growing up, they need me around. At the moment, I only really see them at weekends, and then not always as much as I should.’

Like her, Richard had been brought up with what was now considered an old-fashioned code of ethics. Susannah liked and admired him. She knew she was going to miss him, as a boss and as a mentor.

Neil and Mamie’s ‘new’ home was a seventeenth-century manor house, approached by a narrow curling drive that hid the stone façade with its mullioned windows from view right until the last moment.

Mamie, with typical American energy and enterprise, had had the inside almost completely gutted since moving in. Experienced and expensive designers had been brought in, and Susannah, who had rather liked the original shabby comfort of the place, was not particularly looking forward to seeing the changes they had wrought.

Several cars were already parked in front of the house, and she reversed her Fiesta into a small space left to one side of a large and very new-looking Jaguar saloon. She always parked next to new cars if she could. It meant the owners were likely to be that bit more careful about opening their doors on her paintwork, or so she always hoped.

The front door opened as she walked towards it and Mamie hurried out to embrace her. The soft tweed skirt, the pastel cashmere sweater, the pearls, all of them were perfectly co-ordinated, and so obviously chosen to fit in with their wearer’s background, that Susannah had to suppress a faint grin. Typical Mamie!

‘You’re too thin,’ she was told firmly. ‘And too pale. What have you been doing with yourself?’

‘Working,’ Susannah told her. ‘And, as for being too thin, I thought no woman could be that.’

‘There’s thin, and then there’s thin,’ Mamie pronounced darkly. ‘And you, my girl, are thin. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Thanks, Mamie.’

Elegant eyebrows lifted towards the older woman’s beautifully styled silver-grey hair. ‘My goodness, you are prickly today.’ The smooth, unlined forehead creased slightly. ‘Susannah, is something wrong?’

Oh, heavens, this was the last thing she needed! Susannah bit down hard on her bottom lip. ‘No, I … You’re right. I think I must have been working too hard. If I apologise for feeling grouchy, will you show me round the house?’

She linked her arm through Mamie’s, deliberately forcing herself to withstand the older woman’s concerned inspection.

‘Apology accepted,’ Mamie said at last, patting her hand. ‘And don’t worry. I won’t indulge myself by taking you up on your self-sacrificing offer.’ She made a small moue. ‘I know that you preferred the house as it was before. You’re just like Neil. He thought we would move in and not touch a thing,’ she scoffed. ‘You English. How you hate change!’

They laughed together, harmony restored, and Susannah allowed herself to feel a small surge of relief. She had forgotten how sharp Mamie could be. She would have to be careful not to betray herself again. She knew that both Mamie and Neil were deeply fond of her. She had no wish to spoil their party by giving them cause for concern.

‘Have Paul and Simon arrived yet?’

‘Last night.’ Mamie rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Much as I love my grandchildren, I have to admit that en masse …’

‘What’s that, Ma? Not tired of us already?’

Paul was the image of Neil, his father, Susannah reflected, as the younger of the two boys enveloped her in a bear hug.

‘And how’s our little red-headed godsister? Good heavens, girl, what have you been doing to yourself? There’s nothing of you!’

‘That’s just what I’ve been telling her.’

‘Where are Sarah and the boys?’ Susannah asked, disentangling herself from Paul’s hug.

‘We’re all in the conservatory. Come on in. Ethel’s just made coffee.’

Ethel was the housekeeper who had been with Mamie and Neil for as long as Susannah had known them. At first, she had flatly refused to leave London, but somehow Mamie had persuaded her.

As they walked into the conservatory, Susannah could see out into the large rear garden, where a marquee had been erected. The whole area was a busy hive of activity, with caterers dashing to and fro, and florists still putting the final touches to their work.

Susannah already knew the two girls Simon and Paul had married, although two new babies had been added to the family since she had last seen them, and they had to be duly admired and cuddled before she could turn her attention to their grandfather.

Retirement suited Neil, she admitted, smiling at him. He was a gentler character than Mamie. Not perhaps as shrewd, but very astute in his own way.

