Wicked Caprice. Anne Mather
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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.
Wicked Caprice
Anne Mather
Table of Contents
Cover About the Author Title Page 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 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY Copyright
SHE didn’t look like the kind of woman he had expected.
Julian’s description of her had been fairly explicit, and it was hard to match up her portrayal of a vicious, self-seeking seductress with the slim, pale creature facing him across the counter.
‘Can I help you?’
Her voice was attractive, certainly, low and slightly throaty, and probably inclined to a breathless huskiness when her sexual needs were being met. Was she the kind of woman who just moaned her pleasure, or did she whisper erotic words of approval in Richard’s ear? Either way, it was hard to imagine his brother-in-law being interested in such a colourless female. In the past, his tastes had run in an entirely different direction.
‘Hmm...? Oh, yes.’
Patrick glanced quickly about him, realising that apart from himself the shop was empty. He had spent so long studying her appearance that the other customers had all been dealt with, and her question caught him unawares, his mind empty of the reason why he’d purportedly come into the shop.
‘Shells,’ he said hastily as the excuse he’d adopted to enter the establishment popped back into his mind. He’d seen a necklace of shells in the window and it had seemed a suitable item to select.
‘Shells?’ she echoed pleasantly. ‘You’re a collector of shells? Do you mean shells that have just been polished and are otherwise in their natural state? Or perhaps you like these abstract collages? They’ve proved very popular, actually.’
The square frame she had selected from the display behind the counter made Patrick cringe. The childish daubings of paint on shells, whose haphazard arrangement on a wooden backing looked more abstracted than abstract, appalled him, and he couldn’t imagine anyone finding its composition attractive.
‘Um...it was a necklace, actually,’ he said, casting a doubtful glance over his shoulder. ‘In the window. I thought it might suit my niece.’
Though he could never give it to her, he reflected ruefully. He could picture Jillian’s outrage if he turned up with a necklace bought from that woman’s shop. No matter that Susie might like it. Even considering doing such a thing would constitute a betrayal of the highest order in his sister’s eyes. Besides, there was always the possibility that Richard might recognise it, and Jillian would prefer her husband not to know she’d interfered.
‘Oh, yes. I know the one.’
With a smile, she came out from behind the counter and crossed the sales area to approach the window he’d indicated. As she passed, Patrick was assailed by the delicate aroma of her perfume, an odour that mingled what he thought might be lily of the valley and rosewater with the feminine warmth of her body.
He was also made aware of the fact that she moved with a distinctive grace for such a tall young woman, her hips swaying rhythmically as she strode across the floor, her full skirt swishing softly about her ankles. Her hair was plaited, a thick, glossy, toffee-coloured braid that bobbed about between her shoulderblades. It was almost the exact same colour as her eyes, he mused reluctantly, though her brows were darker, her lashes thick and straight.
She was also wearing boots, he saw as she bent to remove the necklace from the window—thick-soled boots, which Patrick would have considered more suitable for going hiking. Or perhaps mountaineering, he amended drily. Whatever else Richard had seen in her, he couldn’t have been