An Old Enchantment

An Old Enchantment
AMANDA BROWNING

Marriage on trial!From playboy lover… When gorgeous millionaire Raoul de Chevnair chose Leigh as his bride, it seemed he'd left his flirtatious bachelor days behind for good. But had he? Their marriage had scarcely begun before his playboy habits returned and Leigh found him in the arms of another woman… . … to faithful husband?That was five years ago. Leigh is no longer a naive teenage, bowled over by Raoul's charm. So when he vows to win back her trust, Leigh is determined not to give in that easily! It's all very well for Raoul to sweep her off on an exotic second honeymoon, but Leigh needs a lot of convincing that Raoul has decided to take his marriage vows seriously after all!Helen Brooks creates "rich characters, sparkling interplay and a riveting emotional conflict." - Romantic Times

An Old Enchantment

Amanda Browning

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE (#u062b0b6b-035f-5c56-be0f-52e4976b188e)

CHAPTER TWO (#ubfa7ad2d-ebc4-5e1d-a475-310473c6ba9c)

CHAPTER THREE (#u48fe2a7e-e912-58fe-830b-1ad158830c9f)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ub3224025-168e-5c34-881c-76db62cdce90)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD been a long drive, particularly for someone who was not yet one hundred per cent fit. Maxi Ambro was tired and more than a little nervous, unprepared for the wave of emotion which rose to block her throat as she halted the car and stared at the lovely old house. Long, elegant fingers curled around the steering-wheel as moisture deepened the navy blue of her eyes. Lord, how she had missed this place, the people in it.

She loved them all, but she had hurt them badly more than once in her twenty-seven years—the last time not without cost to herself. At the memory, the face which had launched a thousand ranges of make-up and perfume, with its dramatically stunning bone-structure, teasing eyes and sensually promising lips, froze into an alien sternness.

Time was supposed to be the healer, and seven years was a long time. Plenty of water had flowed under the bridge since then. Enough, surely, to cleanse the past? A tremulous laugh betrayed her uncertainty. She hoped so, because she was coming home to try and sort out the mess she had made.

As she was about to put the white GTI into gear and continue up to the house, her ear caught the unmistakable roar of an engine coming up behind her. In horror she realised that her precipitate stop had virtually blocked the driveway, and the advancing driver had no idea because his view was limited by the vast spread of rhododendron bushes. Even had she not frozen, there would have been no time to move. At the speed the car was going, it was upon her in seconds, and then Maxi could only admire the skill with which the driver avoided what had seemed an inevitable collision, steering his Porsche through the small gap that was left between her and the shrubbery, and back on to the path with a squealing spray of grit.

Coming out of her daze, Maxi followed more circumspectly, parking behind the now motionless vehicle. The car might have been motionless, but the driver most certainly wasn’t. He climbed out with the precise movements of a man in the grip of a violent rage. Maxi let out a gasp. He certainly was a magnificent brute, and she’d seen enough men in her time to be a good judge. Over six feet tall, he was broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, each muscle outlined by the clinging cut of his jeans and the silk shirt, which revealed tanned forearms beneath rolled-up sleeves and a hint of dark hair at the open collar. She placed him in his thirties, a living, breathing powerhouse of male sexuality—which right that moment was bearing down on her with the express purpose of putting the silly little woman firmly in her place!

Aware she had been at fault, Maxi sought to appease. Dragging a hand through her ebony hair, she formed her features into their most winning smile and climbed out to meet him.

‘That had to be the slickest piece of manoeuvring I’ve ever seen,’ she began, even as her eyes took in the fact that anger in no way lessened the handsome lines of his face. It wouldn’t be a soft face; there was too much strength in it, too much certainty that this man knew exactly who and what he was, and didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. Except, perhaps, herself, she realised, catching the glint in those flashing grey eyes.

He stopped a hair’s breadth away, towering over her, though she was by no means small herself, measuring five feet ten in her bare feet. His chest heaved as he drew in a deep breath. ‘So, you think that was slick, do you? Care to give me your impression of this?’ he growled fiercely, and, before she had time to do more than blink, he had caught her around the waist, sat down on one of the ornamental urns which bracketed the steps, and pulled her towards him. Before she knew what was happening his mouth had descended on hers.

