A Wicked Persuasion

But Ms Brewster had not come alone. “Good morning, Harriet,” Charlotte said briskly. “Apropos of our discussion, I’ve brought a possible client for your new venture. James Crawford—meet my accountant, Harriet Wilde.”

Harriet got to her feet, feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of her office, as James, elegant in a dark City suit, strolled in and dominated it. After all the years of fantasising over a meeting here he was at last in the flesh: harder, older and colder, with little resemblance to the man she’d fallen in love with.

“Miss Wilde and I have already met,” he informed Charlotte, the deep voice striking a chord so familiar Harriet’s pulse went into overdrive as he held out his hand. He gave her a hard, bright look. “But it was so long ago you’ve probably forgotten.”

“Of course not.” She shook the hand, and felt a streak of heat along her veins at the contact.

Dear Reader

My life as a Jane Austen fan began when I was fourteen. Although a mere junior I won a role in the school production of Pride and Prejudice as the nasty Miss Bingley, decked out in a black velvet dress with my hair in ringlets.

I went on to read Emma and Mansfield Park in school, but I finally met up with Persuasion many years later when I was living in Brazil. I was confined to bed with a virus in the hottest part of the year, and was delighted when one of my husband’s colleagues lent me selections from his library of classic literature, which included Dickens, the Brontes, Thomas Hardy and, most important of all, a large tome entitled Jane Austen, The Works. I devoured this from cover to cover, ending up with Persuasion, which was, and still is, my favourite of all Jane Austen’s novels.

It was a challenge to achieve a modern romance based on the theme of Persuasion, with its codes of behaviour from a bygone age, but I hope you enjoy the final result as much as I enjoyed writing A Wicked Persuasion.

Love and best wishes,

Catherine

About the Author

CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and early on developed a passion for reading which eventually fuelled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the UK. And, instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings, she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading, she loves to cook, listen to opera, and browse in antiques shops.

Recent titles by the same author:

UNDER THE BRAZILIAN SUN

THE POWER OF THE LEGENDARY GREEK

(Greek Tycoons) THE MISTRESS OF HIS MANOR THE ITALIAN COUNT’S DEFIANT BRIDE (International Billionaires)

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Wicked

Persuasion

Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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With thanks to the immortal Jane

CHAPTER ONE

NOT a single thing had changed in the cobbled streets around the medieval market hall since the stormy day he’d driven away like a bat out of hell, swearing never to set foot in the place again. Ten years on, the steep roofs and stone mullions typical of local architecture glowed in the sun as he left the town centre for Broad Street to walk past graceful old buildings, the private dwellings outnumbered by medical consultants, banks, chartered accountants, solicitors and even interior designers. To satisfy his curiosity he went inside the bank he was aiming for and learned that one thing had changed. But on his way out he heard a voice behind him exchanging greetings with one of the bank clerks and stopped dead, his heart slamming rabbit punches against his ribs. He turned slowly, and felt a jolt of visceral satisfaction when the woman walking towards him turned so deathly pale he almost put out a hand to steady her.

‘James!’ She swallowed, so visibly shocked his satisfaction doubled as he held the door open for her.

‘Why, hello! How are you, Harriet?’ he asked affably.

‘Very well.’ A statement which was such a palpable lie he almost laughed in her face. ‘And you?’

‘Never better.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Good to see you again, but I can’t stop—running late. Goodbye.’

James Crawford strode down the street without a backward glance, angry because the chance sighting of Harriet Wilde had affected him so violently. She’d changed out of all recognition from the girl he’d once adored. The girl who’d shut him out of her life and changed his own for ever.

