The Sinner's Marriage Redemption

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)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_c6501817-d5ea-5db3-9e71-912b87033929)

THE CAR’S ACCELERATION was loud in the still night, breaking the silence Flynn had so enjoyed after the bustle of London.

As he stretched his legs on a midnight walk across Michael Cavendish’s country estate, the only sound should have been the swoop of an owl or the rustle of small creatures foraging. Flynn was too far from the big house for the sounds of the Cavendishes’ annual winter bash to intrude.

The car roared closer, towards the tight bend in the long drive. Flynn quickened his pace, suddenly alert. It wasn’t braking soon enough to make the turn.

By the time the sickening screech and thud of a collision shattered the night, Flynn was sprinting.

The drift of cloud across the moon parted as he scudded around the thicket on a surge of frantic adrenaline. There it was: an open convertible at an ungainly angle, nose deep in the dark foliage. Moonlight sparkled on shattered glass that crunched under his feet.

But Flynn’s eyes were on the driver’s seat. On the figure struggling with the door. Moon-silvered hair spilled over pale, bare shoulders and arms flecked with what he suspected was blood. His heart hammered even as relief kicked in. At least she was conscious.

‘Don’t move.’ He had to see how badly she was injured, and quickly.

‘Who’s there?’ Instantly the woman shrank back from the door.

Her head snapped up and shock slammed into him. Ava? It couldn’t be little Ava Cavendish. Not in that tight, low-cut white evening gown. Not with those lush breasts.

‘Who is it?’

This time Flynn registered the sharp fear in her tone. Already she was trying to climb out the opposite side of the car, her long dress catching.

‘Ava? It’s okay. It’s me, Flynn Marshall.’ He reached the driver’s door but couldn’t wrench it open. The metal was buckled. Frustration surged.

‘Flynn? Mrs Marshall’s son?’

Her voice was slurred and anxiety stabbed him. Wasn’t slurred speech a danger sign?

‘Yes, Flynn.’ He made his voice soothing as he tried to recall hazy first aid knowledge. ‘You know me.’

A gusty sigh met the revelation. She mumbled something under her breath. He caught the word safe.

Flynn frowned. ‘Of course you’re safe with me.’

They’d grown up on the estate. Ava in the big house and he in a cramped workers’ cottage with his parents.

‘Here. This way.’ He had to get her away from the car. He couldn’t smell petrol but he’d take no chances.

Whatever her injuries, she could move her arms and legs. No spinal damage, hopefully. She’d already clambered up to kneel on the seat.

She twisted and a bottle dropped to the floor.

Since when had Ava been drinking champagne? She must be only—he did a quick mental calculation—seventeen. More to the point, the Ava he knew was far too responsible to drink and drive, even in a fit of teen rebellion.

‘Sure you’re Flynn?’ She frowned owlishly, sitting back on her heels. ‘You look different.’

Ava had never seen him in his city suit or anything as expensive as his cashmere coat. On his visits to his mother he reverted to casual clothes. Tonight, knowing his mother would be at the big house all night, working, he’d arrived late then set out for a stroll to clear his head after the drive. And to say farewell. This would be his last visit. Finally he’d convinced his mum to leave Frayne Hall.

‘I’m definitely Flynn.’ He reached out and scooped her up in his arms, lifting her carefully over the low door. But when he would have put her on her feet she clung tight, arms wrapped around his neck.

‘You have to promise.’

Wide, bright eyes glittered up at him and something punched hard in his gut.

‘Promise you won’t take me back.’

‘You need help. You’re hurt.’ Some of the dark streaks on her pale skin had smudged. Blood. Hell! He had to get her away from here, see how badly she was injured.

‘You can help me. Just you.’

She pouted up at him, her glossy lips enticing even in the moonlight. To his horror he felt a ripple of masculine response.

‘Please?’

She blinked and he saw tears fill her eyes.

He tightened his hold, valiantly ignoring the fact that little Ava had grown into a seductively luscious woman.

‘Of course I’ll help you.’

‘And you promise you won’t take me back? You won’t tell them where I am?’

The intensity of her stare and the anguish in her voice raised the hairs on his nape.

She didn’t sound drunk. She sounded scared.