The Mistress Scandal. KIM LAWRENCE

      About the Author

      KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons, and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

       Recent titles by the same author:

      MAID FOR MONTERO (At His Service) THE PETRELLI HEIR SANTIAGO’S COMMAND GIANNI’S PRIDE

       Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

      The Mistress Scandal

      Kim Lawrence

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘GO ON, spit it out.’

      ‘What?’ Greg produced an expression of injured innocence from habit rather than a belief it would have any effect on his half-brother, who had an unnerving ability to read him like a book.

      He knew too that the languid air—half-closed eyes, long legs crossed at the ankle thrust out before him as he slumped in a deeply padded leather chair—was a blind. Those penetrating dark eyes lightened by disturbing amber flecks were shrewdly, probably cynically, analysing his every gesture. With a rush of honesty he grudgingly conceded that the cynicism was possibly justified; he might have let Gabe down a few times in the past—but that was a long time ago …

      ‘The recruitment’s going really well. I thought you’d be pleased.’

      ‘I am. We’re ahead of schedule. But let’s put your brilliance at public relations to one side for the moment, Greg. Spare me the injured dignity and tell me why you’ve developed a nervous tic.’

      ‘What?’ Scanning his handsome face anxiously in a conveniently placed mirror, Greg caught the reflection of his half-brother’s sardonic smile. ‘Very funny.’ With a deep sigh he dropped down into a chair. ‘There’s this girl.’

      ‘You’re amazingly predictable, Greg.’ Gabriel MacAllister saw his brother flush and softened the cutting edge of his tone. ‘I hope you haven’t done anything too stupid. The last thing we want is to upset the natives. You know how much knee-jerk opposition there was to the planning permission originally.’

      Stupid …? He had no doubt on a scale of one to ten which number Gabe would select. Anyone but Gabe might have softened up a bit if he’d mentioned how desperately in love he was, but he knew better than to appeal to his brother’s softer side—Gabriel MacAllister was as hard as tungsten steel, and right now he was waiting for a reply.

      ‘She’s pregnant.’ He waited, a sulkily defiant expression momentarily spoiling his open-faced good looks, for his brother’s response. ‘Well, say something!’ he burst out, when all Gabe did was rub the toe of his shinily polished shoe in a thoughtful circle on the carpet. ‘Call me an idiot—hell!’

      ‘I won’t waste my breath stating the obvious,’ Gabriel responded, in a soft voice his younger brother found infinitely worse than any screaming histrionics. ‘You’d better tell me the whole story.’

      He listened carefully, repressing his irritation when the younger man lapsed into the rambling sections which miraculously absolved him from all blame, until Greg had finished.

      ‘Eighteen. You did say she was eighteen?’

      ‘She’s very mature.’

      It afforded Gabriel small comfort to see his idiot sibling could still blush guiltily.

      ‘Will you come with me when I tell Mum and Dad?’ Sophie pleaded, absently eating the peas her sister was shelling. ‘You’ll be able to calm things down if they start yelling.’

      Alice gave a wry snort; she didn’t share her sister’s confidence. A gap of ten years separated her from Sophie, who was in their parents’ eyes perfect in every way. If Sophie hadn’t been so genuinely sweet-tempered her indulged upbringing might have turned her into a spoilt brat. But there was nothing brat-like about her sister; she was impulsive, certainly, but that was part of her charm.

      ‘If?’ One darkly feathered eyebrow rose to a quizzical angle.

      ‘You’re supposed to be making me feel better, Alice.’

      The resentful glare was wasted on Alice, who shifted the angle of her garden chair so that she had a better view of her two-year-old son, who was ignoring the numerous brightly coloured toys in the sandpit in favour of his shoes, which he was filling with sand. His golden sun-kissed little face was a serious mask of concentration. She knew she was prejudiced, but Alice didn’t think there had ever been a child born as beautiful as Will.

      She got up and placed the discarded sunhat back on his head. ‘I give up,’ she sighed as William removed it equally firmly, giving her a cherubic smile as he did so. Though a remarkably even-tempered child, Will was already displaying a stubborn streak a mile wide.

      ‘I wouldn’t worry, Ally, he won’t burn. He really is dark. He certainly takes after Oliver, not you.’

      Alice twitched the peak of her baseball cap firmly over her lightly freckled nose and remained silent on the subject of her son’s complexion. She found herself recalling their honeymoon, when Oliver had ignored her advice and overindulged in the Caribbean sun on the very first day. He’d been literally untouchable for the rest of their stay.

      She rejoined her sister. ‘I don’t think I’ll be doing you any favours to raise false hopes. Be realistic, Sophie. There’s going to be tears and yelling—and we’re talking about the optimistic scenario here.’

      She watched her sister’s soft lips quiver, and with a sigh she placed a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. The most serious trauma in her lovely sister’s life so far had been wearing braces; it wasn’t what she’d have termed an adequate preparation for her present situation.

      ‘You know how proud they are of you, Soph, their brilliant baby daughter off to Oxford … And you walk in and announce you’re going to have a baby. How do you expect them to react? They still fret about you catching a bus alone. Have you thought this thing through?’ she asked worriedly.

      ‘Are you saying I should get rid of it?’ Sophie pulled away angrily and glared accusingly at her sister. ‘How would you have liked it if anyone had suggested you get rid of Will?’ She saw her sister flinch. ‘You were a single parent too … Oliver was dead—’ She broke off and bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, that was …’

      ‘True,’ her sister put in levelly. ‘Which means I know how hard it is to bring up a child alone. At night when Will has a temperature—which is probably a simple cold but might not be—don’t you think I long to have someone else there to share …?’ Breathing deeply, Alice bit back the emotional words that suddenly threatened to spill out.

      Sophie’s expression of stunned amazement almost made her smile.

      ‘I thought … You always seem to cope so well, Ally,’ she said, staring at her sister wonderingly.

      ‘I cope, but that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wish there was someone else there to share some of the decisions,’ Alice admitted truthfully. She didn’t want to be responsible for any false notions her sister might have about the difficulties involved in being a single parent. ‘And at least Oliver left me reasonably well provided for financially. And I wasn’t suggesting anything … that’s your decision.’

      Sophie looked into her sister’s deep blue eyes and saw sympathy,