Harriet stood transfixed outside the bank, staring at the man striding away down the hill. At last she let out the breath she’d been holding and turned, shaken, to make for her car. For years after the painful break up she had dreamed of meeting James Crawford again. The result had been too many sleepless nights, and weight loss that ruined her looks, according to the siblings who’d accused her of dieting. And in time she had stopped imagining that every tall, dark male figure she spotted in the distance was James, mainly because in ten long years she had never actually laid eyes on him again. And now she had at last bumped into him, fate arranged it to be after a hard day’s work when she probably looked every minute of the ten years since their last meeting. She hadn’t bothered with lipstick since lunch, either. She smiled bitterly. It would take a lot more than lipstick to mend fences with James Crawford. Who was sure to be a husband and father long since. Harriet’s sharp twinge of pain at the thought was the last straw. She’d been so sure she felt nothing for him any more. But it was only natural to feel something, if only to wonder what he was doing here after all this time. Her phone rang as she turned up the steep, winding drive but she let her father’s call go to message. After the devastating encounter with James she was in sore need of some peace at her own place before tackling the evening ahead.

When Harriet had qualified as a chartered accountant she accepted a job with a local firm instead of a tempting offer from a London-based company, and then astonished her family by announcing that she wanted to move permanently into the Lodge at River House.

‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’ had demanded Julia, the eldest of the three Wilde sisters. ‘It’s so small!’

It was also self-contained, enough distance from the main house for privacy, but near enough to keep a monitoring eye on it. ‘I like it there,’ Harriet had told her. ‘I’ve always used the Lodge to study, anyway. It’s surely not unreasonable at my age to want a place of my own.’

Aubrey Wilde had dismissed the idea instantly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why live down there alone?’

Because it would be infinitely preferable to life alone with him at the main house. Julia, the brilliant one, edited a fashion magazine in London, and rarely made time to come back to River House. Neither did the prettier, but considerably less brilliant Sophie, who was too involved with her child and husband, and her social life in Pennington.

‘If you don’t agree, Father, I’ll get a flat in the town,’ had been Harriet’s impassive response. And because she was the daughter who did everything by the book, other than one teenage episode he preferred to forget ever happened, Aubrey Wilde had reluctantly agreed.

It would be a fight to get his agreement tonight. Harriet’s mouth tightened as she wriggled into her favourite dress for morale. As a further boost she released her hair from its severe daytime coil and went to work with a brush. She alone had inherited her mother’s abundant curling mane, and it gave Harriet a kick to know that envious Sophie had to resort to hair extensions and hours at the hairdresser to achieve anything remotely similar. Julia, of course, wore her black locks in a sleek crop that looked as if it cost a fortune to maintain and probably did. Harriet took a few seconds to slap on some make-up, slid on her tallest heels and, feeling about as happy as Daniel on the way to the lion’s den, walked up the steep, winding drive to the house.

When Harriet entered the beloved old house via the back door a mouth-watering aroma scented the vast kitchen, but otherwise it was deserted. No surprise there. From the animated conversation coming from the drawing room along the hall, her siblings were enjoying pre-dinner drinks with their father, with no thought about the dinner itself. Julia and Sophie expected meals to appear without their assistance and, as she did on a regular basis, Harriet gave fervent thanks to the paragon who kept River House in perfect order. Margaret Rogers came in for three hours daily during the week to keep the house immaculate, supplied Aubrey Wilde with a light lunch when required, and stocked his freezer with dinners suitable to heat in the microwave she’d taught him to use. Consequently, he liked to boast that he was self-sufficient. But the actual yoke of householder lay light on his shoulders. Since his early retirement from the bank, Aubrey Wilde spent most of his time on the golf course, in the bar at its club, or at functions and dinners of various kinds.

Harriet checked the fragrant venison casserole keeping hot in the warming oven, then took the first course to the dining room. Julia, tall, faultlessly groomed and commanding, swept in while Harriet was setting out individual salads at one end of the long table she’d laid ready the night before.

‘So there you are at last,’ Julia said tartly. ‘Pa’s been trying to ring you.’

Harriet kissed the air near the expertly tinted cheek she was offered. ‘My last client ran on a bit; I was late leaving the office.’

‘While I’ve come all the way from London, and missed a very important meeting to get here,’ Julia reminded her.

