Paper Marriages: Wife: Bought and Paid For / His Convenient Marriage / A Convenient Wife

Paper Marriages: Wife: Bought and Paid For / His Convenient Marriage / A Convenient Wife
JACQUELINE BAIRD

Sara Craven

SARA WOOD

Back by popular demand! These great value titles feature stories from Mills & Boon fans' favourite authors. Wife: Bought and Paid For by Jacqueline Baird Powerful Solo Maffeiano owns half of Penny’s family home, yet she has no other assets and debts to pay. She has no choice but to agree to Solo’s offer: he will pay the creditors and restore the house – if Penny becomes his wife. And he wants a wife in every sense of the word!His Convenient Marriage by Sara Craven When Miles Hunter proposed marriage to Chessie, she knew it couldn’t be because he loved her. He simply needed a social hostess and someone to look after his home. Chessie owed Miles: he’d rescued her from financial scandal. But was he now expecting her to repay him…in his bed ?A Convenient Wife by Sara WoodMillionaire Blake Bellamie’s just discovered he’s not the legitimate heir to the estate of Cranford. Nicole Vaseux is. The attraction between the pair is instant, powerful. But when Nicole accepts Blake’s whirlwind marriage proposal, she wonders if she has just agreed to become a convenient wife…

Paper Marriages

Married at his convenience!

Three sizzling, modern romances fromthree favourite Mills & Boon® authors!

Paper Marriages

WIFE: BOUGHT AND PAID FOR

by

Jacqueline Baird

HIS CONVENIENT MARRIAGE

by

Sara Craven

A CONVENIENT WIFE

by

Sara Wood

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

WIFE: BOUGHT AND PAID FOR

by

Jacqueline Baird

Jacqueline Baird began writing as a hobby when her family objected to the smell of her oil painting, and immediately became hooked on the romantic genre. She loves travelling and worked her way around the world from Europe to the Americas and Australia, returning to marry her teenage sweetheart. She lives in Ponteland, Northumbria, the county of her birth, and has two teenage sons. She enjoys playing badminton, and spends most weekends with husband Jim, sailing their Gp14 around Derwent Reservoir.

PROLOGUE

PENNY ran lightly across the field, leapt over the fence into the old stable yard, and headed straight for the back door of the house. She was late and Veronica would kill her. Penny had promised to return before five to babysit her half-brother, while her stepmother went to the hairdresser. But her boss in the antique shop had been late getting back, and then Penny had bumped into her best friend, Jane Turner, the local vicar’s daughter, and Jane’s brother Simon.

Simon had just returned from a trekking holiday in the Himalayas. A year older than the girls, he was full of his experiences, and waxed lyrical about his prowess as a mountain climber. Jane was delighted because her older sister Patricia, who was married and lived in New York, was coming home on holiday next month, and bringing her new baby with her. Penny was pleased for her friends but it had delayed her even more.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Penny yelled as she dashed into the rear porch that led to the kitchen.

Veronica stood, baby James in her arms, blocking her way. ‘About time! I’m going to be late and you know how important this dinner is tonight. We have invited Mr Maffeiano and his PA, and with a bit of luck not only will Maffeiano buy the land, and solve our immediate money worries, but also he might be persuaded into going into business with Julian. It could be the making of your father, and heaven knows we need the income to keep this place up.’

It was the familiar moan, and Penny shrivelled a little inside. Veronica wasn’t a bad person; in fact, when she had first married Penny’s father Julian eighteen months ago they had got on well. It was only when Veronica had given birth to a baby boy ten months later, and begun talking of when James would inherit the estate, and her husband had disabused her of the notion, informing her Haversham Park was always left to the oldest child, irrespective of sex, that she’d changed.

Penny’s own mother had died of cancer when Penny was thirteen, and for a while her father had been depressed. But four years later he had met and married Veronica.

‘Well, take him, for heaven’s sake! I have to dash,’ Veronica snapped.

‘Sorry, Veronica,’ Penny apologised again, reaching out and taking James into her arms. She adored her brother. But, casting a glance at her stepmother, she could not help thinking uncharitably that it was amazing how quickly Veronica had lost interest in Penny, and to some extent the baby, when she’d realised her husband wasn’t as wealthy as she’d thought.

‘Sorry isn’t good enough—we really do need the money. Working in that dusty junk shop for a gap year before going to university will nowhere near cover the cost of keeping you at college for three more. Your father will have to pay. Heavens! We can’t even afford a caterer! Feed James, and put him to bed, then keep an eye on Mrs Brown’s cooking. The woman is far too old to work and she flatly refused to take James for me, saying she was too busy. The nerve of the woman.’

