Dishonourable Intent. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author
ANNE MATHER
Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the
publishing industry, having written over one hundred
and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than
forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.
This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance
for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,
passionate writing has given.
We are sure you will love them all!
I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.
I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.
These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.
We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is [email protected] and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
Dishonourable Intent
Anne Mather
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HE STOOD at the long mullioned windows of the library, watching the desultory stream of visitors making their way towards the exit. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course, but their reluctance to leave seemed evident enough. And, after all, the garden and grounds of Lingard Abbey were fast becoming one of the most popular tourist attractions in Yorkshire, the steady influx of cash the visitors provided slowly enabling him to restore the surroundings of the old house to their former glory.
At least he could now pay the gardeners a living wage, he thought wryly, raising one narrow hand to rest it against the scarred frame. At this time of the year, particularly, the terraces and water gardens were a riot of colour; even the lake, glittering in the rays of the lowering sun, reflected the colours of the trees and shrubs that surrounded it.
Of course, it would take more than the income from an unspecified number of tourists to make any serious assault on the house. Dampness, crumbling stonework, and the tendency to shriek like a banshee when the wind invaded the cracks in the woodwork, had made parts of the Abbey virtually uninhabitable. Which was why he was considering his grandmother’s suggestion that he get married again. A wealthy wife, who wouldn’t demand too much from him beyond his title, and the only way he could hope to retain his home.
He scowled, and turned away from the window. It was archaic, he thought irritably. Imagine marrying someone in this day and age simply to restore the family fortunes. It was all very well for his grandmother to declare that it had been an accepted practice when she was young. It was nearly the start of the new millennium, for God’s sake! If he did marry again, it ought to be to someone he cared about, at least.
Yet... His scowl deepened. Marrying someone he had cared about hadn’t worked before, so why should he assume it would work now? He’d been crazy about Francesca, and she’d walked all over him. Was he really in the market to make that same mistake again?
The answer was a resounding no. Even the thought of embarking on another disastrous relationship caused a bitter churning in his gut. Perhaps his grandmother was right; perhaps it was better to be the one who was loved rather than the other way about. He’d loved Francesca, and suffered all the pains of hell when it was over...
A tentative tap on the heavy panels of the door halted his morbid introspection. ‘Come in,’ he called brusquely, pausing on the worn rug that lay before the impressive hearth, and moments later the angular figure of Watkins, the elderly butler, appeared in the aperture.
‘Good evening, my lord,’ Watkins greeted him politely. ‘Um—Mrs Harvey was wondering if you’d be in to supper,’ he explained, with a diffident air. ‘And O’Brien asked me to inform you that a pair of electric shears are missing. He left them in the knot garden, but they were not there when he went to fetch them.’
His employer’s lips thinned. ‘What the hell was O’Brien thinking of, leaving the shears unattended in the first place?’ he demanded, and then stifled any further comment at the troubled look on Watkins’ face. ‘Oh, never mind.’ he muttered. ‘I’ll speak to O’Brien myself in the morning. And, no, I won’t be in for supper. I’m dining with Lady Rosemary at Mulberry Court.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Watkins glanced hopefully about him. ‘Can I get you a drink before I leave?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ The younger man managed a civil rejoinder. ‘Thank you, Watkins. I shan’t be needing anything else tonight.’
‘No, my lord.’ Watkins backed somewhat unevenly towards the door, and, alone again, he reflected that the old man really ought to be retired. He had to be seventy, if he was a day, and had worked for the family since he was a boy. But without his job at the Abbey it was difficult