Harriet raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘And spent the entire train journey on the phone, harassing your underlings.’

Julia made no attempt to deny it. ‘So what’s the big mystery? Why are two or three of us gathered together? It can’t be to pray.’

‘It might come to that. I need your backup tonight.’

‘That’s new.’ Julia’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not involved with someone unsuitable again by any chance?’

Harriet gave her a withering look and turned to make for the kitchen.

‘I’ll report back to Father that you’ve arrived,’ called her sister. ‘Want a drink?’

‘Not yet, thanks.’ Harriet was well aware that her fashion guru sister was inspecting her rear view in the clinging dress. Not that she cared. Some of the weight she’d lost over James had been regained eventually, but she was still a dress size smaller than Julia and at least two less than Sophie.

Harriet’s lips tightened as she put asparagus to steam. After years of absence from her life, it was the second intrusion of the day by James Crawford, the ‘someone unsuitable’ in her past. A mere technician with a computer firm had been dismissed as totally out of the question for a daughter of River House. And, to Harriet’s despair, her godmother, who until that point had been her constant ally, had agreed with Aubrey Wilde for the first time in living memory.

‘Darling, you’re too young,’ Miriam Cairns had told her. ‘You’re doing too well at university to get serious with anyone. If this young man is as wonderful as you say he’ll wait until you’re qualified.’

But James, unwilling to wait, had persuaded Harriet to share a flat with him near the college while she finished her course.

When Aubrey Wilde learned of the plan he’d lost his temper completely. Crimson with fury, he’d roared that he would get the director of the computer firm, a golfing crony of his, to fire his employee immediately. And if Harriet persisted in her defiance a restraining order would be taken out against the upstart, which would mean arrest if the man dared to come anywhere near Miss Harriet Wilde again. Appalled, she had argued long and passionately, and in desperation finally resorted to pleading. But her incensed father had remained immovable. In the end Harriet had given in, afraid that if she continued to defy him Aubrey Wilde would carry out his threat.

Harriet had been forced to tell James that living with him while she was still studying was not possible. ‘With you around to distract me I would never qualify.’

At first James had laughed, sure she was joking, but when he saw she was in deadly earnest he had done his utmost to change her mind until at last he threw up his hands in angry defeat. ‘So that’s it?’ he said at last, his voice rough with emotion. ‘On your bike, Crawford, and never darken my door again.’

‘Of course not,’ she said in misery, tears running down her face. ‘Things will be different once I’m qualified—’

‘You actually expect me to be fool enough to hang around that long, Harriet?’ His sarcastic smile cut her to pieces. ‘Daddy said no, didn’t he? And like a good little daughter you’re giving in without a fight.’

‘I had no choice,’ she said brokenly.

‘There’s always a choice!’ His eyes glittered with rage and bitter hurt. ‘But you’ve obviously made yours, little girl. So get lost. Run home to Daddy and grow up.’

Harriet had rung him the moment she got home, and sobbed in utter despair when she found his phone had been disconnected and his email wiped. James Crawford, the computer expert, had cut off all means of communication. After a sleepless night, she went to his lodgings first thing next morning, to find that he had already paid up and left. And until that brief encounter today she had never seen him again.

The oven timer went off, jerking Harriet back from the past. She loaded the trolley and trundled it along to the dining room, then joined the others to say that dinner was served.

‘About time,’ complained Sophie, jumping up. ‘I’m starving.’

‘But as usual it never occurred to you to lend a hand,’ said Harriet, with a sharpness so unlike her the other three stared, taken aback.

‘Busy day?’ asked her father warily.

Sophie bridled, flushing. ‘I’ve been busy too, I’d have you know. Annabel runs me ragged.’

‘Really? I thought she ran your wonderful Pilar ragged,’ said Harriet, referring to Sophie’s au pair, and Julia laughed.

‘Got you there, Sophie.’

Aubrey Wilde eyed Harriet uneasily. ‘Something wrong?’