Lunch was a relaxed affair, the conversation flowing freely. It had been almost twelve months since the whole family had last been together, and there was a good deal of gossip to catch up on. Susannah was quite content to sit on the sidelines, putting in the odd comment where appropriate.

‘And what about you, Susannah?’ Simon asked. ‘Still with the magazine?’

‘Yes … and still loving it.’

Was that a touch of defiance in her voice? Much as she liked both men, there was no getting away from the fact that Paul and Simon were rather old-fashioned when it came to women and careers. Both their wives seemed more than content with their family and home lives, but Sarah had been a consultant before marriage, and Emma a highly successful model.

Neither of them, it seemed, missed their busy careers. Was that what love did for you? Susannah wondered bleakly. Did it rob you of all ambition and drive? Had she felt like that about David? Would she have been content to change her whole life-style and to stay at home while he …

While he betrayed her as he had done his wife?

The unpalatable thought wouldn’t go away. This, she knew, was what lay at the root of her determination to break away from him—this fear, this lack of trust.

‘Hey, where have you gone?’

Teasingly, Simon tugged her hair, bringing her out of her thoughts and back into the conversation.

This was the closest thing she had ever known to real family life, and yet even here she remained on the fringe … outside the magic, charmed circle, in some way.

Gradually, the lunch party broke up. Mamie had to talk to the caterers, Neil had some phone calls to make. The children were getting fractious and were borne away by their respective mothers. Paul and Simon were deep in some private conversation. Susannah got up and started to collect the empty plates. She might as well see if she could give Ethel a hand in the kitchen.

Susannah was upstairs in her room, getting ready, when she heard the first of the guests arrive. Late in the afternoon she had gone for a walk, and had been away longer than she had planned. Walking eased her thoughts, it also brought back painful memories. Why was it possible to miss a man she knew she was better off without? She did miss David, even though she knew she had made the right decision.

Sighing faintly, she towelled the last of the moisture from her shower off her skin. Her hired dress was still in its box, and belatedly she remembered that she ought to have got it out and pressed it. She shrugged fatalistically. It was too late now and, besides, Mamie was the star of the evening. No one was likely to notice a few creases in her rather drab dress.

She opened the box, frowning slightly as she caught the shimmer of blue through the tissue paper. Blue … The dress she had chosen was grey, surely?

Uncertainly she lifted it out of the paper, her mouth falling open in shock. This wasn’t the dress she had hired! Dry-mouthed with shock, she stared at it. This was nothing like the dress she had hired. This … Never in a thousand lifetimes would she ever have chosen anything as exotic, as downright … provocative as this dress, with its tightly moulded bodice and its flaring thirties-style fishtail flouncing skirt.

The ruched bodice glittered and sparkled beneath her fingers. She couldn’t wear it! But she had no option. Already she was late.

Cursing beneath her breath, she looked at the underwear she had already laid out. There was no way she was going to be able to wear a bra underneath it.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled it on, not daring to look at her reflection for several seconds.

When she did, she was amazed by how red the intense blue made her hair appear, and how white her skin. Aunt Emily would most definitely not approve; the dress was everything she deplored. It wasn’t so much that it was actually vulgar—indeed, the neckline was relatively modest—but it was the way the ruched fabric hugged every line of her torso right down to her knees before flaring out in that provocative fishtail froth of net and silk.

She couldn’t wear it. She was just about to take it off when Mamie walked into her room.

The older woman looked elegant and soignée in a dress of soft coral silk. Her eyebrows lifted when she saw Susannah.

‘Oh my, that really is something!’

‘They gave me the wrong dress,’ Susannah told her weakly. ‘This is nothing like what I was intending to wear.’

To her shock, Mamie chuckled.

‘Oh, my dear, if you could just see your face! It suits you, you know. The whole effect is very … very challenging: provocative and yet coolly remote. It will drive the men wild.’

‘I don’t want to drive them wild,’ Susannah told her crossly. ‘Mamie, I can’t wear this …’

‘Unless you’ve brought something else with you, you’re going to have to,’ Mamie told her crisply, adding caustically, ‘Susannah, for heaven’s sake! You aren’t your Aunt Emily, you know. There is nothing wrong with the dress, and it suits you to perfection. You’re a woman, not a child; just for once in your life be one.’

