Love Islands…The Collection. Jane Porter
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Max absorbed the information, keeping his expression impassive. What Pauline Mountford said rang all too true. That open bristling that he had seen from Ellen Mountford in her stepmother’s company—
He got to his feet. There was nothing more to be achieved here right now. ‘Well, I will leave it with you. See what you can do to change Ellen’s mind and attitude.’
He smiled down at them—the courteous, impersonal smile he used to keep others well-disposed towards him for his own benefit.
Ten minutes later he was heading off down the drive, his glance going to either side, taking in one last sweep of the place. For now. His expression tightened. Whatever was necessary to induce Ellen Mountford to abandon her objection to selling her share of this place would, he determined as he turned out through the drawn-back iron gates on to the road, be done.
With or without her co-operation.
MAX HEARD OUT his legal advisor, then drummed his fingers on the polished surface of his mahogany desk. Forcing a sale would indeed be time-consuming, and he wanted to take possession without delay—before summer was over. Which meant getting Ellen Mountford to drop her objections.
He gave a rasp of exasperation, swivelling moodily in his leather chair, his dark eyes baleful. There had been no good news from Pauline Mountford, and he strongly suspected there would not be. If Ellen was as entrenched in her hostile view of her stepmother as she seemed to be, then Pauline was doubtless the last person capable of changing her stepdaughter’s mind.
But he might be able to.
An idea was forming in his head—he could feel it. An idea to make her want to sell up.
Chloe Mountford’s voice echoed in his memory. ‘She never goes anywhere—she just buries herself here all year round!’
His eyes glinted. Maybe that was the key that would start to unlock the problem.
Impulsively he summoned his PA. ‘Tell me, have I got any particularly glitzy social events coming up soon here in London?’ he asked her.
Five minutes later he had his answer—and had made his decision. He sat back in his chair, long legs extended, a smile of satisfaction playing around his mouth. Oh, yes, he’d made his decision, all right. And Ellen herself had given him the way to convince her of it.
That mention she’d made of her surprising involvement in a charity for giving city children a countryside holiday under canvas. That would do nicely. Very nicely. His plan would help him lever Ellen Mountford out of his way—he was sure of it.
And as he settled down to work again, in a much better frame of mind, he became aware that he was sure of something else as well. That, of all things, he was looking forward to seeing her again—and making an end, once and for all, to all that nonsense of hers about looking the unappealing way she did.
I’ve seen her real body—her goddess body!—and now I want to see her face look just as good as her figure.
The smile played around his mouth once more, and the gleam in his eyes was speculative. Anticipatory.
And for a moment—just a moment—the prospect of finding a way to remove Ellen Mountford’s objections to selling him the house he wanted to buy was not uppermost in his mind.
How good could she look? How good could she really look?
The glint came into his eye again. He wanted to find out.
Ellen turned off the ignition and got out. Her car needed a service, but she couldn’t afford it. Her salary was wiped out simply paying for the essentials at Haughton—from council tax to electricity bills—and, of course, for the inessentials. Such as the weekly deliveries of hothouse flowers from the local florist, and Pauline and Chloe’s regular visits to the local county town for their endless hair and beauty appointments. Their other extravagances—replenishing their wardrobes, their lavish social life and their foreign jaunts to luxury destinations and five-star hotels—were all funded by the stripping out of anything of value still left in the house, from paintings to objets d’art.
She hefted out a pile of schoolbooks, becoming aware of the sound of a vehicle approaching along the drive. As the sleek, powerful car turned into the courtyard dismay flooded through her. She’d hoped so much that Max Vasilikos had decided to buy somewhere else and abandoned his attentions to Haughton. Pauline and Chloe had finally lapsed into giving her the silent treatment, after having harangued her repeatedly about her stubbornness in refusing to do what they wanted her to do. Now they had taken themselves off again on yet another pricey jaunt, to a five-star hotel in Marbella while Ellen was just about to begin her school holidays.
Their departure had given Ellen cause for hope that Max Vasilikos had withdrawn his offer—in vain, it seemed. She watched him approach with a sinking heart—and also a quite different reaction that she tried to quash and failed utterly to do so. She gulped silently as he walked up to her, his handmade suit sheathing his powerful frame like a smooth, sleek glove. The dark eyes in his strong-featured face were levelled down at her. She felt her pulse leap.
It’s just because I don’t want him here. I don’t want him going on at me to sell Haughton to him!
That was the reason for the sudden quickening of her breathing—the only reason she told herself urgently. The only reason she would allow...could possibly allow—
‘Good afternoon, Miss Mountford,’ he said. His voice was deep, and there was a hint of a curve at the corner of his sculpted mouth.
‘What are you doing back here again?’ she demanded. It was safer to sound antagonistic. Much safer.
Safer than standing here gazing gormlessly at him in all his incredible masculinity and gorgeousness. Feeling my heart thumping like an idiot and going red as a beetroot again!
Her hostile demand met with no bristling. Just the opposite. ‘I wanted to see the rhododendrons,’ Max returned blandly. ‘They are indeed magnificent.’ He paused, smiling his courteous social smile. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he said.
She glowered at him from behind her spectacles, her thick eyebrows forming that monobrow as she did so, and she was once again, he noted with displeasure, wearing the unspeakable baggy tracksuit that totally concealed her glorious body. Mentally, he earmarked it for the bonfire.
‘Would it stop you if I didn’t?’ she glowered again.
‘I doubt it,’ he said, and then reached forward to remove half of the tottering tower of schoolbooks from her arms. ‘After you,’ he said, nodding at the kitchen door.
She cast him a burning look, refusing to say thank you for relieving her of much of her burden, and stomped indoors, dumping her load on the kitchen table. He deposited his share next to it.
‘I hope you don’t have to get all these marked for tomorrow,’ he observed.
She shook her head. ‘By the start of next term,’ she said shortly.
‘You’ve broken up?’ enquired Max in a conversational tone. He knew perfectly well she had, as he’d had her term dates checked, and had timed his visit here accordingly.
‘Today,’ she said. She looked across at him. He seemed taller than ever in the kitchen, large though the space was. But then, she knew a man like Max Vasilikos could effortlessly dominate any space he occupied. ‘You’ve wasted your journey,’ she said bluntly. ‘Pauline and Chloe left for Marbella yesterday.’
‘Did they?’ he returned carelessly. ‘I’m not