A Savage Beauty. Anne Mather

       Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

      ANNE MATHER

      Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

      publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

      This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

      for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

      We are sure you will love them all!

      I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

      I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

      These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

      We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is [email protected] and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

       A Savage Beauty

      Anne Mather

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       Table of Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      IT was foggy, with one of those fogs that blanketed down suddenly, without warning, and soaked one through with a kind of heavy mist which was much more chilling than actual rain.

      It was a night for hugging firesides, thought Emma wearily, pushing her loosened damp hair back from her face for the umpteenth time, and glancing back fearfully along the road behind her as though afraid that something might come hurtling out of the gloom towards her, demolishing her in seconds. She would not have believed she could be within a thirty mile radius of London and yet still find a road which as yet had not a sign of habitation. It was ludicrous really, doubly so when she thought of the annoyance of losing her way in the fog, which, combined with a body-shaking skirmish in a ditch, had left the car temporarily helpless. Added to that she had the ignominy of knowing that she might not easily be able to find the car again, even in daylight, for she hadn't the slightest idea where she was. She had been on the main Guildford to London road, but a roundabout had confused her and when she realized where she was her efforts to turn the car had resulted in her present predicament.

      Victor would be furious. He had not wanted her to go to Guildford in the first place, and he had refused to accompany her because he had said she was foolish to go anywhere on such a cold and unpleasant evening. Possibly she had been foolish, she acceded now, but truth to tell, when she had set away from her London home it had only been raining, and no one could have foreseen with any certainty that the evening would turn out the way it had.

      But she had gone to Stafford's every year on his birthday, and as he was her godfather and was in his eighties already, there would not be so many birthdays left for her to visit him. Victor said it was a duty visit, but it wasn't. Stafford Lawson might be old in years, but his mind was as active as ever, and Emma had always enjoyed her visits. It was fortunate, however, that Stafford was also partially blind, or he would never have allowed her to leave after the fog came down.

      But Emma had wanted to get home. She had wanted to prove to Victor that she was perfectly capable of driving to Guildford without his escort, in spite of the weather. And now, here she was, lost and alone, without even the benefit of her car. Victor would be bound to find out. Tomorrow he would want to know where her car was and then…

      She sighed. There was no point in worrying about what Victor might say yet. Her most pressing problem was to find some method of reaching a telephone so that she might summon a taxi and gain the comfort of her father's house in Kensington. What on earth would she do if she didn't come upon some form of habitation soon? And who might she find, she wondered uneasily, out here, miles from anywhere? There were so many stories of young women being lost without trace and her agile mind pondered the possibility of whether any of these disappearances had been in this area.

      Angrily, she squashed these ideas. What on earth was she thinking of, allowing her imagination such dramatic rein? In a few minutes she would come upon a cluster of houses or a farm, and when she did so there would be people and lights and telephones, and offers of assistance.

      But then another thought struck her. It had been quite late when she left Stafford's, now it must be nearing midnight, and who might be abroad or even awake at such a time? Farmers were early risers, and most probably that was why she had seen no lights. Everyone was in bed!

      She shivered. She felt wet and cold and miserable, and this time she was unable to quell the feeling of unease that rose inside her. Whatever was she going to do?

      And then, with scarcely a sound except the powerful hiss of heavy tyres on the wet road, she saw a car coming towards her, its yellow fog lamps gradually lifting a little of the gloom around her.

      Emma was nonplussed. This was a contingency she had not considered. Who might be driving this car? After her uneasy thoughts of a few moments ago, she was quite prepared