She was gone before Susannah could retaliate. Was that how people saw her? she wondered miserably. Mamie had made her feel like some kind of freak, like … Oh, for goodness’ sake, what was she getting so worked up about? It was only a dress. What did it matter if it wasn’t the one she had chosen?

Her head lifted, her chin tilting proudly. So Mamie thought she didn’t know how to be a woman, did she?

Head held high, she made her way downstairs.

Neil and Mamie weren’t having a formal receiving line, so Susannah was free to mingle with the guests who had already arrived: old friends of Mamie and Neil’s from London in the main, people she already knew and felt quite at ease with.

It wasn’t until she saw Simon that she realised how dramatically different the dress made her look. His eyebrows lifted, his mouth pursed in a silent whistle.

‘Wow! What happened to you, Red?’ he demanded teasingly.

‘Nothing,’ she told him flatly, both irritated and at the same time faintly embarrassed by his openly male inspection of her. ‘And don’t look at me like that.’

‘No, don’t,’ agreed his wife, Emma, joining them and giving Susannah a friendly smile. ‘Love your outfit. Lucky you to be able to wear it.’ She grimaced ruefully and patted her hips. ‘I do envy you being so slim.’

‘Nonsense, woman, you’re perfect as you are,’ Simon told her firmly. ‘Are you sure you’re up to the consequences of wearing an outfit like that?’ he teased Susannah over his shoulder as he took his wife’s arm. ‘If not …’

‘Stop tormenting her, Simon,’ Emma commanded him, firmly leading him away.

But it was too late, the damage was done; Susannah immediately felt awkwardly conspicuous, her small stock of courage dwindling away. The best thing she could do would be to find herself a dark corner and to hide away in it until she could safely escape to her room. Aunt Emily had been right, she thought grimly, men did judge a woman on how she dressed. She had never really thought about it before, but now she could see what her aunt meant.

Normally, she didn’t waste much time or concern over her clothes; her life was far too busy for that. Comfortable, loose-fitting skirts or well worn jeans comprised her normal working wear. Busy reporters didn’t have time to worry about looking glamorous.

Glamorous? She made a face at herself in the rococo mirror hanging in the hall. What an out-of-date word! But then, she was out of date, in some respects, at least. She still felt bruised and sore from her last meeting with David. He had accused her then of leading him on, of being a ‘tease’, although his language had been stronger and very offensive. She had seen him in a new light then—not just as a weak man, but as an unkind one as well. She told herself that she had had a lucky escape, but that didn’t make the pain inside go away.

The interior designers had done their work well, she admitted as she slipped into Neil’s study in order to avoid the chattering group of people making their way down the hall.

When she had first seen the house, before Neil and Mamie had moved in, this room had been very neglected, the panelling on the walls in a very poor state of repair. Now it had been cleaned and treated, the stone fireplace restored and Neil’s antique partner’s desk installed, the designer touches showing only in the clever co-ordination of fabrics and ornaments. She rather liked the richness of the paisley fabric chosen for the curtains, she admitted. It went well with the heaviness of the dark red leather chesterfield. This would be a comfortable retreat for Neil, somewhere where he could come to read his papers and escape.

Behind her, the door opened and she stiffened, surprised out of her resentment at being discovered by the unexpectedness of Richard’s familiar voice. ‘My goodness, you do look …’

‘Don’t, please,’ Susannah begged, interrupting him. ‘I think I’ve already heard as much as I want to hear about my changed appearance from Simon.’

She knew she sounded far more irritated than the circumstances warranted, and it wasn’t Richard’s fault that the shop had got their orders muddled up. She bit her lip and apologised.

‘I’m sorry, Richard …’

‘Don’t be. And don’t apologise. Truthfully, my dear, you look lovely. It’s just that I’m more used to seeing you in rather more mundane outfits. I didn’t realise you knew the Sunderlands.’

‘Neil and Mamie are the closest thing I have to a family. Neil and my father were at school together. I must admit, though, that I didn’t realise you knew them.’

‘I don’t—not really. Caroline and Mamie have become great friends though, both of them being newcomers into the area, so to speak. I came in here to escape the hustle for a while. Parties aren’t really my cup of tea.’

