www.millsandboon.co.uk

      KATHRYN JENSEN

      has written many novels for young readers as well as for adults. She speed walks, works out with weights and enjoys ballroom dancing for exercise, stress reduction and pleasure. Her children are now grown. She lives in Maryland with her writing companion—Sunny, a lovable terrier mix adopted from a shelter.

      Having worked as a hospital switchboard operator, department store sales associate, bank clerk and elementary school teacher, she now splits her days between writing her own books and teaching fiction writing at two local colleges and through a correspondence course. She enjoys helping new writers get a start, and speaks “at the drop of a hat” at writers’ conferences, libraries and schools across the country.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Epilogue

      One

      Life had taken a wrong turn somewhere. And no matter how hard the young earl of Winchester tried, he couldn’t seem to put it right.

      At the top of the castle’s north turret was his favorite room, his refuge and place to be alone with his most private thoughts. As a small child he and his brothers had played here. All through adolescent summers, this was where he came to read of valiant knights, courageous battles and beautiful yet desperate princesses. He was always victorious in his daydreams, and he had been comforted when his young spirit was troubled.

      But these adult days, when he spent time within the thick granite walls, the thoughts that curled round him like the mists off Loch Kerr only blackened his already dark mood. His frustration and anger grew day by day, gathering power like a storm rolling across the Scottish moor, until he came perilously close to lashing out at anything or anyone who crossed him.

      Stepping out onto the stone balcony, Christopher Smythe glowered across the fragrant purple heather. Three hundred miles to the south lay London, where most of his elite circle of friends would spend a few days before drifting en masse for the month of August to the Côte d’Azur. His houseguests were frequent and usually an effective distraction, but eventually they left for a new foxhunt, the next polo match or house party. Then he had no choice but to face his helpless fury, because he was unable to act on man’s deepest instinct.

      Christopher’s strong hands gripped the stone balustrade as he lifted his face to the morning sky and loudly cursed it and fate, too. Instead of feeling better for unleashing his rage, he experienced something else. An almost overwhelming sense that his life was about to become still more complicated before he could hope for peace of mind.

      It was then that he thought he saw something move at the distant end of the narrow gravel drive leading up the hill from the main road. It appeared to be a van of sorts: red, squat and dusty. His housekeeper didn’t drive, and his caretaker was off for the day. The stable master and his lads were busy tending to his horses. He wasn’t expecting the stone mason’s crew to return for another few days. In fact, no one he knew drove a boxy little vehicle like that.

      As the crimson monstrosity rumbled closer, kicking up dust and pebbles like a skittish mare, he squinted at a brightly colored magnetic sign attached to one side: Murphy’s Worldwide Escapes. A lost party of tourists, he thought grimly. There was nothing to do now but go down and give them directions back to the highway.

      Irritated that his brooding had been interrupted—or because the interruption promised to be so brief and unexciting—he hurried down the turret’s tight coil of steps to the landing. In long, purposeful strides he took another flight, two ivory marble steps at a time to the great hall on the ground level. Christopher flung open the weighty, iron-nubbed oak door and stepped outside to see a young woman climb down from the driver’s seat of the van and cheerfully wave her passengers out onto his property.

      This was too much.

      “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” He rushed at her, feeling heat rise up from his collar and settle like a steaming blanket over his face.

      She spun around, staring at him, lips parted in surprise. Her eyes were the color of new leaves. Fresh, green, virginal. They darkened the instant they settled upon his scowl. “Excuse me?”

      “Didn’t you see the sign?”

      “What sign?” There was a note of challenge in her voice, which surprised him. Usually he was able to send intruders