Sara Craven - King Of Swords

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVENpublished her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

COVER

TITLE PAGE King of Swords Sara Craven www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ENDPAGE Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

COPYRIGHT Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

IN THE glowing light of a June afternoon, Ambermere had never looked more beautiful.

Julia brought her car to a halt at the side of the road and slid out from behind the wheel. The faint breeze lifted a few tendrils of waving copper hair and she pushed them back impatiently as she leaned on the wall and stared across the lush green of the lower paddock to the house.

It all looked amazingly peaceful, even deserted, but she knew that apparent tranquillity was only a façade. Inside, there would be a frantic buzz of activity as her mother and the staff applied the finishing touches to the décor for tonight’s Midsummer party.

And I should be there, helping, Julia thought, half guiltily, half in amusement. The Ambermere party was one of the most anticipated local events in the year—a pleasant tradition established over generations.

She felt a small sigh of satisfaction rise within her at the thought. That was what houses like Ambermere were all about—custom and continuity. And that was what she would continue to provide, even if she was the only daughter, instead of the once longed-for son.

A month, she decided with sudden restlessness, was far too long to be away, even though she had enjoyed herself. Aunt Miriam was a wonderful diplomat’s wife and there had been parties and dinners nearly every night. In addition there had been tennis, and swimming and polo matches, as well as visits to concerts and theatres with a succession of attractive and attentive young men.

‘But no one worthy of Ambermere,’ Julia would tell her father presently, with mock regret. It was a joke which had begun in the days of a much younger Julia who had been very much affronted to learn that the family name would die out when she married.

‘Then I won’t get married,’ she had declared to her amused parents. ‘Unless I can find a man with the same name as ours.’

‘But you might fall in love with someone called Smith,’ Lydia Kendrick had pointed out, stroking the small, determined face.

‘Then he’ll have to change his name to Kendrick,’ Julia had retorted. ‘If he won’t do that, then he’s not worthy of Ambermere.’

They had all three laughed about it since, but Julia had come to recognise that she’d been more than half in earnest. She wanted to go on living at Ambermere, and see her children brought up there, bearing her own loved family name. But the man who would fit docilely in with these plans, and father those children, remained a shadowy and amorphous figure. None of the boyfriends who wined and dined her so assiduously, and tried, without any luck, to get her into bed, seemed even remotely to be suitable candidates.

Perhaps I won’t get married at all, she thought. Maybe I’ll just run the estate and become known as an eccentric spinster. She grimaced slightly, straightening as she prepared to get back in the car, and it was then she saw him.

A man, a perfect stranger, walking across the lower paddock, where he had no right to be.