But he would never deny Caroline the pleasure of attending them, Susannah thought enviously. He was too kind, too considerate to spoil his wife’s pleasure. If only David could have been more like Richard … She sighed faintly, and instantly Richard frowned in concern.

‘Is something wrong? I must admit I’ve been worrying about you lately. It isn’t this change of editor business that’s worrying you, is it? There’s no need, I promise you. I’ve given Hazard a glowing report on you, and one that you well deserve. He’s not an easy man to get along with, I admit, but he’s a very fair one.’

‘It … it isn’t work.’

She could have bitten her tongue out for letting the admission escape, and the instant she looked into Richard’s face, she guessed that he had already known.

‘Romance troubles, eh?’ he asked sympathetically. ‘Poor Susannah! Would it help to talk about things?’

Susannah shook her head, appalled by the sudden rush of weak tears flooding her eyes and clogging her throat. What on earth was the matter with her? Aunt Emily had brought her up to keep her emotions strictly under control, and here she was, behaving like … ‘Come on, now! It can’t be as bad as all that.’ The comforting arm Richard put round her shoulders was the last straw. To her utter chagrin, she found herself bursting into tears.

‘Come on, now. Whoever he is, he isn’t worth getting into this state over. There are always other fish in the sea, Susannah. Besides, you’ve got a good career ahead of you …’

As she listened to Richard’s soothing voice, she fought to get herself back under control. He was so kind, so gentle, and she felt the worst kind of fool for crying all over him like this.

‘Come on,’ he coaxed gruffly, ‘it will be all right. You’ll see.’

As she lifted her head from his shoulder, Susannah thought she saw someone walk past the open study door. Suddenly conscious of the fact that anyone could walk in and see them, she pulled away from him, mustering a weak smile.

‘I’m being a complete idiot, and you’re quite right. He isn’t worth crying over.’

‘That’s OK, what else are ex-bosses for?’

‘I’d better go upstairs and do something about my face.’

As she turned to leave him, Richard caught hold of her arm and said soberly, ‘It’s a very good face, you know, Susannah. Even more important, there’s a very good brain behind it. Whoever he is, he just isn’t worth what you’re putting yourself through.’

With another watery smile, she left him and hurried up to her room. Apart from a suspicious pinkness round her eyes, she didn’t look too bad, but, as she discovered when she attempted to reapply the small amount of make-up she normally used, it took rather more eye-shadow and mascara than usual to conceal the evidence of her tears. She wasn’t quite sure if she liked the very heavy-lashed effect produced by the extra mascara; it gave her an unfamiliar, almost sultry look.

Shrugging aside the thought, she hurried back downstairs. She was here as Neil and Mamie’s guest, and she mustn’t spoil their party by letting them worry about her.

As luck would have it, Mamie was walking across the hall just as Susannah went back downstairs. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Fine. I didn’t realise you knew Richard, my exboss …’

‘Richard? Oh yes, of course, Caroline’s husband. Heavens, what a coincidence! I really had no idea …’

Having successfully distracted her, Susannah made her escape, pleading thirst.

In point of fact, there was nothing she felt less like doing than drinking champagne and chatting with people who were, in the main, strangers. She wanted to go home and be alone to nurse her hurts, she acknowledged painfully. But what was the point? David wasn’t worth her tears, or her anguish. Savagely, she told herself over and over again, almost as though she was repeating a powerful spell, that she was better off without him, that it was David’s wife who was to be pitied. She had been lonely and David had seen that loneliness and played on it, gradually drawing her deeper and deeper into a relationship which he had known all along was wrong.

Once inside the marquee, she headed for a quiet corner, close to one of the ornate floral decorations. Here she could see without being seen, and with luck escape Mamie’s alert eyes.

