CHAPTER ONE

      ‘WHAT do you mean “no”? Come on, Amy,’ Hugh coaxed, stretching his arm out along the back of the floral-patterned sofa. ‘I need your help.’

      Amelia Mitchell scarcely looked up from the book she was reading, merely pulling her legs tightly under her and snuggling deeper into the cushioned window-seat. ‘I’m sure you don’t. Not really. There must be someone else you can ask.’

      ‘I’ve asked you.’

      ‘Sorry, no can do.’

      ‘Why can’t you? You’re not working at the moment.’

      ‘That’s not the point, though, is it?’ she replied, risking a look up at Hugh Balfour’s confidently smiling face. The assurance in his voice had been irritating, but his expression made her angry. Clearly he felt he needed only to exude some of his well-documented charm and she’d crumble. ‘I don’t want to.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I’d hate it. You’d be horrid. I’d be bored. If I wanted to be your secretary I’d apply for the job.’ She uncurled and threw her book to one side. ‘Actually I can’t think of anything worse. I’m angry with Seb for having suggested it.’

      ‘He was trying to help.’

      ‘Help who exactly?’ she asked, turning to face him, all five feet two inches bristling with indignation. This was just typical! ‘I know you two go back a long way, but I’m his sister. You’d think he’d put me before his friend.’

      Even as she said it she knew it was nonsense. Seb wouldn’t see anything wrong in offering his sister’s help to his best friend, however inconvenient it might be to the sister. She loved him to pieces, but he’d never yet considered her feelings or appeared to notice any of the sacrifices she’d made.

      It hadn’t even occurred to him that he ought to let his sister know he was coming to stay this weekend for the annual regatta. If challenged, he would, no doubt, say he’d a perfect right to be there since he owned a third share in their mother’s Henley-on-Thames cottage. But it would have been nice if he’d made a courtesy telephone call. Remembered the seventeenth-century cottage they’d inherited was her home.

      Hugh’s long fingers traced a small circle on the mahogany table by his side; he was completely unfazed by her outburst. ‘It’s only for a couple of weeks. Think of the money. I’ll pay well.’

      ‘Don’t need any.’

      ‘You must be the first student to say so.’

      ‘I’m not a student any more. Fully fledged BA (Hons)—’

      ‘Currently unemployed.’

      She shot him a look of dislike. ‘With no ambitions to be a secretary and certainly not yours.’

      ‘Amy, please. I really do need your help,’ he said, flashing her a crooked smile, his eyes lighting up with an irrepressible glint of pure sex appeal.

      As her stomach twisted in recognition it crossed her mind to wonder whether anyone had been able to refuse Hugh Balfour anything. His mother certainly hadn’t. He was her shining blue-eyed boy, one without blemish.

      Amy could have enlightened her, as could the numerous ex-girlfriends he’d dumped with ruthless expediency at the first hint of boredom. Six feet high with the muscle tone of a natural sportsman and the kind of charisma that made everyone follow his lead, Hugh was blessed with more gifts than it was fair for one man to possess.

      Nevertheless he’d some serious character flaws. Flaws encouraged, no doubt, by getting his own way on practically every occasion since birth. It was just difficult to remember them when you faced the full force of Hugh’s charm—particularly when he normally reserved it for women with legs up to their armpits and a chiselled bone structure.

      Which actually made this whole situation rather funny when she came to think about it. Hugh must really be desperate if he was spending so much time on Seb’s little sister. He hadn’t done that since he’d broken the Rev. Adderton’s window with a cricket ball and had persuaded her not to tell. Her lips twitched. ‘More.’

      ‘More what?’ he asked, confused.

      ‘Don’t stop there. I’m enjoying seeing you beg.’

      ‘If that’s what it takes I will.’ He smiled slowly, the grooves in his cheeks deepening. ‘Sweet Amy—’

      ‘Don’t overdo it. I’m beginning to feel queasy.’

      Hugh relaxed back in his chair, evidently certain of success. ‘As soon as Seb suggested it I knew you’d be perfect. And before you get angry again he