Night Of Shame. Miranda Lee

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      Excerpt 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 EPILOGUE Copyright

      “Tell me that desire isn’t crawling along your veins at this moment.”

      He whispered to her in a low, wickedly seductive voice. “Tell me that you don’t want me to kiss you, caress you, make love to you now...here in this room...on this floor...in front of this fire. Tell me that you don’t want me, Judith. Tell me....”

      About the Author

      MIRANDA LEE is Australian, living near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school educated, and briefly pursued a classical music career before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast paced and sexy. Her interests include reading meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

      Night of Shame

      Miranda Lee

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      I CAN’T possibly face him, Judith agonised, her eyes squeezing shut against the thought of seeing him again. Seven years might have passed, but she had never forgotten or forgiven, either herself or the perpetrator of her shame and guilt.

      ‘What ever possessed you to invite him?’ she cried, green eyes flying open. ‘Tonight is a prewedding party, not a business get-together.’

      The tall man standing by the mantelpiece continued calmly smoking his pipe, one hand resting on the marble shelf.

      ‘Did you hear me, Raymond?’ Judith said sharply. ‘I asked you why you invited Alexander Fairchild.’

      Raymond sighed patiently then sat down in his usual armchair beside the fireplace. Leaning forward, he slowly stoked the burning logs. Sparks shot up into the chimney. He didn’t look at her, just stared into the glowing embers.

      ‘Why shouldn’t I have invited him?’ he said at last in an irritatingly calm voice.

      ‘Because you hardly know him, for one thing! You only met at lunchtime.’

      He looked up then, and shrugged. ‘What has that got to do with anything? Besides, how was I to know it would cause trouble? I had no idea you even knew the man.’

      Judith wanted to scream. How could he sit there, treating her panic so casually? Couldn’t he see she was in danger of falling apart?

      Judith strode towards his chair, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. ‘Uninvite him, Raymond,’ she said in a low, desperate voice. ‘Please. I beg of you.’

      ‘You still haven’t explained what you’ve got against the man. Or where and when you met.’

      ‘He’s a bastard,’ Judith stated agitatedly. ‘A rotten bastard!’

      One of Raymond’s eyebrows shot up. ‘It’s not like you to swear, my dear. Now why, pray tell, do you call him such names? He seemed a decent chap to me.’

      ‘You don’t know the man. I do. And I really do not wish to discuss him. You’ll just have to take my word for it.’

      She spun away, face flushed, heart racing.

      My God, I’ll have to stop this, she thought frantically. Or crack up completely. I must pull myself together. It’s the shock, that’s all. Suddenly hearing his name after all these years, and, worse, the prospect of actually seeing him again.

      The thought of spending even one moment in his company was too much to contemplate, let alone a whole evening.

      ‘I can’t uninvite him,’ Raymond stated matter-offactly. ‘I don’t know what hotel he’s staying at.’

      Judith whirled back to face her fiancé. ‘Then I simply can’t go. I won’t be in the same room as that man, I tell you.’

      Judith knew immediately she’d taken the wrong tack with Raymond over this issue. When his face hardened, she sank down in the chair opposite him, her eyes pained and pleading. ‘Can’t you say I’m not well?’

      His return gaze carried exasperation. ‘That’s quite impossible, Judith. Margaret is giving this party for you!’

      Judith detested conflict and open confrontation of any sort. But her nerves were wearing thin over the situation and she found herself giving vent to her feelings for Margaret for once.

      ‘No, she isn’t,’ she snapped. ‘She can’t stand a bar of me. She’s giving the party for you, Raymond, her beloved big brother.’

      Raymond’s expression was one of impatience. ‘I know you two don’t exactly hit it off, but at least she’s trying.’

      ‘She certainly is. Very trying. She’s hated me from soon after I came here to nurse your mother.’

      ‘Really, Judith, how can you say that? Mother’s illness was a big strain on the whole family. If Margaret was a bit short with you sometimes, it was prompted by worry.’

      Judith could not trust herself to answer, looking down at the rug to hide her frustration.

      Short! Margaret had been downright hostile from the moment it had become apparent that Mrs Pascoll had taken a real fancy to her new nurse. Even Judith’s seven years of dedicated nursing and looking after Raymond’s increasingly frail mother hadn’t tempered the animosity from his sister.

      When Mrs Pascoll had died a few months back, and Raymond had asked Judith to marry him, all hell had really broken loose. Admittedly, Judith herself had found his proposal a shock, so she could almost understand Margaret’s feelings on the matter.

      Judith had refused at first, but Raymond had been persistent and persuasive. They liked each other, he’d argued. They liked doing the same quiet things: reading, music, movies, the theatre.

      Romantic love, such as it was, was for teenagers, he’d pointed out sensibly. True love was based more on companionship than passion. They could grow to truly love each other once they were married. He was sure of it. He had also promised her at least one child—another winning argument with Judith. She would never have seriously considered a childless marriage. Not at her age.

      Raymond’s wealth had not been a major factor in her decision at all, yet when she’d finally consented to his proposal his sister had accused her of being a fortune-hunter. It was ironic that Margaret herself had, the previous year, married a much younger Latin-lover type with more looks than money, the complete antithesis of Margaret, who had more money