âI canât dance with you now, David,â she told him huskily.
âOf course you can,â he replied, turning Jenny into his arms and beginning to move. âMmm ⦠you feel good.â Helplessly Jenny realised that David wasnât going to let her go and that it would cause less fuss to give in and dance with him than to go on protesting.
Unlike Jon, David had always been a good dancer, a natural dancer, and her face grew hot in the darkness of the subtly lit dance floor as she remembered what was said about men who were naturally good dancers. Too good, she decided shakily as he ignored her efforts to keep a respectable distance between them and pulled her closer to him.
âWhatâs wrong?â he whispered against her hair. âYou used to enjoy dancing with me like this once.â Jon was standing on the opposite side of the dance floor talking to Ruth. He didnât appear to have seen them.
âYou look wonderful tonight,â David told her softly, his hands sliding up to caress her back. âYou look wonderful, you feel wonderful ⦠you are wonderful, Jenny, and I wish to hell Iâd never been stupid enough to let you go.â
PENNY JORDAN is one of Mills & Boonâs 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 a hundred and eighty-seven novels for Mills & Boon, including the phenomenally successful A Perfect Family, To Love, Honour & Betray, The PerfectSinner 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 readersâ changing tastes. Publishers Weekly said about Jordan, âWomen everywhere will find pieces of themselves in Jordanâs charactersâ 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 Novelistsâ Association and the Romance Writers of Americaâtwo organisations dedicated to providing support for both published and yet-to-be published authors. Her significant contribution to womenâs fiction was recognised in 2011, when the Romantic Novelistsâ Association presented Penny with a Lifetime Achievement Award.
1917
It had been a cold, wet spring followed by an even wetter summer, and the crops lay flattened and battered beneath the relentlessly driving rain.
As Josiah Crighton wiped the condensation away from the railway carriage window to look outside he paused, turning instead to study the pale, set face of the girl seated beside him.
The girl ⦠his wife, soon to be the mother of his child. His jaw tightened as he remembered his fatherâs fury when he learned what had happened.
âFor Godâs sake, if you had to behave so ⦠so stupidly, why the hell didnât you do it outside your own backyard? Oxford ⦠or the Inns of Court ⦠surely you had ample opportunity there toââ
His father had broken off, drumming angrily on his desk whilst he surveyed him.
âWell, thereâs no help for it now. The girl will have to be found a suitable husband and as for youââ
âShe already has a husband,â he had told his father quietly.
Just for a moment he saw that his father had misunderstood him, noting the relief expelling the impatient anger from his eyes as he exclaimed, âSheâs married ⦠then why the hell didnât you say so â¦?â
His expression began changing as Josiah continued to look steadily at him and quietly explained, âWeâre married, Father ⦠Bethany and I â¦â
He had of course already anticipated the uproar that would follow his announcement and their mutual banishment from the lives of both their families. Hers had been no more pleased than his had been. Bethany was a yeoman farmerâs daughter who had been working up at the big house. He had bumped into her when he had gone there with some papers his father had instructed him to take to Lord Haver. They had recognised each other immediately from shared summer childhoods playing forbidden games on the muddy banks of the Dee.
One thing had led to another and the inevitable had happened. As soon as she had come to him with her news, ashen-faced and frightened, he had done what he had convinced himself was the only honourable thing he could do; never mind the fact that it was virtually an accepted thing within his family that one day he would cement the ties that kept the family together and, following its long-established tradition, marry his second cousin.