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 Anneâs powerful, passionate writing has given.
We are sure you will love them all!
Iâve always wanted to writeâwhich is not to say Iâve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasnât until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishersâ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, Iâm literallyâexcuse the punâstaggered by whatâs happened.
I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from childrenâs 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 Iâd 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 thatâs 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 canât imagine not having a current book on the typewriterâyes, itâs my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. Heâs 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 Iâd be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
CHAPTER ONE
HE STOOD at the long mullioned windows of the library, watching the desultory stream of visitors making their way towards the exit. He couldnât 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 grandmotherâs suggestion that he get married again. A wealthy wife, who wouldnât 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 Godâs 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 hadnât worked before, so why should he assume it would work now? Heâd been crazy about Francesca, and sheâd 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. Heâd 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. âCome in,â 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.