His Housekeeper Bride. Melissa James

      

      His Housekeeper Bride

      Melissa James

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

       Before you start reading, why not sign up?

      Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

       SIGN ME UP!

      Or simply visit

      signup.millsandboon.co.uk

      Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       Dear Reader

       Dedication

       Prologue

       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

       Dear Reader

      This book has been very near to my heart since I wrote it—first draft in 1997. In the writing of this Cinderella story, Mark and Sylvie became very special characters.

      In fact, for me, 2009 has been a year of releases for beloved characters: Jazmine, Charlie, Lia and Toby, and now Mark and Sylvie. I am so happy they finally found a home where I originally intended them to be all those years ago—at Mills & Boon^® Romance.

      I hope as you read about them they become beloved to you, as well, and find a place on your keeper shelf.

      Happy reading!

       Melissa

      To the woman who inspired this book

      with an extraordinary life: I am privileged

      to be your friend. You raised a family from

      the age of eight, survived the worst horror a young girl

      can imagine, and yet you’re constantly giving.

      You have no idea how special you are.

      To Vicky, a woman of true giving, strength and

      compassion: you don’t even know how you inspire

      others as you do what needs to be done.

      To my beloved Mia: thank you for loving these

      characters, and never giving up on this book.

      My friend, my sister, we’re always a continent apart,

      yet our friendship goes from strength to strength.

      Remember you are never as others define you;

      you are what your heart is, loving and giving.

      My deepest thanks go to my dear friends

      and CPs Robbie, Barb and Rachel, particularly Rachel,

      for showing me where and when I wandered off track,

      and Barb, for taking the time to read for me

      while on retreat. Special thanks to Nikki for reading

      at short notice. I thank you all.

      PROLOGUE

       St Agatha’s Hospice, Sydney, fifteen years ago

      THERE she was again, standing just outside the window, giving him her sweet smile, her little encouraging wave. His friend with the sunny redgold curls, big brown eyes and brave, dimpled smile that made her look like Shirley Temple.

      She was in the copse of trees and flowering shrubs in the middle of the hospice that she called the garden. The secret garden, she called it—named for her favourite book, which she read over and over to herself, as well as to her little brothers.

      It was her escape from a reality and a future even grimmer than his.

      She was his escape. They’d met only in the confines of this hospital during the times her mother’s and Chloe’s hospitalisations coincided, yet she saw, understood him, as his family no longer did. Sometimes he felt as if he was standing in a black and blinkered place, screaming for help, but surrounded by people who saw only Chloe’s needs, who were tuned only to Chloe’s voice.

      Except for this thirteen-year-old girl who knew almost nothing about his life—a girl he never saw unless he was here. ‘Shirley Temple’ was his light and warmth in a dark, cold world, his colour and life. Everything had faded to black or white except for her.

      Mark waved back at her, letting her know he’d join her soon. Their brief exchanges of maybe twenty minutes made her day bearable, just as they did his. They talked, or didn’t talk; it didn’t matter. It was the only time in the day when she wasn’t playing the adult, and when he actually felt like the kid he still was.

      He glanced briefly back inside the room, but everything in there was a blur of white, a deathly shade of pale. The blankets, the walls, the gown Chloe wore, her face—even the