Lorna Cook - The Forbidden Promise

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2020

Copyright © Lorna Cook 2020

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers 2020

Cover photographs © Susan Fox/Trevillion Images (woman); © Shutterstock.com (landscape)

Lorna Cook asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008321888

Ebook Edition © March 2020 ISBN: 9780008321895

Version: 2019-12-04

For Mum, Dad & Luke

For being family. For being there. And just because.

Contents

Cover

Title Page THE FORBIDDEN PROMISE Lorna Cook

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Lorna Cook

About the Publisher

Sometimes it’s not the biggest lies, but the little white ones that bring about the most change. Although Constance couldn’t possibly have known that by pretending she had a migraine in order to escape the house, there would be such lasting consequences.

Constance sat on the edge of the large rock that jutted out over the loch and hitched her evening dress up in what her mother would call an unladylike fashion. She removed her satin shoes and peeled off her stockings, dipping her legs into the cool water, soothing her dance-sore feet. She needn’t be discreet; the edge of the loch was so far from the house that no one could possibly hear her, and given the strict blackout regime the housekeeper adhered to, no one could see her either.

Constance closed her eyes and then opened them almost immediately. Her migraine had been a fabrication, although the racket the band was making was exceedingly loud and growing louder the more enthusiastic both the players and the guests became. If she strained her ears now, she could hear them playing all the way from the loch. The need to escape her birthday party, to escape Henry, had engulfed her to the point she could think of no other way out but to lie.

Over the past few months she had found herself liking Henry. She had only known her brother Douglas’s friend a short while, spending time with him when the two men journeyed to Invermoray on rare days of leave. He was older than her by only a few years, and she had looked up to Henry, idolised him and found herself following her parents’ lead when they suggested he might be a good match. Henry had clearly liked her, or so she believed. Constance thought he would be different, not like the other suggestive and sometimes inappropriate men she’d met, of which there had not been that many, admittedly. But he had shocked her as they danced, as she nestled into him, enjoying the closeness. His hands had crept down her back until they were resting far too low, his fingertips grazing her bottom. She had become stiff, alert and then he had clutched her. It had taken all her courage to gently move his hands when she realised his behaviour was anything but romantic.

‘Henry?’ she had questioned, when he had pulled her closer again. He had smiled as if he’d done nothing wrong and she doubted herself. Was she being too prudish? The silver-grey silk ball gown clung to her skin as she danced, and she had caught Henry staring at her chest on more than one occasion. He had clearly found it a challenge to listen to her conversation, to drag his eyes up to meet hers. She had begun rambling, in order to cover her embarrassment, her growing sense of disappointment. When she had excused herself to powder her nose, uncertain as to what was happening and if she should allow it, he had cornered her, pulling her into the darkened orangery, which was unlit in case enemy aircraft should spot a light through the glass panes.