Reform Of The Playboy. Mary Lyons

boss to draw up a really iron-clad contract. No problem!’

      ‘Oh…all right,’ Harriet sighed helplessly, well aware that she was being somehow railroaded—by these two highly persistent and determined people—into agreeing to have this awful man in her house for six months.

      But, of course, it was very far from being ‘all right.’ In fact, she barely needed to glimpse the icy-cold gleam of triumph in those startling blue eyes, to know that Finn Maclean was Bad News.

      Not to mention a feeling of total certainty, now settling like a hard stone in her stomach, that this was one decision she was going to bitterly regret.

      CHAPTER TWO

      DESPITE the fresh, early-summer breeze rustling the thin gauzy curtains of her bedroom, Harriet felt hot and sticky as she tossed and turned in the darkness, desperately trying to seek oblivion in sleep.

      Eventually giving up the unequal fight, she threw back the bedclothes. Slipping on a light dressing gown and padding barefoot through into the large sitting room, she made her way towards the large French windows on the far side of the room.

      Was she stupid—or what? How could she have been such an idiot? Why had she allowed herself to be thrown so completely off base by that totally unexpected encounter this evening with Finn Maclean?

      Right from the moment they’d first met, all those months ago, she’d taken an instant dislike to the man. Although when she tried to work out exactly why she’d felt so instinctively aggressive and antagonistic towards someone whom she had never met—Harriet had absolutely no idea.

      It was all Great-Aunt Jane’s fault, she told herself glumly, before giving a rueful shake of her head at her own foolishness. How could she even think such a thing? Talk about being ungrateful! Although it was true that if her aunt hadn’t died, and left her both this wonderful house and access to its adjacent and utterly enchanted garden, she would never have met Finn Maclean.

      So what’s new? Nasty bugs could always find a way of invading even the most glamorous, expensive apartments, Harriet reminded herself grimly, unlocking the glass doors and stepping out on to the small balcony.

      Taking a deep breath of the soft night air, fragrant with the scent of jasmine, lilac and early-flowering roses, she could immediately feel herself beginning to relax and unwind. Sitting down on one of a pair of small white, iron garden chairs, Harriet gave a contented sigh as she leaned back and stared up at the stars, twinkling in the dark sky high above her head.

      It was a private fantasy of hers that she was somehow the sole possessor of this half-acre of lawn, trees, secluded walks and flowerbeds, vibrant with colour all the year round. And she knew, from talking to many of the other occupants of the houses surrounding this ‘secret’ garden, that they felt exactly the same way.

      Little known outside the immediate area, the Ladbroke Estate, covering much of Notting Hill and Holland Park, contained sixteen of these very rare, very private and totally secluded gardens.

      What made them so special was the fact that they were totally inaccessible to anyone other than those living in the houses which completely encircled the private gardens. And they were, indeed, a hidden secret known only to a few. Even she hadn’t realised, despite regularly visiting this house over the past few years, that such a luxurious green oasis lay at the back of her aunt’s home.

      In fact, it hadn’t been until after her great-aunt’s death last year, when, as one of her cousins had so accurately put it, ‘Harriet’s numbers came up on the lottery,’ that she’d realised just how very lucky and fortunate she was.

      ‘The lottery’ wasn’t, in truth, any form of gambling. Her cousin’s remark had merely referred to the fact that her great-aunt Jane—a highly eccentric, imperious old lady—had made a habit of regularly changing her will in favour of one or another of her many great-nephews and nieces. And thus it had been that, following the unexpected death of her aunt, late last year, Harriet—to her utter surprise and total amazement—had suddenly found herself the proud possessor of the enormous house in Lansdowne Gardens, together with some money, currently locked away in stocks and shares.

      ‘Lucky old you!’ her cousin Martin had exclaimed on hearing the news. ‘I was at the top of the list last year. So I guess I must have done something to blot my copybook. Maybe deciding to throw up work and go on the stage might just have had something to do with it?’ he added with a rueful laugh, before giving Harriet a hug and wishing her the very best of luck with her inheritance.

      ‘It’s a dreadful old house, full of cats and dusty furniture. What are you planning to do? Sell it?’

      Harriet shrugged and agreed that the house had always appeared to be in a dreadful state. So, probably the best thing would be to clear it out, and then put it up for sale. A course of action which received enthusiastic support from her parents. Especially her mother.

      ‘It’s absolutely the only thing to do, darling,’ her mother announced firmly. ‘What on earth do you want with a huge old house in an extremely unfashionable part of London? You must try and sell it as best you can, and then buy a nice little mews house. Somewhere fashionable, like Knightsbridge or Sloane Square, would be just about perfect.’

      Although she seldom saw eye to eye with her mother, Harriet had to agree that the older woman had, for once, given her some good and practical advice. However, neither Harriet, at that time renting a small flat in Islington, nor her mother—living deep in the country, in Gloucestershire—could have guessed that the Holland Park and Notting Hill Gate area of London would suddenly become so extraordinarily fashionable.

      Harriet had no way of knowing whether it was the many ‘private’ gardens which had proved to be the main attraction—particularly when contrasted with the hot dusty streets and high-rise buildings of central London—or if it was just some inexplicable movement of people from one area to another. However, it seemed that as soon as some wealthy pop stars and highly paid executives in the advertising and entertainment business ‘discovered’ Holland Park and Notting Hill Gate, everyone else suddenly appeared to want to live there, too.

      All of which went some way to explaining why, on her approach to a local estate agent, he was visibly pleased at the thought of selling her aunt’s house. When he explained that she could expect to gain close to a million pounds for the property, Harriet’s legs suddenly felt as though they’d turned to jelly. Collapsing down into the chair before his desk, she gazed at the man in utter disbelief.

      ‘I had no idea…I mean…you must be kidding?’ she gasped, feeling quite faint and dizzy for a moment.

      ‘Oh, no,’ Mr Evans told her confidently, impatiently clicking his fingers at his assistant as he called for a glass of water, since the girl looked as though she was about to pass out any minute.

      ‘After you gave me the keys, I had a good look around the property,’ he continued. ‘It’s an absolute shambles, of course, but there’s no reason why—when you’ve cleared out all the mess—you shouldn’t get something very close to that sum.’

      ‘I…I just can’t believe it!’ Harriet mumbled helplessly, shaking her head in bemusement. ‘Are you absolutely sure…? I mean…I don’t want to be rude—but that really is such a huge amount of money!’

      ‘That’s nothing!’ He waved his hand dismissively in the air. ‘Why, only the other day I was approached by a young couple—looking for a house just like yours—who were quite happy to pay two or three million for a property in good condition. You would be able to get a much higher price if your aunt’s home had been looked after,’ he confided. ‘But, all the same, I think we ought to be able to get you at least a million—no problem.’

      A million pounds! Such a sum was absolutely ridiculous, Harriet told herself as she drove slowly back to her small rented apartment in Islington, which she’d chosen originally because of its proximity and ease of access to the law courts in The Strand.

      Having studied law at university, she was now working as a very