A Woman Of Passion

A Woman Of Passion
Anne Mather

Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release. The ice queen’s melting heart…To outsiders, Helen appears to be a typical cool English blonde. Only Matthew Aitken guesses that her icy exterior hides a warm and vibrant woman…and he wants her!In the heat of Barbados Helen finds her inhibitions melting and her feelings toward Matthew growing, but can she ever lower her defences completely and trust this enigmatic man? With everything to gain, Helen must find the courage to risk all…

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

A Woman of Passion

Anne Mather

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

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#u99be6dc4-450a-5906-9354-1e14bfb96dba)

About the Author (#uaf1536a3-e8b5-5ac4-8b5a-79d3a99e3745)

Title Page (#u5e341b74-22ca-5acd-8817-7793fc1ba3a7)

Chapter One (#uf7f4e06b-e4de-5834-9b56-19bd32beb213)

Chapter Two (#ub58d7be1-8d09-590b-a2b5-6aedd56d6682)

Chapter Three (#ua459fdf6-1fe9-54f7-b602-53ffa252df47)

Chapter Four (#uf416f75e-734b-5b26-937b-8b2105e232c1)

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 Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_26b90268-e61a-5b16-ae9a-8e86b5ccbc9e)

THE man was there again. Helen could see him striding away along the shoreline, the creamy waves lapping the soles of his canvas boots. It was almost impossible to make out any distinguishing features from this distance, but he was tall and dark-haired, and the way he walked made her think he was not seeking recognition. On the contrary, if she was an imaginative female—which she’d always assured herself she wasn’t—she’d have speculated that he took his walk so early to avoid meeting anyone.

She had no idea who he was. And doubted that if she’d observed him at any other time of the day he’d have aroused any interest at all. But for the past three mornings—ever since her arrival, in fact—she had seen him walking the beach at six a.m. Always alone, and always too far away for her to identify him.

Of course, if she herself had not been suffering the effects of the time-change between London and Barbados, she probably wouldn’t have been awake at six a.m. But, as yet, her metabolism hadn’t adapted to a five-hour time-lag, and each morning she’d found herself leaning on her balcony rail, waiting for the sun to make its appearance.

And it was probably just as well that the man chose to walk along the shoreline, she reflected ruefully. Standing here, in only the thin cotton shift she wore to sleep in, she would not have liked to think herself observed. At this hour of the morning, when no one else in the villa was awake, she could enjoy the beauty of her surroundings unhindered. Once the children were awake—and Tricia—her time was no longer her own.

Yet she shouldn’t complain, she told herself severely. Without Tricia’s help, she had no idea what she’d have done. A young woman of twenty-two, with no particular skills or talents, was anathema. Would-be employers wanted written qualifications, not heartfelt assurances that she could do the job they had to offer.

Of course, until her father’s untimely death, she hadn’t given a lot of thought to earning her own living. She’d been reasonably well educated, though she’d be the first to admit she was no academic. Nevertheless, she had attended an exclusive girls’ school and an equally exclusive finishing-school in Switzerland, and she’d considered herself admirably suited to maintain her role in life.

Which had been what? She pulled a wry face now. Well, to find a man like her father, she supposed—or like the man she had thought her father to be—and get married, raise a family, and repeat the process with her own children.

She sighed. Only it wasn’t to be. She wondered if her father had given any thought to her dilemma when he’d taken his yacht out for the last time. Had he really jumped, or had he only fallen? With the sea calm and the yacht found drifting, unmanned, ten miles south of the Needles, it was hard not to think the worst.

Naturally, she had been distraught when they brought her the news. She couldn’t believe that her father, who had been an excellent yachtsman, could actually have drowned. And the fact that they’d not found his body had kept her hopes alive. Whatever the coastguards said, he wasn’t dead.

But he was. His body had been found a couple of days later, and the realisation that she was alone now had been numbing. Even at the funeral she’d half expected James Gregory to come striding into the chapel. It was strange how that had sustained her through all the interminable expressions of grief.

Afterwards, however, while the guests were making a rather unsympathetic attack on the splendid buffet the housekeeper had provided, Max Thomas, her father’s solicitor, had drawn her aside. And in a few short words he had swept the ground from under her feet. Her father, it appeared, had been destitute. For years he’d been Iiving on borrowed time, and now that time had run out.

Incredibly, considering the affluent lifestyle they had enjoyed, James Gregory had been in serious financial difficulties. The estate he’d inherited from his father—and which had supported successive generations of Gregorys—was bankrupt. In spite of the pleas of his tenants for an injection of capital, no help had been offered. And, although a couple of years ago he had had the idea of opening the house and grounds to the public, that too had proved unsuccessful without the proper investment.

Remembering all those holidays in the Caribbean, the winters spent in Gstaad, the summers in the South of France, Helen had had no doubt as to how her father had spent his money. And he’d never betrayed his anxieties to her. She’d always had everything she’d ever wanted.

Maybe if her mother had still been around things would have been different. There was no doubt that Fleur Gregory’s departure, when Helen had been barely four years old, had had a salutary effect on her father. Until then he’d seemed quite content to live in the country. But her mother had found country life boring, and she’d eventually run off with a wealthy polo-player from Florida she’d met at a party in town.

That was when James Gregory had bought the London apartment, but, from Helen’s point of view, living in London had seemed rather boring at first. She had missed her friends, and she had missed the horses, and although they continued to spend holidays at Conyers it had never been quite the same.

Of course as she’d got older and started school her attitudes had changed. Her friends had been in London then. They had been young people from a similar background. And the boyfriends she’d eventually collected had all been as fun-loving as her father.