Permission To Love

Permission To Love
PENNY JORDAN

Penny Jordan needs no introduction as arguably the most recognisable name writing for Mills & Boon. We have celebrated her wonderful writing with a special collection, many of which for the first time in eBook format and all available right now.True love needs no approval Lucas had always urged Lindsay to take charge of her own life, even though it meant defying her father's wishes. All that changed, however, the day Lucas was left in charge of Lindsay's inheritance – and her fate. Quite suddenly Lucas withdrew his support and directed Lindsay to marry according to her father's will. He made it painfully clear that Lindsay could no longer turn to him for warmth and affection.But by the time she'd resigned herself to a future without passion with a man she did not love, Lucas changed his mind again.

Celebrate the legend that is bestselling author

PENNY JORDAN

Phenomenally successful author of more than two hundred books with sales of over a hundred million copies!

Penny Jordan’s novels are loved by millions of readers all around the word in many different languages. Mills & Boon are proud to have published one hundred and eighty-seven novels and novellas written by Penny Jordan, who was a reader favourite right from her very first novel through to her last.

This beautiful digital collection offers a chance to recapture the pleasure of all of Penny Jordan’s fabulous, glamorous and romantic novels for Mills & Boon.

About the Author

PENNY JORDAN is one of Mills & Boon’s most popular authors. Sadly, Penny died from cancer on 31st December 2011, aged sixty-five. She leaves an outstanding legacy, having sold over a hundred million books around the world. She wrote a total of one hundred and eighty-seven novels for Mills & Boon, including the phenomenally successful A Perfect Family, To Love, Honour & Betray, The Perfect Sinner and Power Play, which hit the Sunday Times and New York Times bestseller lists. Loved for her distinctive voice, her success was in part because she continually broke boundaries and evolved her writing to keep up with readers’ changing tastes. Publishers Weekly said about Jordan ‘Women everywhere will find pieces of themselves in Jordan’s characters’ and this perhaps explains her enduring appeal.

Although Penny was born in Preston, Lancashire and spent her childhood there, she moved to Cheshire as a teenager and continued to live there for the rest of her life. Following the death of her husband, she moved to the small traditional Cheshire market town on which she based her much-loved Crighton books.

Penny was a member and supporter of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Romance Writers of America—two organisations dedicated to providing support for both published and yet-to-be-published authors. Her significant contribution to women’s fiction was recognised in 2011, when the Romantic Novelists’ Association presented Penny with a Lifetime Achievement Award.

Permission To Love

Penny Jordan

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

CHAPTER ONE

‘SO, it’s all settled then. The weekend after next we’ll go down to Gloucestershire and break the news to my parents, and of course you’ll want to tell your brother.’

‘Stepbrother,’ Lindsay corrected absently. Since she had accepted Jeremy’s proposal, she had had the disconcerting suspicion that he expected her to turn almost overnight from an independent career woman into a dutiful, clinging fiancée, but she quelled all the doubts crowding into her mind, reminding herself that she was twenty-four; old enough and mature enough to accept that it was far better to choose a marriage partner for practical reasons rather than emotional ones. After all Jeremy was everything that her father had wanted for her in a husband. He was something in the City; his parents were comfortably-off landowners and if she personally had not particularly taken to Sir John and Lady Irene then she was not so very much different from thousands of other females who at times found it difficult to get on with their inlaws.

‘Brother, stepbrother … it’s one and the same thing,’ Jeremy informed her fussily. ‘But you’ll have to let him know. The parents will want to hold an engagement party for us and then there’ll be the press announcements. It would look rather off if he learned of our engagement second-hand. In fact it might be an idea if we went to see him together this weekend. He’ll want to talk to me about handing over the responsibility for your inheritance anyway.’

Something cool flashed in Lindsay’s normally warm golden eyes for a moment, but she knew that Jeremy was oblivious to her momentary anger. Jeremy was not a man who felt at ease with female emotions, but it seemed childish to mentally berate him for his lack of understanding of her feelings now, when originally, his calm unflappableness had been one of the things that drew her to him. Ever since she had been seventeen Lindsay had been pursued by the male sex, but she had come to wonder how many of her supposed admirers had wanted her for herself and how many had been drawn to her by the magnet of her father’s wealth. She was attractive enough in her own way she supposed, if one liked tall, slender women with slightly irregular features and honey blonde hair, but she would never have described herself as beautiful. Many of her escorts had however. Her full lips thinned slightly. What had they wanted? Her or her inheritance.