‘No more than usual,’ she said tersely. ‘Let’s eat before poor little Sophie fades away from malnutrition.’

Sophie, who was anything but little, opened her mouth to snap back a furious retort, but caught her father’s quelling eye and subsided, sulking, as they took their places in the dining room. Harriet was glad of the wine her father poured for her, but the ordeal looming after the meal killed her enthusiasm for the perfect little salads. To her surprise, Julia carried the used dishes to a sideboard afterwards and ordered Sophie to hand round plates as Harriet served the venison, while Aubrey watched benignly, delighted to see his daughters working in such accord.

‘So why did you want us here tonight, Daddy?’ asked Sophie when they were back in the drawing room.

‘Nothing to do with me.’ He shrugged, and poured himself a cognac. ‘Splendid as it is to have all my girls with me, it’s Harriet’s idea, not mine.’

Julia raised her perfectly threaded eyebrows at her sister. ‘Please tell me I haven’t forgotten some occasion of significance, Harriet. At least I know it’s not your birthday. Have you had a promotion?’

‘Sadly, no.’ Harriet produced her briefcase.

‘Oh, bother,’ groaned Sophie. ‘Don’t say we have to sign things.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Harriet drew up a low table, and spread out some documents. ‘But it’s important that you and Julia are present at this discussion.’

Her father glared at her. ‘Harriet, if this is about accounts you should have discussed it with me first!’

‘In which case,’ she said without emotion, ‘you know perfectly well you would have dismissed my findings as pessimistic nonsense.’

Sophie burst into indignant protest, but Julia silenced her with an upraised hand. ‘These are the accounts for the financial year, Harriet?’

‘Yes.’ For once Harriet was glad of Julia’s input. ‘I may not have spoken to Father first tonight, but I assure you I’ve tried to reason with him on countless other nights before finally calling you both in.’

Aubrey reddened. ‘The girl’s always hammering at me to retrench. But dammit, I lead a very simple life since I retired. How can I be expected to cut down any further?’

Harriet went in for the kill. ‘You sell the house, Father.’

For once Julia and Sophie were in accord as they looked from Harriet to their father in utter horror.

‘Sell River House?’ gasped Sophie.

Julia frowned. ‘It’s as bad as that?’

Harriet eyed her father in challenge, and with much throat clearing he finally admitted that his finances were in a bad way. ‘Like a good many other people, I took a beating on the market recently,’ he admitted gruffly, and poured another brandy.

‘And the bottom line, Harriet?’ demanded Julia.

‘As things stand, Father can’t afford to go on living here without extra revenue coming in. This is a high maintenance house.’

Aubrey nodded morosely. ‘In your grandfather’s day there was a builder on call, and two full-time gardeners on the payroll. Now I get Ed Haines in for maintenance only when strictly necessary, and his son for one day a week in the garden.’

‘And you’re rapidly running out of funds for even that much,’ said Harriet with finality.

Sophie turned on her angrily. ‘Are you sure you’ve got this right? Shouldn’t one of the senior partners in your firm be doing Father’s accounts, not someone junior like you?’

Aubrey Wilde eyed her in disapproval. ‘Apologise to Harriet at once, Sophie.’

‘Sorry, sorry!’ Sophie burst into noisy tears. ‘But I just can’t bear the thought of River House being sold.’

‘Since Harriet is a qualified chartered accountant,’ snapped Julia who, if not affectionate, was always just, ‘her figures are obviously correct.’

‘They were checked by one of the senior partners. Rex Barlow went over them with me, at my request, and agreed with me on every count,’ said Harriet wearily. ‘Funds are needed urgently, or Father has no option. He must sell up.’

‘I can’t manage anything significant in the way of financial help,’ said Julia with regret. ‘The mortgage on the new flat is a killer.’

‘And I can’t ask Gervase for money!’ said Sophie in alarm. ‘He was absolutely horrid to me about my last credit card bill.’