‘Okay,’ Penny agreed as Veronica swept out. Penny sighed with relief as she walked into the kitchen.

‘She’s gone and left you holding the baby again,’ Mrs Brown, the live-in housekeeper, remarked grimly.

‘I don’t mind.’ Penny grinned at the older woman and slipped a gurgling James into his high chair, then set about preparing his bottle and food.

“Brownie”, as Penny called her, had lived at Haversham Park since before Penny was born and Penny could not imagine the house without her. Much as Veronica complained about the woman, she had not tried to get rid of her.

However, this was probably because Brownie worked for a small salary and, more importantly, Veronica did not cook… In fact Veronica’s one aim in life, as far as Penny could see, was to look good and be part of what she called the social scene. This apparently, entailed flitting back and forward to London for dinners and charity balls.

Penny grimaced; it was a ball that was responsible for tonight’s dinner. Veronica had persuaded her father to take her to an exclusive charity event in London. As luck would have it, Veronica had bumped into an old friend of hers, a businessman, and had introduced him to Penny’s father. One thing had led to another, and apparently the man was interested in purchasing land, perhaps for a golf course. Personally Penny could not see the point but, as her father had explained, there was no money in farming any more, and they needed money. Veronica was right; this was an ideal opportunity for Julian to make some money and her father almost always bowed to what Veronica wanted, Penny thought ruefully. Who could blame him? He was a man in his fifties with a beautiful young wife and he just wanted to keep her happy.

But Penny took heart in the fact they would still keep the home she loved, a stone-built Tudor-styled house set in five acres of parkland, and she began feeding James with a smile on her face.

Once he was fed and happy, Penny left James with Brownie and set the large oak table in the dining room with the finest damask cloth and silver cutlery. Then, with a brief glance at her wrist-watch she dashed back to the kitchen.

A sleepy James stretched out his arms to her and she swept him up in hers, giving him a cuddle and a kiss. ‘Bed for you, little man,’ she murmured, and strolled out into the hall. Her foot was on the bottom step when the front door was flung open. Penny stopped and turned. Veronica was back quick.

‘Ah, Penelope and my favourite boy.’ Her smiling father walked towards her.

Oh, my God! She stifled a groan. The guests had arrived early, over two hours early by Penny’s reckoning!

Solo Maffeiano entered the hall, and wondered what the hell he was doing here. Two nights ago he had spent a couple of hours of inventive sex with Lisa, his occasional mistress in New York. She was a lawyer, she knew the score and was very accommodating.

In a way it was her fault he was here now. On a previous date with Lisa months ago, he had been flicking through a year-old magazine while he’d waited to be picked up for the airport. The centre-fold picture of a wedding had attracted his attention: the marriage of Veronica Jones to a much older minor English aristocrat, Julian Haversham.

Solo had laughed out loud as he had known the lady seven years before, not in the biblical sense, but it had not been for the want of trying on her part. Veronica had been the girlfriend of an Arab business associate of his when they had spent a week cruising the Greek Islands. Bridal material she was not!

But the picture of the bridesmaid, the daughter of the groom, had caught his eye. The Honourable Penelope Haversham was a beauty, with pale blonde hair and milky white skin, and an innocent, almost fey quality about the small, slender figure that had intrigued him.

He had met Veronica and her new husband at a charity ball in London a couple of weeks back. Now following his PA Tina down the hall, he realised he should have taken her advice and had nothing to do with the proposition Veronica was pushing, the purchase of farming land and possibly a joint leisure development. If the house were included it might have been viable. But it would be sacrilege to alter it. It was a beautiful example of Tudor architecture, and Solo appreciated works of art. His hobby was collecting rare objects; his home in Italy was a treasure trove of objets d’art.

Probably because he had been brought up in the back streets of Naples with a whore for a grandmother and a mother who’d followed in the family tradition! He was the result of an American sailor’s fling with his mother. He was named Saul after him but the name was quickly bastardised to Solo, and by the time he was ten he’d been on his own.

There was very little he had not seen and done. But blessed with a brilliant mind and a quick tongue, he had never fallen foul of the law. He had worked and acquired a formal education whenever he’d had the time and opportunity, ultimately graduating with honours in economics. But privately he acknowledged the economics of poverty and the street had proved to be a much more valuable lesson, when dealing with the upper echelons of international finance.