Strange to remember that until Lucas’ engagement it had never occurred to her to think of herself as a rich prize that a man might marry to secure her wealth.

Her father had over-protected her of course, and perhaps that was natural. The death of her fragile, delicate mother after the birth of her stillborn son had had a traumatic effect on her father. For months afterwards he had barely let Lindsay out of his sight. He had blamed himself for her mother’s death; she knew that, cursing himself for taking her away from her natural environment and subjecting her to the rigours of life as the wife of a man with his way to make in the world and with no means of doing so other than his own brain and will.

Her parents’ marriage had been a true love match. Privately Lindsay thought her mother must have possessed a much stronger personality than her father had thought, otherwise how had she found the courage to leave her parents and everything else that was familiar, behind her, to run away from that luxurious pampered existence to marry the son of her parents’ gardener?

At the time the press had been full of the story. When she had been old enough to pick up scraps of gossip Lindsay had gone down to the local library and turned up the old story. Her mother had been eighteen when she ran away with her father. He had been twenty-two and they had been married most romantically at Gretna. In true high emotional fashion Lindsay’s grandparents had refused to have anything to do with their erring daughter and it was this unrelenting attitude that had led to her father’s determination, obsession almost; that Lindsay should marry into the class that had so cruelly rejected her mother and thereby vindicate her mother’s sacrifice in marrying him.

Over the years Lindsay had come to realise that her father’s grief had left him scarred and intractable over this issue. Even when he had married for a second time, he had not abandoned his determined stance over Lindsay’s marriage. In fact there had been a time when Lindsay suspected that it had been the only thing that kept him alive; his fierce determination that his daughter should not be looked down upon and rejected as his wife had been. And he was a wealthy enough man to ensure that Lindsay should have the best of everything, including a top-drawer husband. The financial success which had come too late to save his delicate wife, was the weapon he was determined to use against what he considered to be the rejection of her family. Lindsay had grown up from the age of seven knowing what her father had planned for her; knowing and accepting it because she sensed that to do otherwise would hurt her father.

Lindsay had grown to care very deeply for her stepmother. Sheila Armitage had been their housekeeper, joining the household three years after her own mother’s death. Lindsay had been ten at the time and had responded readily to Sheila’s warm mothering. She had responded even more readily to Lucas’ affectionate toleration of her. Seven years her senior, Sheila’s son by her first marriage, Lucas had been Lindsay’s god and when he and her father had struck up a close rapport, nothing could have pleased her more. Lucas took the place of the son her father had always wanted. He was old fashioned in that he considered all women to be delicate plants to be shielded from the harsh realities of life, and because he was her father and she loved him Lindsay went along with the role he had devised for her. After leaving school, her father intended that she was to go to Switzerland to be ‘finished’. His business was expanding rapidly, and Lucas was his right hand man. Despite the traumas of being a teenager, Lindsay was conscious of being happier than she had ever been in her life. Sheila provided a buffer between her and her father, shielding Lindsay from the full force of his determination. Lindsay had been able to tell Sheila how unsettled she felt; how much she would have preferred to use the brain God had given her and go on to University rather than finishing school, and Sheila had been gently sympathetic.

In fact when she looked back on that last summer before everything had changed so dramatically, she could think of only one jarring note.

It had happened one hot afternoon—a Saturday in July. Over lunch her father had been talking about her future, telling her that he hoped while she was at finishing school she would make the right sort of contacts. He had never made any secret in the family circle of his plans for her, but listening to him Lindsay remembered how she had glanced at Lucas and been shocked by the bitter, grim expression darkening his eyes. It had gone almost the moment she saw it, and later she had wondered what Lucas could have been thinking about. That was before she had known about Gwendolin.

She had gone into the herb garden after lunch, curiously restless and wishing she had the courage to explain to her father that the life he was equipping her for was not necessarily the one she wanted. But she knew how bitterly disappointed he would be … how hurt … and she just could not bring herself to deliver the blow. She would tell him later, she comforted herself. Somehow before the summer was over she would find a way … She had been lying face down, full length on the small camomile lawn when a shadow fell across the sun. Rolling over, she had squinted up into Lucas’ shuttered face, her own breaking into a warm smile. Lately whenever she saw Lucas it had become oddly difficult to breathe whenever she was close to her stepbrother. It had occurred to her to wonder if she was suffering from some sort of crush on him, but she had dismissed the idea as ridiculous. Lucas was her brother … or as good as. As he came down beside her she studied him carefully. Looking at Lucas always gave her a special kind of pleasure. There was something so strong about his features that just to look at them comforted her. Lucas would never allow anyone to push him into a situation he didn’t want. He was as dark as she was fair, his hair thick and straight where hers waved. There had been some sort of crisis at the office which had necessitated both him and her father working late, and as a consequence he had not had time to get his hair cut and it curled thickly down over the collar of his shirt.

