PROLOGUE

      SHE wouldn’t cry. No matter how desperately she longed to, she wouldn’t cry and let the hated Jason Tenby know how badly he’d hurt her.

      Cindy Smith pressed her hands against her mouth to force back the sobs. Through the blur of tears she could see the countryside flashing past the car. With each mile she was moving further away from the man she loved.

      Jason Tenby sat beside her, his eyes fixed on the road. He never once glanced her way and she knew he was indifferent to her broken heart.

      There was power in every line of him, from the arrogant set of his head to the way his hands rested on the wheel, controlling it with the lightest of touches.

      For him, control was everything. It had maddened him that his younger brother, Simon, had chosen a girl from the wrong side of the tracks to marry into the proud Tenby family. So he’d set himself to smash the engagement. And he’d done so with brutal efficiency.

      Although he was still in his late twenties his face had an authority that he’d inherited. Generations of Tenbys had lived at Tenby Manor, ruling the surrounding countryside, either openly or through subtle influence. Jason Tenby was the last of a long line of masters.

      The girl sitting beside him was no match for him. She was eighteen, with fine bones and a delicate, vulnerable face. In her short life she’d known poverty but not harshness, and her first brush with implacable force had left her devastated.

      ‘We’ll reach the station in five minutes,’ Jason said. ‘Plenty of time for you to catch your train.’

      ‘You’ve no right to do this,’ she said wildly.

      ‘We’ve been through all that.’ His voice sounded bored and impatient. ‘It wouldn’t have worked. Take my word for it, Simon wasn’t the husband for you.’

      ‘Because he’s a Tenby, and my mother used to scrub floors for you,’ she said accusingly.

      ‘Look, don’t—’

      ‘You decided to break us up as soon as Simon introduced me, didn’t you?’

      ‘More or less, yes. But don’t make a tragedy out of this. You’re eighteen. Your heart will mend fast enough.’

      ‘It’s so easy for you!’ she cried. ‘You give your orders and everyone else has to fall in line. But I didn’t, did I? I wouldn’t take your money or listen to your hints about how I didn’t fit in—’

      ‘I was only trying—’

      ‘So when you couldn’t break me any other way you—you—’ Suddenly her control broke. ‘Oh, God, how could you do it?’ she sobbed. ‘How could you be so cruel?’