Mistress On Loan. Sara Craven

      “I have a proposal to put to you.”

      His hands slid under the lapels of her jacket, pushing them apart, while the gray eyes made a slow, lingering survey of the swell of her rounded breasts under the clinging camisole.

      Chay said softly, “You’ve grown up beautifully, Adie.”

      “Don’t call me that. And don’t handle me, either,” Adrien added, her voice quivering. “You bought a house. I was not included in the price.”

      “It occurs to me that this house lacks something. It needs a mistress,” he said softly. “And so do I. And you, my sweet Adrien, are the perfect candidate.”

      There are times in a man’s life…

       when only seduction will settle old scores!

      Pick up our exciting series of revenge-based

       romances—they’re red-hot, so get ready to be singed!

      The Marriage Debt

       by Daphne Clair

      On Sale in September #2347

      Available only from

       Harlequin Presents

      

      

      Mistress On Loan

      Sara Craven

      

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

       Endpage

      CHAPTER ONE

      IT WAS the time of day that Adrien loved best—those quiet, early-morning hours when she had the house completely to herself. Before the painters arrived, and the joiners and plasterers, and work began again to restore Wildhurst Grange to its former glory.

      She liked to move slowly from room to room, opening shutters and flinging back the drapes from the newly curtained windows to admit the pale late-summer sun. Letting herself move forward in her imagination to the time when she and Piers would be married, and living here, and she would no longer be simply the interior designer but the mistress of the house. And Piers’s wife.

      That was the best part of all, and the thought always made her slightly breathless—as if she could hardly believe her own luck, the way her life had fallen so sweetly into place.

      Because there was a wonderful symmetry about it all. About the way they’d met at Wildhurst all those years before, when he’d come to her rescue when she was in trouble, and then how the house had brought them back together, when Piers had inherited the neglected property from his late uncle, Angus Stretton, and needed a designer to help plan the restoration.

      And soon, she thought, it would be finished, and theirs to share as man and wife. Bringing the chain of events full circle.

      Her only regret was that Piers wasn’t there to watch the regeneration of his future home, but was working in Portugal.

      ‘I’m sorry too, my darling,’ he’d murmured as he held her on their last evening together. ‘But it has to be done. Quite apart from all the work it needs, the Grange won’t be a cheap proposition to run, and I have to make sure the money’s there, that we don’t have to scrimp and make do with second best. I want you to have everything.’

      ‘But I don’t need everything,’ Adrien had protested, slightly troubled. ‘And we could start slowly—just doing up the rooms we’re going to use.’

      But Piers wouldn’t hear of that. He wanted the whole house finished—‘so that we’re not living with workmen and out of boxes for the next ten years, my sweet.’

      He had a point, Adrien supposed, with a sigh. And she wrote to him every week, sending a concise progress report, including colour charts and fabric samples, while he telephoned and sent e-mails and faxes.

      But it wasn’t the same as having him there.

      ‘Once the company’s established, I won’t leave you again, I promise,’ he’d whispered. ‘And just think what a marvellous showcase the Grange will make for your talents,’ he’d added cajolingly. ‘Business will boom when we start entertaining.’

      Adrien had laughed and hugged him, but inwardly she was determined that the Grange would be first and foremost their home—their private sanctuary.

      In any case, she wasn’t sure she could cope with a boom, she thought wryly. Before she’d met Piers again, and fallen in love, and become involved with the restoration project, her business had already been thriving.

      It was basically a two-woman operation—herself, as designer, and Zelda March, who was a local girl and a brilliant seamstress. A to Z Design hadn’t lacked for work since it had opened its doors.

      Although it certainly wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d completed her training, she admitted. Coming back to the quiet country town where she’d been brought up hadn’t been part of the plan at all. But her mother’s sudden death three years ago had caused her to rethink her future completely.

      Adrien, rushing down from London, had had to face the fact that she was now alone in the world. But she’d also inherited Listow Cottage, and some money from her mother’s life insurance, which had given her a measure of independence for the first time.

      Her life, she had realised bleakly, could change. But she hadn’t seen how until she’d run into Zelda at the funeral.

      It had been a long time since they’d seen each other. They’d been in the same year at school, but not on the same track. Zelda had been the local wild child, always in trouble with the authorities for smoking, under-age drinking and hanging round with boys. In her final year she’d amazed everyone by winning the Home Economics prize with a baby’s wooden cradle, which she’d trimmed with handmade curtains and a beautiful embroidered quilt, as well as making a complete set of baby clothes.

      Before she was seventeen she was pregnant by a local garage mechanic, and their hasty marriage had been followed by an even speedier divorce.

      Adrien had been surprised to see her in the congregation at the church, and, on impulse, had invited her back to the cottage.

      ‘I thought the world of your mum,’ Zelda confided, when the other mourners had departed. She looked sadly round the sitting room. ‘It was only a couple of months ago that I made these loose covers and curtains for her.’

      On the surface, Zelda didn’t seem to have changed much. The dark spiky hair was still much in evidence, and so was the nose stud. But as they talked Adrien sensed a new, quiet maturity about her. A strength to the set of her thin shoulders that impressed Adrien. And the workmanship on the soft furnishings was superb.

      ‘Do you work freelance?’ Adrien questioned.

      Zelda shook her head. ‘I wish. I do customer orders