If she admitted the truth, she was still suffering from the after-effects of that appalling interview with Louise, David’s wife. The extent to which the other woman had had to degrade herself hurt Susannah; ridiculously, she felt both shame and resentment for Louise on behalf of their shared sex. She didn’t love David any more; how could she? She had deluded herself as to his real personality; the man she had thought she loved had been an ideal, an adolescent’s dream. The reality was the reason for her anguish and shame, she acknowledged, raw with the newness of her emotions. Her hand shook a little, and in a fit of self-disgust she took a deep swallow of her champagne. It tasted tart and sour, like her whole life, she derided herself bitterly, impulsively tipping what was left in her glass into a convenient plant-pot.

It was only as she turned round that she realised that she had been observed. Not by anyone she knew. The man watching her with such compelling eyes was a complete stranger.

His evening clothes had quite obviously been tailored for him; they fitted far too well to have been bought off the peg.

At some time or another in his life he must have indulged in some sort of punishingly physical sport, she guessed, noting the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his torso. He was tanned, not a summer holiday tan, but the tan of someone who had spent long, long hours in the sun. His hair was black and very thick. It was also a shade too long, she noted disapprovingly, its length rather at odds with the sophisticated elegance of his evening-dress clothes. Surely a man whose clothes fitted as well as this one’s did could afford to have a decent hair-cut? Her forehead creased in a slight frown, her reporter’s mind, trained to notice even the smallest anomalies, registered the oddly discordant note of the length of that thick dark hair and queried it. Was it simply that he preferred it that length and didn’t give a damn about what the rest of the world thought? Was it …

Abruptly, she realised that she was staring at him, and that, worse, he was regarding her with a look of insolent knowingness that made her blood burn in a dark red tide of betrayal over her body.

As clearly as though he had spoken the words across the space that divided them, she sensed his sexual appraisal. It was the dress, of course, she realised bitterly. That was why he was looking at her as though she were some sort of commodity for sale. And yet, behind the arrogant contempt, she had glimpsed, if only for a second, something more dangerous: something male and predatory that made her skin tingle and her body quiver. Sexual chemistry at its most potent. And, ridiculously, she had had the distinct impression that he had been as startled by it as she had herself in those few seconds of mental awareness they had exchanged before he had recovered himself and guarded his expression from her.

It was the dress. It had to be the dress. She just did not have that sort of effect on men, especially not on men as blatantly masculine as that one. Everything about him had shrieked that he was a man used to having his own way. It had all been there, in the narrowed, assessing scrutiny of his eyes, and that hard, chiselled outline of his profile. He was about Simon’s age, early thirties or thereabouts, and he looked as though he had lived every one of those years to the full.

He was no David, she thought ironically.

Annoyed with herself, she clenched her hands. It didn’t matter who he was, she wasn’t interested. The last thing she wanted was to get herself involved with another man, especially one who thought she was the sort of woman portrayed by the dress she was wearing.

‘What’s the matter? Wasn’t the champagne an acceptable vintage?’

The derisory sting of his voice shocked her into a frozen pose of surprise. Where had he come from? He must have moved so quickly and quietly. Instinctively, she looked across the room to where he had been and heard him give a soft, satisfied laugh.

‘Quite acceptable, thank you,’ she told him dismissively, hiding her shock.

Close to, Susannah realised she had been right about that sun. It had burned tiny lines either side of his eyes. Pale grey eyes, she noticed, rimmed by a much darker edge. It took a tremendous effort of will-power to drag her own gaze away from them.

Her whole body suddenly felt weak and vulnerable. She started to move away, her voice cool and dismissive. She wasn’t some cheap pick-up, whatever conclusions he had drawn about her from her outfit, and if he didn’t take her hint and take himself off right away he would soon discover his mistake.

A tiny shock thrilled through her as she discovered how much she was relishing the pleasure of putting him down. What was happening to her? What sort of woman was she turning into? She had seen at first hand how hard and embittered some of her older female colleagues had become, and she didn’t want to end up like that. They were so cynical and worldly; time and humankind had destroyed all their illusions and hardened them so that they were incapable of having any real feelings. She couldn’t live like that.

‘What’s a beautiful woman like you doing all alone, I wonder?’

The banality of his words enflamed her. Surely she was worthy of something a little better than that? And then, appallingly, her pain-bruised mind registered the word alone, and she could feel the lump gather treacherously in her throat. Oh, God, she couldn’t cry now! Not in front of this man.

