Will He Ask Her to be His Bride?. Trish Wylie

      Will He Ask Her

      to be His Bride?

      The Millionaire’s

      Convenient Bride

      Catherine George

      The Millionaire’s Proposal

      Trish Wylie

      Texas Ranger Takes a Bride

      Patricia Thayer

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      The Millionaire’s

      Convenient Bride

      Catherine George

      Dear Reader,

      The Millionaire’s Convenient Bride involves Connah, a handsome, brooding Welsh hero, with a voice like Richard Burton and a name derived from an ancient Celtic tribe. He engages Hester to look after his ten-year-old child. She met him fleetingly ten years before and, though at this point he doesn’t know it, he has haunted her dreams ever since. Add to the mix a beautiful Georgian house and a holiday in a romantic villa in Tuscany, then negotiate some twists and turns in the plot before reaching a happy ending for everyone.

      In all my books I enjoy developing the relationship between a man and a woman, and conveying the way they warm to each other both emotionally and physically. But I take equal pleasure in writing about children, as previous readers of my novels will know. Lowri, the young girl in this story, bears more than a passing resemblance to a ten-year-old closely related to me, so I had a lump in my throat when I was describing Lowri’s longing for a mother.

      For readers who know my work, and for those who are new to it, I hope you enjoy this story and wish you happy reading always.

      Love to you all,

       Catherine

      About the Author

      CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales and early on developed a passion for reading, which eventually fuelled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the UK. And instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera and browse in antiques shops.

      To Howard, with my love.

      CHAPTER ONE

      HESTER’S excitement escalated as she neared her goal. She checked the address again, then mounted the steps of one of the tall houses which lined three sides of leafy Albany Square. She rang the bell, gave her name over an intercom and, after a pause, the door was opened by a man who was obviously an employee of some kind, but nothing like her idea of a butler.

      He smiled at her pleasantly. ‘Good morning, Miss Ward. Come this way.’

      Hester followed him along a high-ceilinged hall and up a flight of Bath stone stairs to a large, book-lined study. He held out the chair in front of the desk, told her his employer would be with her shortly and left her alone. Her anticipation at fever pitch, Hester sat, tense, on the edge of the chair. Her preliminary interview had been over coffee in a hotel lounge with John Austin, personal assistant of the owner of this house, but now she was about to meet the man himself.

      On the desk a solitary framed photograph faced the window. She hesitated a moment, then turned it towards her and felt a rush of pure adrenaline. Her hunch had been right! The man she’d come to see really was her mysterious Mr Jones. And one look at that striking face, with its knife-edge cheekbones and intense dark eyes, sent her straight back to her first encounter with the man smiling down at a child in the photograph.

      She had been packing that cold January night when her mother rushed in, radiating urgency.

      ‘Give me a hand, darling. We’ve got guests.’

      Hester stared at her in disbelief. ‘What? At this time of night?’

      ‘I just couldn’t say no. It’s snowing, and they look exhausted.’

      ‘Honestly, Mother! We’re supposed to be closed for the entire month. You should have put the No Vacancies sign out.’

      Moira Ward gave her a stern look. ‘I want help, please, not a lecture.’

      ‘Right away!’ Hester hurried after her mother, down the back stairs to the kitchen. ‘Where are they?’

      Moira began taking food from the refrigerator. ‘Settling into their rooms while I whip up a snack. Mr Jones accepted my offer of sandwiches with such enthusiasm I think it’s a long time since either of them had a meal.’

      Hester shook her head in disapproval as she buttered bread. ‘You’re too soft-hearted by half.’

      ‘But not soft-headed,’ returned Moira tartly. ‘I don’t turn away paying guests who offer cash in advance.’ She sighed. ‘Besides, the poor girl looked ready to drop. I couldn’t turn them away.’

      ‘Of course you couldn’t!’ Hester blew her a kiss. ‘What shall I put in these?’

      ‘Slice some of the roast ham from supper, and I’ll heat up the rest of my vegetable soup. The girl looked frozen.’

      ‘You want me to take the tray up?’

      ‘Yes, please, darling. I’d rather they knew I’m not alone in the house.’

      Hester laughed. ‘I doubt that my presence will make much difference if Mr Jones has anything sinister in mind.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Wait a minute. Did you say rooms plural?’

      Moira nodded. ‘The connecting rooms at the front.’

      ‘So we not only feed these people supper as well as breakfast, we clean the two largest rooms in the house after they’ve gone!’

      ‘For which I’ve been paid a handsome sum in advance,’ her mother reminded her, and, with a triumphant smile, played her trump card. ‘You can have half of it to take back to college.’

      Hester laughed as she gave her mother a hug. ‘Brilliant! Thanks, Ma. Why aren’t they sleeping together, do you think?’

      ‘Ours is not to reason why.’ Moira added a tureen of steaming soup to the tray and sent her daughter on her way.

      Hester bore her burden with care up the wide staircase, eager to take a look at the couple who’d appealed to her mother’s hospitable heart.

      The man who opened the first of the garden view rooms smiled as he took the tray and one look at the handsome, haggard face took Hester’s breath away.

      ‘Thank you.’ His voice was deep, with a timbre that sent shivers down her spine. ‘Would you tell Mrs Ward we’re deeply grateful?’

      ‘I will,’ she said with effort, and pulled herself