Lucy Ellis - An Australian Surrender - Girl on a Diamond Pedestal / Untouched by His Diamonds / A Question Of Marriage

An Australian Surrender

Girl on a Diamond Pedestal

Maisey Yates

Untouched by His Diamonds

Lucy Ellis

A Question of Marriage

Lindsay Armstrong

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page An Australian Surrender Girl on a Diamond Pedestal Maisey Yates Untouched by His Diamonds Lucy Ellis A Question of Marriage Lindsay Armstrong www.millsandboon.co.uk

Girl on a Diamond Pedestal Girl on a Diamond Pedestal Maisey Yates

About the Author MAISEY YATES was an avid Mills & Boon Modern Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true. Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, nappy-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.

Dedication To my mom, Peggy, for always encouraging me to simply be me. And many thanks to Robyn, Gabby, Nicola, for giving me coaching on my Australian phrases.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Untouched by His Diamonds

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

A Question of Marriage

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

Girl on a Diamond Pedestal

Maisey Yates

MAISEY YATESwas an avid Mills & Boon Modern Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.

Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, nappy-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.

To my mom, Peggy,

for always encouraging me to simply be me.

And many thanks to Robyn, Gabby, Nicola,

for giving me coaching on my Australian phrases.

BIRCH Manor was the last constant left. The only thing remaining in her life that had always been there. Everyone else, her mother, her piano teacher, her fans … they were gone. The house was all she had.

Until the bank took it, at least.

Noelle sighed and looked out the window, her stomach tightening as the glossy black Town Car drove through the open wrought-iron gates and around the circular drive, stopping in front of the door to the manor.

She moved away from the window and hoped her guest didn’t notice the twitching curtains. It was too sad really, that she’d been reduced to this. Waiting for her home to be taken, watching for the financier coming to appraise the property. Waiting to be evicted. She had no idea where she would go.

The check she’d gotten last week had come with a handwritten note informing her that this would likely be the last royalty check for the foreseeable future. The company wasn’t selling her old albums anymore, and several of her digital albums had been taken down from the big websites. No one wanted her music.

Not that the royalties had been amazing over the past year. Hardly anything really, enough to buy a latté on the odd occasion. Now she wouldn’t even have that any more.

Suddenly she wanted the hot, frothy drink so badly she thought she might cry.

She was a sad case. Poor Noelle. She’d throw a pity party if she thought anyone would come. Well, the bank might if there was something to repossess. She laughed into the vast, empty entryway, then straightened her skirt and took her place in front of the door, not really sure why she was bothering to play hostess, only that it was reflexive. Her mother would have expected it of her. Demanded it.

Of course, her mother wasn’t here.

Noelle sucked in a sharp breath and reached for the doorknob. Her fingers tightened around it, waiting for the knock, and as soon as it pierced the silence, she tugged the door open. Her heart skipped, spinning a downward spiral into her stomach as she took in the man standing before her.

Tall and broad, in a suit that was definitely not of the standard-issue, bank-employee variety, but quality, custom made and tailored to flatter his amazing, masculine physique.

His lips curved into a smile, not a warm one, but one that she felt down to her toes. His eyes were dark, deep like chocolate, but without any of the sweetness. Her stomach tightened, a strong, sharp craving overwhelming her.

For coffee. Still coffee.

“Ms. Birch?” He had a nice voice too, rich and luxuriant, just like the suit. Why couldn’t it have been obnoxious? Nasal or high or something. But no, it was low and husky, smooth with a drop-dead-sexy Australian accent adding flavor to his words.

“Yes. Are you …” She changed tactics mid sentence, decided to go for something more forceful. “You’re from the bank.”

He stepped past her and into the house, his eyes sweeping the room, and her, in a dismissive manner. “Not exactly.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I came in lieu of the assessor. I’m interesting in making an offer on the property.”

“It’s in foreclosure.”

“I know. And I’m considering purchasing it before it goes to auction. I need to take a look and let the bank know what I intend to pay for it.”

“Really? Why didn’t I think of that? I would have given them … well, I think I might have five dollars in my bag over there.” She gestured to the red purse hanging on its hook by the door. “Think they’d go for it?”

“Not likely.” His answer was clipped, annoyed. Why was he annoyed? She hadn’t barged into his home early on a Saturday morning. She was the one who got to be annoyed. It was her right.

“Too bad,” she said, fighting to keep her tone light, flippant. Unaffected.

“From what I’ve seen of your loan information, you’ve been delinquent for months.”

Delinquent. She hated that term. Like she was a criminal or something because she didn’t have any money. Like she wouldn’t have paid the mortgage if her bank balance ever managed to exceed double digits.

“I’m aware of why you’re here—or, at least, I’m aware of what I did to make the bank take my house back.” The words stuck in her throat. “I don’t need a rundown from you.”

“Good. Because I’m not here to give it.”

“No. You’re here to find out if you want to move into my home before the bank has even thrown me out onto the streets,” she bit out. She never would have spoken to anyone that way a year ago. She would have been gracious, smiled, been faultless in every way. But that veneer had started eroding over the past year. She just felt angry now. Battered. Like she was dying slowly inside as life chipped away at her very last foothold.