To punish herself, as much as to get rid of him, she said bitterly, ‘If I’m on my own, it’s by my own choice, and if you would please …’

‘Your choice?’ She flinched beneath the derision in his voice. ‘Are you sure that’s the truth? Wouldn’t it be more honest of you to admit that you’re on your own because your lover is with his wife?’

How on earth had he known? Was her guilt written in her eyes for everyone to see? Susannah wanted to cower back from him and hide her face, but pride kept her standing where she was. She wasn’t prepared for this. She would never be prepared for it. She remembered how sick she had been after Louise had gone, and she felt a return of that nausea now.

She made to push past him and he caught hold of her, his voice rasping as he derided acidly, ‘Running away? What’s wrong? Can’t you face up to the truth? Can’t you admit that you haven’t got the guts to find your own man; that you prefer to steal someone else’s?’

Susannah looked round in panic. Couldn’t someone see what was happening? She almost expected him to lift her off her feet and to shake her like a terrier with a rat. Her breath was locked in her throat, her heart thumping in rapid, shallow strokes.

‘How innocent you look. Like a child cowering in fear of the dark. But you aren’t innocent, are you?’

She wanted to deny it, to demand by what right he spoke to her like this. But to her horror she heard herself saying weakly instead, ‘How did you know? How …’

And then, frighteningly, the room went dark all around her and started to sway. Noise rode over her in waves, like echoes from a sea shell. She just had time to realise, in horror, that she was actually fainting, before everything went black.

When Susannah came round, she was lying on the chesterfield in Neil’s study.

The door was closed. Susannah struggled to sit up, and gasped as she felt the top of her dress fall away. As she clutched it to her in frantic embarrassment, she saw someone move.

Her heart chopped as she watched her antagonist detach himself from the shadows and come towards her.

‘Mamie—’ she demanded weakly.

‘We don’t want to spoil her party, do we? Besides, you’re all right now. That’s quite an art,’ he added callously, ‘fainting to order. Got you out of more than one tight situation, no doubt.’

How dared he? How dared he imply that she … Oh, it really was too much! She sat up again, forgetting her dress until it was too late, and the fierce burning heat of his gaze grazed over her naked breasts.

She made a small choking sound in her throat, a mixture of embarrassment and fear, her hands instinctively moving protectively to conceal her body.

As his fingers caught her wrists, she winced in shocked pain, but despite all her efforts she was unable to stop him from pushing her hands down.

He was closer to her now. She could feel his breath against her forehead. His fingers were hard, and yet curiously warm against her wrists. His thumb stroked across her racing pulse.

‘You should have been an actress. So much manufactured emotion! And why? You can’t really expect me to believe I’m the first man to see you like this.’

His derision taunted her. Even she could feel the unsteady racing of her pulse beneath his touch. What was he trying to do to her?

An awful, untenable thought shook her, and as though he had read her mind his face hardened.

‘You don’t really think I’d degrade myself by committing rape? Oh, come on.’ His mouth twisted, his eyes derisive.

‘Why did you bring me in here?’ She was breathing shallowly, as though her body wanted to conserve what was left of its weak strength. ‘My dress …’

‘You fainted, and I unzipped the back of your dress … so that you could breathe unhindered.’

His unspoken statement on the extreme tightness of her dress infuriated her. She tried to pull herself away from him.

‘Yes, well … but I’m all right now and, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.’

‘Oh, but I do mind.’

Susannah stared at him.

‘Oh, come on! Don’t pretend to be surprised. You must be used to the way men react to the sight of your body by now. What do you think is so different about me that would stop me from enjoying the view? Or are you frightened your lover might walk in and discover us?’

Her lover?

Confused, she stared at him. She had experienced so many unfamiliar emotions in such a short space of time, she scarcely knew what she thought any more.

‘I … He won’t,’ she told him absently.

The way he was looking at her was having the oddest effect on her senses. It was almost as though he were in some way hypnotising her. His fingers still touched her wrists, but their touch now was a persuasive caress that made her skin tingle and her breath catch. It was all so unfamiliar to her. David had never had time for such light, teasing loveplay.