Her struggle for freedom availed her not at all. He held her easily without breaking sweat, and released her just as easily, setting her on her feet and watching her sweep the hair out of tearful, angry eyes with evident satisfaction.

‘Well? Nothing to say?’ he mused sardonically.

Nothing to say! So many words were battling for freedom that they choked her! In the end, those that did break free made her cringe in their aftermath, so trite were they. ‘How dare you?’

Attractive lips curved in a sneer. ‘The typical spoilt brat. Be thankful you weren’t a man. I felt like punching you out. What the hell did you think you were playing at? Don’t you know better than to block the road like that?’

Maxi forgot her own admission of guilt. As far as she was concerned, he had forfeited an apology by his caveman tactics! ‘Don’t you know better than to drive around at that speed when you can’t see what’s up ahead?’

With animal grace, he rose to his feet, thumbs hooking into the belt loops of his jeans. ‘This happens to be a private road.’

‘Then why were you on it?’ she shot back swiftly.

Straight black brows lifted. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I was invited. Were you?’

A small frown cut into her brow. Invited to what? Was her mother throwing a party? Of all the bad timing! Yet what did it matter that she hadn’t been invited? This man clearly didn’t know who she was, and she was under no obligation to explain her unannounced arrival to him.

‘It just so happens that I don’t need an invitation,’ she declared with a degree of certainty she was actually far from feeling.

‘Is that so?’ he murmured, and studied her thoughtfully. When he laughed, it was an unpleasant sound that set out to unnerve her. ‘Doubtless it’s more comfortable to think that way when you know you’d never get one.’

The assurance inherent in his statement rattled her nerves. ‘Just what is that supposed to mean?’ she asked shortly, hearing her own tremulousness quite clearly.

Bracing his feet apart, her tormentor crossed his arms and eyed her in icy amusement. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

Startled, she stared up at him. Should she know him? His features were striking, and she was pretty certain she would have remembered them had they ever met. Yet there was an indefinable something which eluded her attempts to grasp it. She shook her head. No, if their paths had crossed it must have been at one of the innumerable functions she attended. People, especially men, were often inclined to claim friendship from what had been no more than a polite exchange of pleasantries. However, it wasn’t unknown for a man to feel slighted that she’d failed to recognise him. She knew the signs of a bruised male ego well, and his unpleasantness was undoubtedly due to it. Although she wouldn’t have thought a man this attractive would be in that class, she put on a professional smile and prepared to pour oil on troubled waters.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause offence. In my line of business I meet so many people its hard to keep track of names and faces. I’m sure we must have had a very pleasant conversation, and perhaps we can talk it over later, but—’

‘Devereaux.’

His interruption halted her mid-flow, and she blinked up at him in surprise. ‘I beg your pardon?’

His smile was icy. ‘There’s no need. Just spare me the bored socialite bit.’

Completely thrown, she could only continue to gawp at him. ‘W-what...?’

‘Devereaux is my name. Kerr Devereaux,’ he went on hardly, his Christian name sounding like the everyday ‘car’. ‘There’s no need to tell me who you are—we have long memories around here. I recognised you at once. Maxi Ambro, the advertiser’s dream. Well, let me tell you something, Maxi, you picked one hell of a time to do your prodigal daughter act. Why don’t you do everyone a great big favour and go back where you came from?’

Maxi went cold to her heart. If a complete stranger felt this way about her, what would the reaction of her family be? Automatically she stiffened her spine in preparation for the confrontation that was coming. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t let this man make her turn tail and run.

‘You’re right, Mr Devereaux, I don’t remember you. But even if I did, you don’t have the right to send me away. Only my family can do that,’ she told him icily.

‘You’d give them the satisfaction of telling you to your face?’ Kerr Devereaux studied her stiff figure once more. ‘You’ve got guts.’

If she hadn’t had, the past seven years would never have been. ‘Isn’t there a local school of thought who consider it’s what I deserve?’ she retorted cynically, allowing a small careless smile to curl her lips.

He didn’t like her reaction, that was for sure. ‘There is, and I’m a founder member of it.’