His face was all planes and angles, hard boned and very male. There were times like now when she wanted to reach out and touch him; to see if the living flesh felt as hard as it looked, but something always stopped her. Lucas had always had a certain remoteness about him; an air which warned against taking too many intimacies. His eyes, searched her face with cool grey precision, almost as though he were looking for something, and Lindsay felt herself tremble.

‘I don’t want to go to Switzerland.’ The words burst from her before she could stop them, a childish plea, which she regretted instantly. She was sixteen, not six, she told herself angrily.

‘Then you must tell your father so.’ Lucas sounded cold and remote. He wasn’t going to help her, Lindsay could see that.

‘He won’t listen to me … I don’t want to hurt him.’

She could feel thick tears blurring her throat, closing it up and she hung her head in anguish.

‘And because of that you’ll sacrifice yourself to marriage with some idiotic county type who’ll marry you for your father’s money. Is that really what you want from life Lindsay?’

It was so unlike him to be so cruel to her that Lindsay could say nothing. Tears flowed hotly down her face, but she made no move to check them, or to hide them from him. She heard the thick exclamation he made in his throat and through her own pain was dimly aware of something in his eyes that could have been pity and then she was in his arms, being comforted and rocked as she had been on countless occasions in the past. Much as he loved her, her father was not a demonstrative person, and it was always to Lucas that she turned for warmth and physical affection.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.’ His fingers, rough and slightly calloused brushed away her tears, ‘But Lindsay, can’t you see what’s going to happen to you if you don’t take charge of your own life. Can’t you see what you’ll be missing if you go along with your father’s plans for you?’

She had managed a watery smile and asked mistily, ‘Like what?’

‘Like this.’

The sensation of having Lucas’ mouth moving against her own almost robbed her of the ability to breathe. She was dimly conscious of her heart racing madly, thudding against her chest wall. Her lips softened beneath the cool assault of Lucas’ and then abruptly he was pushing her away and standing up, his expression morose and brooding as he looked down at her.

‘If you settle for the life your father’s planning for you that’s what you’ll be missing Lindsay … reality and all the pleasures and pains that go with it.’

He was gone before she could speak, and she remembered she had touched her mouth wonderingly. Lucas had kissed her many times before but never like that. A little shiver ran down her spine, and she was conscious of a sudden restlessness, an excess of energy that demanded some outlet.

It seemed hard to believe that the man who had spoken to her like that was the same one who eighteen months later was urging her to accept the proposal of the son of a neighbouring landowner; a young man who fulfilled all the qualifications her father wanted for her in a husband and yet who sexually left her completely cold. Tears stung her eyes and Lindsay was surprised to find them there. She was aware that Jeremy had gone quiet and raised her eyes to meet his.

‘Where were you?’ he questioned coolly. ‘You know Lindsay you’ll have to stop going off into daydreams like that, otherwise my family’s going to think you’re not quite right in the head.’

‘But since I’m an extremely wealthy heiress, they’ll be prepared to overlook it?’ She said the words with a smile, but knew she had shocked Jeremy from his expression.

‘You know you’re beginning to get quite a hang-up about this money,’ he told her curtly.

‘Would you want to marry me if I didn’t have it?’

Be honest with me Jeremy she prayed inwardly, I’m so sick of sycophantic men whispering words of love when what they love is not me but my bank balance … And yet she wanted to be married … to have children, a home, roots … perhaps because of the loss of her mother when she was so young and then the double blow of her father and stepmother’s deaths in a plane crash that summer she was seventeen. Those losses had left her with a deep-seated need for security perhaps, but not at any price.

She saw Jeremy’s slightly uncomfortable expression, but he responded with dogged honesty. ‘I don’t know … All my life I’ve been brought up with the responsibility that the family needs money,’ he told her half curtly. ‘That’s just the way it is. I’m thirty years old Lindsay and you’re twenty-four … can’t you accept that we’re both the type of people whose passions don’t run very deep. That doesn’t mean to say that because …’

‘Sexually we don’t turn one another on?’ Lindsay supplied wryly for him, watching the angry colour creep up under his skin.

‘I thought we’d agreed we’d wait until we were married,’ Jeremy interposed stiffly. ‘After all … we’re not teenagers … you share your flat and I share mine, and …’