Loveplay! Horrified, she pulled away, and his hand accidentally brushed against her breast. The quiver of sensation that shot through her at that touch terrified her.

‘I must go.’

She said it like a sleep-walker, struggling to sit up, her eyes fixed on the door, and the reality that lay beyond it. Here, in this room, she seemed to have strayed into an unknown dimension. Who was this man? What was she doing with him?

She made to get up, but he caught hold of her, his hands hard against her narrow bare ribcage.

‘No,’ he denied harshly and, as her heart leapt in terror, he repeated the denial more softly, his head bending towards her. She felt his breath feather against her skin, caught the clean scent of it and then shuddered, caught up in a mindless complexity of emotions as his hands moved to cup her breasts, his weight bearing her backwards into the chesterfield, his fingers fanning out possessively against her paler flesh as his mouth whispered against hers.

‘No, I’m not letting you go yet. I rescued you, remember? And now I’m claiming my reward.’

Rescued her? From what? A faint that he himself had induced? Round and round in crazy circles spun her mind, faster and faster, until she was unable to catch hold of anything stable and real. Beneath his mouth her own softened, unable to withstand the skilled precision of its movements. She felt his tongue caressing her too vulnerable flesh; heard herself moan deeply in her throat as her body, denied fulfilment of its femininity in her relationship with David, accepted and welcomed the maleness of him. Her mouth opened, her head bending back beneath the force of his kiss. He made a sound against her lips, masculine and savage in its arousal. His body moved against her own, hard and …

Shock coursed through her. What on earth was she doing? She wrenched her mouth from his, but he ignored her attempt to break free, his lips moving unhurriedly along the slope of her shoulder and down towards her breast. She arched her back, frantic to get away from him, and then every muscle in her body stilled as his lips captured the taut pinnacle of her nipple and drew on it so fiercely and sweetly that every single one of her senses became fixated on what she was experiencing.

Such physical pleasure! Why had she never known it had existed? David’s hurried fumbling attempts to caress her between quarrels had in no way prepared her for this. She was drowning in delight and loving it.

She must have made some sound, because abruptly he released her, his mouth moving arousingly against her moist skin as he muttered, ‘You liked that? Do you want more?’

And before she could speak he was drawing her back into his mouth, sucking on her with a slow and erotic deliberation that made her forget everything but the necessity of ensuring that such pleasure never stopped.

‘I want you. You know that, don’t you?’

The savage words cut through the intensity of her dazed pleasure. She looked up at him. His lashes were so dark and thick. She wanted to reach out and touch him. His skin was flushed, and slightly damp. She could feel the heat burning along his cheekbones as he pressed his face against her skin. He did want her. She exulted in the knowledge.

‘Is this how you entrapped him? With the lure of your body and your pseudo-innocence? Oh God, I …’

The savage disgust in his voice hurt. Susannah wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that this was something she had never shared with any other man and never would, and then reality struck her, starkly and inescapably. What was she doing?

She took advantage of his momentary relaxation to push him away.

He released her, and then cursed as she sprang off the chesterfield, tugging her dress on, her eyes glittering with green fire.

‘Don’t you dare come anywhere near me! Don’t touch me.’ Her voice shook, but she was back in control of herself now. ‘I don’t know who you are, or what you think you’re doing … I don’t know what you think gives you the right to—question me!’

‘Don’t you?’ His voice was flat and derisive. ‘Odd, I could have sworn that not so very long ago you knew exactly what it was.’

The way his glance lingered on her breasts made his meaning all too clear. Before she left this room, she had to convince him that he meant nothing to her. Nothing at all. Her pride demanded it. What had happened was too demeaning—so shocking. She moved and winced as her stimulated breasts thrust demandingly against the constraining fabric of her dress, her awareness of her own arousal increasing her humiliation. How could she ever have allowed herself to be caught in such a situation, and with a complete stranger?

‘Oh, that,’ she told him coolly, striving for detachment and self-control. ‘Please don’t take it personally. It’s been rather a long time since I was last—with my lover.’

She shrugged, triumph buoying her up as she caught the fierce glitter of anger darkening his eyes, knowing that he wanted to reject what she was saying. She was hurting his pride and she was glad, fiercely glad.

