Zoe's Lesson

Zoe's Lesson
Kate Hewitt

Everyone's talking about Zoe - the illegitimate heiress!So her billionaire father Oscar sends her to New York to discover her biological roots. Zoe's still raw from the knowlegde that she's not a real Balfour. She intends to block out her pain by partying, but Zoe shocks even herself when she spends one no-strings-attached night with a gorgeous stranger.

EIGHT SISTERS, EIGHT SCANDALOUSLY SEDUCTIVE STORIES

THE Balfour LEGACY

Scandal on the night of the world-famous one hundredth Balfour Charity Ball has left the Balfour family in disarray! Proud patriarch Oscar Balfour knows that something must be done. His only option is to cut his daughters off from their lavish lifestyles and send them out into the real world to stand on their own two feet. So he dusts off the Balfour family rules and uses his powerful contacts to place each girl in a situation that will challenge her particular personality. He is determined that each of his daughters should learn that money will not buy happiness – integrity, decorum, strength, trust…and love are everything!

Each month Mills & Boon is delighted to bring you an exciting new instalment from The Balfour Legacy. You won’t want to miss out!

MIA’S SCANDAL – Michelle Reid

KAT’S PRIDE – Sharon Kendrick

EMILY’S INNOCENCE – India Grey

SOPHIE’S SEDUCTION – Kim Lawrence

ZOE’S LESSON – Kate Hewitt

ANNIE’S SECRET – Carole Mortimer

BELLA’S DISGRACE – Sarah Morgan

OLIVIA’S AWAKENING – MargaretWay

The Balfour Legacy

Zoe’s Lesson

Kate Hewitt

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

About the Author

KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon® romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen and she’s continued to read them ever since.

She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence long – fortunately, they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older.

She has written plays, short stories and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, travelling and learning to knit.

After marrying the man of her dreams – her older brother’s childhood friend – she lived in England for six years and now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children and the possibility of one day getting a dog.

Kate loves to hear from readers – you can contact her through her website, www.kate-hewitt.com.

To Maggie, a great New York friend!

Love, K.

Family Tree

Chapter One

MAX MONROE gazed at the cherry blossoms outside the doctor’s office on Park Avenue, the fully opened buds as soft and round as pink puffballs. He blinked; were the blossoms blurring together into one indiscernible rosy mass, or was he imagining it? Fearing it?

He turned back to the doctor who was smiling at him with far too much compassion and steepled his fingers under his chin. When he spoke his voice was bland, deliberately so. ‘So what are we looking at? A year?’ He swallowed. ‘Six months?’

‘It’s difficult to say.’ Dr Ayers glanced down at the clipboard that chronicled Max’s history of sight loss in a few clinical sentences. ‘Stargardt’s disease is not a predictable process. As you know, many are diagnosed in childhood, yet yours was not detected until recently.’ He gave a tiny, apologetic shrug. ‘You could have months of blurred vision, loss of central vision, sudden blackouts…’ He paused, tellingly.

‘Or?’ Max asked, the single word opening up a well of unwelcome possibility.

‘Or it could be faster than that. You might have nearly complete loss of sight within a few weeks.’

‘Weeks.’ Max repeated the word with cold detachment, turning to gaze once more at the blowsy blossoms, now at the height of their glory. Perhaps he wouldn’t see them fall, wouldn’t witness the silky pink petals turn brown and wrinkled, curling up at the corners before they fluttered slowly, disconsolately to the ground.

Weeks.

‘Max—’

Max held up a hand to stop the doctor’s words of sympathy. He didn’t want to hear how sorry the man was, how Max didn’t deserve this. Polite but pointless offerings. ‘Please,’ he said quietly, his throat suddenly—stupidly—tight.

Dr Ayers shook his head, his words lapsing into a sigh. ‘Your case is unique, as the head trauma from your accident might have exacerbated or even accelerated the conditions of the disease. Many people with this disease can live with a managed condition—’

‘While others are legally blind and have nearly complete loss,’ Max finished dispassionately. He’d done his research, back when the first flickers of darkness rippled across his vision, as if the world had gone wavy. Back when he’d been able to read, watch, see. Just three weeks ago, yet a separate lifetime.

The doctor sighed again, then reached for a brochure. ‘Living with sight loss is challenging—’

Max gave a sharp bark of disbelieving laughter. Challenging? He could do challenging. He thrived on challenges. Sight loss was not a challenge. It was a devastation. Darkness, utter darkness, as he’d felt once before, when the fear had consumed him, when he’d heard their cries—He bit off that train of thought, refused to lose himself in the memories. It would be all too easy, and then he would never find his way back.

‘I could refer you to some groups that help you to become accustomed—’

‘No.’ He pushed the proffered brochure away and forced himself to meet the doctor’s compassionate gaze, angling his head so the man’s blurred face was in his peripheral vision, where his eyesight was best. He blinked, as though that would help. As though it would change. Already the world was losing its focus, softening and darkening at the edges like an old photograph. Shapes blurred, and spots and lights drifted across his vision, like stars in a darkening sky. How much he could see at any given time was, as Max was coming to realise, a complete crap shoot.

And when he was sightless, Max wondered, when the curtain of his vision finally drew completely closed, would the present reality—those vibrant cherry blossoms—be like an old photograph to him too? Blurred and distant, hard to remember, fading with time? How would he cope with the unending darkness? He’d felt it once before; he couldn’t bear to face it again, yet there was no choice. No choice at all.

He shook his head, both to block the thought and Dr Ayers’s suggestion. ‘I’m not interested in joining some kind of group,’ he said flatly. ‘I’ll handle this my own way.’

‘I’m not talking about some touchy-feely thing—’ Dr Ayers began. He was, Max knew, a military man, which is why he’d been referred to him. Army, though, not air force. And he hadn’t seen any action.

‘I know.’ He forced his lips to stretch into a meaningless smile. ‘Thank you.’ He rose from his chair, his head aching, his leg throbbing with pain. For a moment he felt dizzy, groundless, and he reached out to steady himself on the corner of the doctor’s desk. He missed, his hand swiping through air, and he cursed aloud.

‘Max—’

‘I’m fine.’ He righted himself, shoulders thrown back in military fashion, his eyes dark and hard, the scar that now bisected his face, running from the inside corner of his right eyebrow along the side of his nose to the curl of his lip, blazing with remembered feeling. Pain. ‘Thank you,’ he said again and, walking with careful, deliberate steps, he left the office.

Outside the window a single, silky petal fluttered lazily to the ground.