Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby. Myrna Mackenzie

       RICHES TO RAGS BRIDE

      MYRNA MACKENZIE

       THE HEIRESS’S BABY

      LILIAN DARCY

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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       Dear Reader,

      I’ve always been fascinated by Cinderella stories—tales of strong women who finally catch a break and fight through to their happily-ever-afters—but what about the opposite? The woman who appears to have everything and then loses it all? It’s not a question I, as a writer, ask myself all that often.

      But then Genevieve Patchett slipped into my thoughts. Born to wealth, she’s:

      • Always had plenty of pretty, totally impractical clothes and a closet full of shoes.

      • Been able to buy pretty much anything she wants throughout her life.

      • The daughter of very famous parents, to top it off.

      In short, she seems to have it all. Until she doesn’t. Because one day, when she puts her trust in the wrong person, it all vanishes. Just like that. No money, no home, no place to go, no one to turn to, nothing left but utter terror.

      And that was when she caught my attention and refused to let go. Because who, after all, can help but worry about someone so ill prepared to face a dark and dangerous world?

      I couldn’t, but I wasn’t so sure about the hero, Lucas McDowell. Lucas:

      • Has been deserted and been forced to fight to make his way alone. Always.

      • Swears he doesn’t have a heart and doesn’t want one.

      • Has learned not to trust. Anyone. Especially not pampered rich girls.

      Oh, yeah, Lucas’s attitude was a concern. And Genevieve, it appeared, wasn’t gong to make it easy on him. I didn’t really know what would happen if they spent too much time together. Disaster was a real possibility.

      But I had to find out. I hope you enjoy their rocky backwards Cinderella story.

      Best wishes

      Myrna Mackenzie

       RICHES TO RAGS BRIDE

      MYRNA MACKENZIE

      About the Author

      MYRNA MACKENZIE grew up not having a clue what she wanted to be (she hadn’t been born a princess, the one job she thought she might like because of the steady flow of pretty dresses and crowns), but she knew that she loved stories and happy endings, so falling into life as a romance writer was pretty much inevitable. An award-winning author with over 35 novels written, Myrna was born in a small town in Dunklin County, Missouri, grew up just outside Chicago, and now divides her time between two lakes in Chicago and Wisconsin—both very different and both very beautiful. She adores the internet (which still seems magical after all these years), loves coffee, hiking, attempting gardening (without much success), cooking and knitting. Readers (and other potential gardeners, cooks, knitters, writers, etc.) can visit Myrna online at www.myrnamackenzie.com, or write to her at PO Box 225, La Grange, IL 60525, USA.

      CHAPTER ONE

      GENEVIEVE PATCHETT stared at the solid mahogany door of the office where she was scheduled to have the first job interview of her life. Despite being twenty-six, she had an empty resume, a lot of explaining to do and a stack of bills so high that her throat closed up every time she looked at it. And Lucas McDowell, the man who held her future and her very survival in his hands, was reputed to be a cold, hard businessman who only hired the best. She was not the best.

      Reaching for the doorknob, her hand trembled and she gripped the knob tightly, turning her attention to getting in and trying to at least appear competent. She had to have this job. Her friend Teresa had gone out on a limb to get her this interview.

      Genevieve opened the door just a touch … and immediately stopped. Muffled, angry sounds came from the other side of the door. Female sounds.

      Getting louder.

      Suddenly the door flew open, and she found herself staring at a tall, frowning brunette beauty.

      Gen took a step back, and the woman barked out a harsh, ugly laugh. “Oh, don’t run away, sweetheart. He’s all yours now. Just be careful and don’t fall for him. He doesn’t have a soul.” Tossing her head, the woman glanced back over her shoulder. “Lucas, your next victim is here.”

      With that, the woman moved down the hall, and Genevieve could finally get a good look at the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man standing behind a desk. For half a second she wondered if running was an option. Lucas McDowell might be wearing a suit most men couldn’t afford to even dream of owning, but he had the strong-boned face of a street fighter, gunmetal-gray eyes that seemed to see right through to all her insecurities and … he was frowning. At her. Not at the disappearing back of the woman, but at her.

      “Come in. Shut the door. Sit down,” he said, motioning to a plush blue chair that faced the desk.

      She did as he said, quickly and without a sound. She was used to anger and to being treated like a mouse. Her parents had been volatile people. Of course, she’d never before had so much riding on her behavior….

      The man gave her a long once-over. His gaze passed over her face to the pulse in her throat and down to where her hands were clamped on the arms of the chair. With some effort, she slowed her breathing and loosened her grip.

      “You’re Genevieve Patchett, I take it,” he said. “All right, let’s begin.” But it was clear as the wall of windows behind him that he had no interest in beginning anything with her. He was still frowning.

      Genevieve wanted to whimper. For the thousandth time since her world, her security, and all that was familiar to her had been stolen six months ago, she felt as if she was hanging over the edge of a cliff by her fingertips. And slipping. The fear inside her was like a living being. Her reputation was destroyed, and soon the last of her money, all that was left of her fortune after her ex-fiancé financial advisor had emptied most of her accounts, would be gone. Then she’d be reduced to sleeping on the streets. So running from the only job interview she’d been able to secure didn’t appear to be an option. Lucas McDowell was either going to save her or eat her for lunch.

      Stop it, she told herself. The man might have eyes with steel gates, he might be an industry giant, his recreational equipment company in the Fortune 500, but she had grown up in a family that was feted by the elite of the world. The fact that she was now reduced to scrambling for her next meal didn’t change that. And her parents had always told her that attitude, or at least the pretense of it, could get a person