Carole Mortimer - The Deserving Mistress

They’ve got a date—at the altar!

International bestselling author Carole Mortimer has written more than 115 books, and now Mills & Boon ®is proud to conclude her popular CALENDAR BRIDES trilogy.

Meet the Calendar sisters:

January—is she too proud to become a wife?

March—can any man tame this free spirit?

May—will she meet her match?

These women are beautiful, proud and spirited—and now they have three rich, powerful and incredibly sexy tycoons ready to claim them as their brides!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Matthew—I’m so proud of you.

Cover

Title Page The Deserving Mistress Carole Mortimer www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication For Matthew—I’m so proud of you.

Table of Contents Table of Contents Cover Title Page The Deserving Mistress Carole Mortimer www.millsandboon.co.uk Dedication For Matthew—I’m so proud of you. Table of Contents 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 CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN Copyright

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Copyright

‘ARE you having a heart attack or just resting?’

May had heard the approach of the car into the farmyard, had even managed to slightly raise one eyelid in order to register the fact that it wasn’t a vehicle she recognised. Which meant her visitor was either lost, or a seed or fertilizer salesman, neither of which raised enough enthusiasm to rouse her from her sitting position on the convenient bale of hay outside the milking shed.

She managed a grunt of acknowledgement. ‘Which do you think?’

‘In all honesty—I’m not sure!’ The man sounded slightly surprised by his own uncertainty, as if it weren’t an emotion that came naturally to him.

May managed to pry that single eyelid slightly open a second time, just enough to be able to have a look at her unexpected visitor.

Probably aged in his mid to late thirties, the man was tall, very much so, with thick dark hair that looked inclined to curl, dark brows frowning over piercing grey eyes, an arrogant slash of a nose, his mouth grimly set over a squarely determined chin.

Uncertainty about anything certainly wouldn’t sit easily on those broad shoulders, either!

‘Well, let me know when you’ve made up your mind.’ May sighed wearily, closing her eyelid again.

‘Hmm,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never actually seen anyone have a heart attack, but I’m sure they should be in more pain than you appear to be in. On the other hand, falling asleep sitting outside on a bale of hay, in a temperature that can’t be much above freezing, doesn’t seem too comfortable, either!’ he concluded dryly.

May gave a dismissive movement of her shoulders. ‘Anywhere is comfortable to fall asleep when you’ve been up all night.’

‘Ah,’ the man murmured knowingly.

She opened her eyes just wide enough to glare at him. ‘With the vet,’ she defended impatiently before closing her eyes again.

‘I see,’ the man drawled wryly.

May gave a groan as she roused herself to sit up on the bale of hay, every muscle in her body seeming to ache as she rubbed sleep-drowsed eyes before frowning up at her visitor.

When she viewed him more closely, it was possible to see the arrogant lift of his square-cut chin, the complete self-confidence in the way that he stood and the hardness of his handsome features. Just the type of man she felt like dealing with after a sleepless night!

‘Can I help you?’ she prompted irritably.

‘That depends,’ the man murmured ruefully.

‘On what?’ She sighed at this procrastination, really in no mood to deal with a lost out-of-season tourist or indeed a pushy salesman.

He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘On whether or not your name happens to be Calendar.’

Not a lost out-of-season tourist. A seed or fertilizer salesman, then.

‘It could be.’ She pushed herself up onto her feet with effort, looking up to find the man was still seven or eight inches taller than her own five feet eight in height.

The man gave her a considering look, laughter glinting in those piercing grey eyes now.

Which wasn’t so surprising, May acknowledged, easily able to visualise the scarecrow figure she must represent. Her wellington boots were muddy, her jeans likewise; worse, she was still wearing the same clothes she had put on yesterday morning, not having been to bed yet or indeed managed to get inside for a refreshing shower. Her face was probably smeared with dirt from lying on the barn floor most of the night, a woollen hat pulled down low over her ears, mainly to keep out the bitingly cold wind but also to keep her long dark hair from the same muddy fate as the rest of her.

Yes, she had no doubts she did look rather funny. But at the moment, exhausted as she was, she wasn’t in the mood to laugh, at herself or anyone else.

‘You don’t sound too sure,’ the man drawled derisively.

‘I’m not.’ She shrugged, sighing heavily. ‘Look, I have no idea what you’re selling, and I probably don’t want any anyway, but if you could come back tomorrow I might at least be willing to talk about it—’

‘Selling?’ he repeated frowningly. ‘But I’m not the one—I have a better idea,’ he stated briskly as May gave a weary yawn, at the same time swaying slightly on her feet. ‘Let’s go into the farmhouse.’ He took a firm hold of her arm. ‘I’ll make you some coffee. Strong and black,’ he decided after another glance at her face, her eyes appearing a deeper green against her paleness. ‘And maybe then we can introduce ourselves properly.’

May wasn’t sure she wanted to be introduced to this man, properly or otherwise, but the promise of making her coffee was certainly a strong inducement to at least letting him in as far as the kitchen. He probably made good coffee—he looked the sort of man who excelled at most things he did! And he didn’t exactly look the type of man who felt the need to pounce on some unsuspecting female—in fact, with those looks, she suspected it was probably usually the other way round!

‘Done!’ she accepted huskily, allowing herself to be guided across the yard and into the kitchen, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs as the man moved dexterously about the kitchen preparing a pot of strong coffee.

Lord, that smelt good, she acknowledged a few minutes later as the strong aroma of brewing coffee filled the warmth of the room. A cup or two might even help her to stay awake long enough to complete her chores for the morning.

It had been a long night, if ultimately a successful one, and the thought of all the jobs she still had to do had been the reason she’d sat down wearily on the bale of hay earlier. Only to fall asleep. Which, as this man had already pointed out, was not the most comfortable thing in the world to have done in late January.