‘Men don’t have the monopoly on sexual frustration, you know,’ she told him.

‘You …’ He lunged towards her, but as she backed off he stopped, his face contorting with savage bitterness. ‘You wanted me,’ he told her flatly.

‘No,’ she corrected him acidly, ‘I wanted a man … any man, if you want me to be totally honest.’ Her eyebrows lifted as she viewed his bitter, dark face. ‘Oh, come on. You look like a sophisticated man. Surely you didn’t think I was overcome with passion for you?’

He looked as though he wanted to kill her, thought Susannah, torn between exultation and stark, terrifying fear. What on earth had she done? What on earth was she going to do if he refused to believe her? But no, he was turning on his heel and walking towards the door.

At the door, he stopped and turned to look at her.

‘With luck, you and I will never meet again,’ she told him sweetly.

‘Don’t be too sure.’

A threat? But why? He couldn’t want to see her again. Shrugging slightly, she waited until she was sure he had gone and then hurried up to her room.

One look in her mirror told her that she had made a wise decision. Her lips, bare of lip gloss, still looked swollen from his kiss. Her eyes glittered with febrile arousal, and her breasts—Guiltily, she stared down at where they strained against her dress, her nipples hard and erect. She touched them, covering them with trembling hands, as though to protect herself from harm.

Weak with shock and reaction, she collapsed on to her bed. What on earth had got into her? Thank God she would never see him again. Thank goodness, he had believed her claim that she had used him as a substitute for her lover, but that had only been in the shock of the moment, when his brain had been confused by the arousal of his body. Later, when he had time to think … to question … Shaking her head, she got up again. She couldn’t stay up here. If she did, Mamie would come up, wanting to know what was wrong. She would have to go back down.

She was half-way across the hall when she bumped into Paul, walking the other way.

‘Ah, there you are! Ma has just sent me to look for you.’

Susannah let him take her arm. Several people were milling about around the entrance to the marquee but, when Paul stopped, her glance went instinctively to the tall, dark-haired man with his back to her. Her heart started pumping frantically, her body shaking.

‘Good, there’s Hazard. He made it, after all. I’d better introduce him to Ma and Pop.’

‘Hazard?’ Susannah queried faintly.

‘Yes. Hazard Maine. He and I both did a stint in Sydney. I met him a few months ago, and then we bumped into one another on the Qantas flight coming over. He’s taking up a new post in this country and he’s at a bit of a loose end. He was at school over here, apparently. He’s lost touch with people since, and so I invited him here.’

‘Where … where is he?’

‘Over there.’

She stared, dumbstruck, at the dark head he was pointing out to her, and an appalling awareness of what she had done swept over her. The man who had accused her of having a married lover, the man she had let caress and arouse her in a way that no man had ever done, the man she had quite deliberately allowed to believe she was the very worst kind of hardened tramp, was Hazard Maine. Paul’s friend … her new boss!

She made a small, inarticulate little sound of despair in her throat.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Paul … I … I have to go and talk to Richard,’ she invented. ‘I’ve just remembered something I should have told him.’

‘Richard?’ Paul called queryingly after her, but she was already disappearing into the crowd, and so he shrugged his shoulders and went on alone.

Hazard Maine! How could fate have tricked her so cruelly? Why had she not had any intuitive warning? Not even his accent had betrayed him. She had never imagined—never dreamed … She wondered frantically whether it was possible to change her whole appearance before Monday, whether she could somehow make herself unrecognisable. Then logic intruded, and she squared her shoulders.

There was nothing he could do. He could hardly sack her because she had allowed him a few physical intimacies, or because she had implied that she was simply using him to satisfy a need aroused by another man. No, he could hardly sack her for that, not without making himself look a fool, and Hazard Maine had not struck her as the type of man who welcomed being made to look a fool.

No, like her, he would just have to accept their working relationship.

And yet, reassure herself as she might, nothing could completely dispel her fear. It was too late now to regret her folly. And Aunt Emily hadn’t brought her up to run away from life’s problems. Besides, where could she run to? No, she would just have to brazen it out.

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