‘Even if either of you could contribute something it would just be a temporary stopgap. However—’ Harriet paused, almost amused as the other three regarded her in sudden hope ‘—if you can’t bear the thought of selling, Father, there might just possibly be another way round the problem.’

He brightened. ‘You’ve thought of something?’

‘Can’t you pay Father more rent for the Lodge?’ said Sophie.

‘If you can’t say anything sensible, for God’s sake keep quiet,’ snapped Julia. ‘Just for the record, how much do you pay, Harriet?’

Colour rose again in Aubrey’s face when Harriet told her.

‘I know it’s too much—’

‘Far too much,’ said Julia trenchantly. ‘No one else would pay anything like that to live in such a poky little place—not that you haven’t made it charming, Harriet,’ she added fairly, ‘and entirely at your own expense at that. But you know damn well you could rent a luxury flat in the town for that money.’

‘So why do you stay here then?’ muttered Sophie sulkily.

‘Because if River House is to remain in the family it needs constant care,’ Harriet told her flatly. ‘When I qualified I offered my free professional help to Father, which means I do the accounts, make sure the household bills are paid on time and consult regularly with Ed Haines about basic house maintenance. But if something isn’t done soon, there won’t be enough money even for that. You’ll have to let Margaret Rogers go, Father, and do the housework and gardening yourself. And sell the new car,’ she added ruthlessly.

This last was so obviously the last straw it would have been amusing in any other circumstances. ‘So what do you have in mind?’ he asked, with unusual humility.

‘Charlotte Brewster is the client who made me late today.’

‘The one who was Head Girl in my day?’ said Julia with interest.

Harriet nodded. ‘She chose me as her accountant because of the school connection.’

‘Never mind all that,’ said Aubrey impatiently. ‘What has this woman to do with our problem?’

‘She’s a professional location agent, working with people who hire out their houses as venues for films, PR events, commercial photo shoots, and so on,’ Harriet told him, human enough to feel satisfaction when his jaw dropped.

‘You’re actually suggesting I let a film crew stampede all over my home?’ he said, aghast.

‘If they find it suitable for their purposes, yes.’

Sophie’s eyes shone. ‘How exciting!’

Julia eyed Harriet with respect. ‘Actually it’s a brilliant idea. You can charge big bucks for just a day’s filming. And I can be of help in this way. I could get my people to do a shoot here, put out feelers in other directions, too.’

‘Great idea.’ Harriet turned back to her father. ‘Of course, as an alternative, you could stay with Miriam and let the entire house out for the summer.’

‘God forbid,’ he said in horror. ‘Miriam and I would kill each other in days.’

‘Then you have no option,’ said Harriet briskly. ‘I can take a room in town while the house is in use, and you can move into the Lodge, Father.’

Julia nodded thoughtfully. ‘The gardens alone would be a huge draw. Dress designers would salivate over this place—models gazing through the wisteria on the veranda, or draped over the balcony outside my bedroom.’

‘And mine,’ echoed Sophie.

Harriet looked at her father. ‘So what’s your answer?’

His mouth twisted. ‘You’ve already decided for me.’

‘Shall I put the idea to the vote?’

‘Unnecessary,’ said Julia crisply. ‘It’s a three to one majority.’

Her father sighed, defeated. ‘Oh, very well, I’ll make it unanimous, but on condition that when these people rampage over the house you stay in the Lodge to keep an eye on them, Harriet. I’ll find somewhere in town. And now, Sophie,’ he added in a different tone, ‘I suggest you help Julia clear the dining room and load the dishwasher.’ He waited until they left the room, then turned to Harriet. ‘You really think this will work?’

She nodded. ‘It must work. The roof is the top priority. I checked with Ed.’

‘Why not with me?’

‘Because you turn a blind eye to what you don’t want to see!’

He sighed. ‘You’ve changed such a lot, Harriet.’

She shook her head. ‘You just haven’t noticed before.’

‘I notice more than you realise,’ he said bleakly, ‘including why you refuse to live here at home with me.’