SOS: Convenient Husband Required / Winning a Groom in 10 Dates. Liz Fielding

rather than compromise her principles.’

      He tried to drown out the crowing triumph. That this girl, this woman, who from that day to this had crossed the road rather than pass him in the street, was about to lose everything. That her grandfather, that ‘impressive’ man who thought he was not fit to breathe the same air as his precious granddaughter, had left her at his mercy.

      ‘But before the stroke? He could have told you then.’

      ‘Why would he? I was engaged to Michael, the wedding date was set.’

      ‘Michael Linton.’ He didn’t need to search his memory. He’d seen the announcement and Saffy had been full of it, torn between envy and disgust.

      Envy that May would be Lady Linton with some vast country estate and a house in London. Disgust that she was marrying a man nearly old enough to be her father. ‘Her grandfather’s arranged it all, of course,’ she’d insisted. ‘He’s desperate to marry her off to someone safe before she turns into her mother and runs off with some nobody who gets her up the duff.’ She’d been about to say more but had, for once, thought better of it.

      Not that he’d had any argument with her conclusion. But then her grandfather had suffered a massive stroke and the wedding had at first been put off. Then Michael Linton had married someone else.

      ‘What happened? Why didn’t you marry him?’

      ‘Michael insisted that Grandpa would be better off in a nursing home. I said no, but he kept bringing me brochures, dragging me off to look at places. He wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t hear what I was saying, so in the end I gave him his ring back.’

      ‘And he took it?’

      ‘He wanted a wife, a hostess, someone who would fit into his life, run his home. He didn’t want to be burdened with an invalid.’

      ‘If he’d taken any notice of your lame duck zoo, he’d have known he was on a hiding to nothing.’

      She shook her head and when she looked back over her shoulder at him her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks wet, but her lips were twisted into a smile.

      ‘Michael didn’t climb over the park gate when the gardener was looking the other way, Adam. He was a front door visitor.’

      ‘You mean you didn’t make him help you muck out the animals?’ he asked and was rewarded with a blush.

      ‘I didn’t believe he’d appreciate the honour. He’d have been horrified if he’d seen me shin up a tree to save a kitten. Luckily, the situation never arose when he was around.’ A tiny shuddering breath escaped her. ‘You don’t notice creatures in distress from the back seat of a Rolls-Royce.’

      ‘His loss,’ he said, his own throat thick as the memories of stolen hours rushed back at him.

      ‘And mine, it would seem.’

      ‘You’d have been utterly miserable married to him.’

      She shook her head.

      ‘You aren’t going to take this lying down, are you?’ he asked. ‘I can’t believe it would stand up in a court of law and the tabloids would have a field day if the government took your home.’

      ‘A lot of people are much worse off than me, Adam. I’m not sure that a campaign to save a fifteen-room house for one spoilt woman and her housekeeper would be a popular cause.’

      She had a point. She’d been born to privilege and her plight was not going to garner mass sympathy.

      ‘Is that what Freddie Jennings told you?’ he asked. ‘I assume you have taken legal advice?’

      ‘Freddie offered to take Counsel’s opinion but, since Grandpa had several opportunities to remove the Codicil but chose not to, I don’t have much of a case.’ She lifted her shoulders in a gesture of utter helplessness. ‘It makes no difference. The truth is that there’s no cash to spare for legal fees. As it is, I’m going to have to sell a load of stuff to meet the inheritance tax bill. Even if I won, the costs would be so high that I’d have to sell the house to pay them. And if I lost…’

      If she lost it would mean financial ruin.

      Well, that would offer a certain amount of satisfaction. But nowhere near as much as the alternative that gave him everything he wanted.

      ‘So you’re telling me that the only reason you can’t take care of Nancie is because you’re about to lose the house? If you were married, there would be no problem,’ he said. He didn’t wait for her answer—it hadn’t been a question. ‘And your birthday is on the second of December. Well, it’s tight, but it’s do-able.’

      ‘Do-able?’ she repeated, her forehead buckled in a frown. ‘What are you talking about?’

      ‘A quick trip to the register office, a simple “I do”, you get to keep your house and I’ll have somewhere safe for Nancie. As her aunt-in-law, I don’t imagine there would be any objection to you taking care of her?’

      And he would be able to finally scratch the itch that was May Coleridge while dancing on the grave of the man who’d shamed and humiliated him.

      But if he’d imagined that she’d fling her arms around him, proclaim him her saviour, well, nothing had changed there, either.

      Her eyes went from blank to blazing, like lightning out of a clear blue sky.

      ‘That’s not even remotely funny, Adam. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a house full of guests who’ll be expecting lunch in a couple of hours.’

      She was wearing shabby sweats but swept by him, head high, shoulders back. Despite her lack of inches, the fact that her puppy fat hadn’t melted away but had instead evolved into soft curves, she was every inch the lady.

      ‘Mouse…’ he protested, shaken out of his triumph by the fact that, even in extremis, she’d turn him down flat. As if he was still a nobody from the wrong side of the tracks. ‘May!’

      She was at the door before she stopped, looked back at him.

      ‘I’m serious,’ he said, a touch more sharply than he’d intended.

      She shook her head. ‘It’s impossible.’

      In other words, he might wear hand stitched suits these days instead of the cheapest market jeans, live in an apartment that had cost telephone numbers, be able to buy and sell the Coleridge estate ten times over, but he could never wash off the stink of where he’d come from. That his sister had been a druggie, his mother was no better than she ought to be and his father had a record as long as his arm.

      But times had changed. He wasn’t that kid any more. What he wanted, he took. And he wanted this.

      ‘It would be a purely temporary arrangement,’ he said. ‘A marriage of convenience.’

      ‘Are you saying that you wouldn’t expect…?’

      She swallowed, colour flooding into her cheeks, and it occurred to him that if Michael Linton’s courtship had been choreographed by her grandfather it would have been a formal affair rather than a lust-fuelled romance. The thought sent the blood rushing to a very different part of his anatomy and he was grateful for the full stiff folds of the dressing gown he was wearing.

      She cleared her throat. ‘Are you saying that you wouldn’t expect the full range of wifely duties?’

      Not the full range. He wouldn’t expect her to cook or clean or keep house for him.

      ‘Just a twenty-four seven nanny,’ she continued, regaining her composure, assuming his silence was assent. ‘Only with more paperwork, a longer notice period and a serious crimp in your social life?’

      ‘I don’t have much time for a social life these days,’ he assured her before she could gather herself. ‘But there are formal business occasions where I would normally take a guest. Civic functions. But you usually attend