The End of her Innocence

There were tears on Chloe’s face as she sat staring unseeingly into the darkness. Every haunting memory of that time, seven years before, was conspiring to remind her that she had indeed been hardly more than a child just emerging into womanhood.

And I indulged myself with a child’s dreams, she thought bitterly. Ignored the warnings from people who’d known him so much longer and so much better than I had, and who, therefore, had no illusions about him.

I was young and stupid. I let his touch, his kisses tempt me to forget what I really wanted from life. And, oh, God, he made it so easy for me. So terribly, heartbreakingly easy.

She shivered suddenly, wrapping her arms round her body.

I mustn’t use emotive words like that, she told herself. My heart did not break. Darius was just a diversion. A painful but necessary lesson.

And I won’t make the same mistake again.

About the Author

SARA CRAVEN was born in South Devon and grew up in a house full of books. She worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders, and started writing for Mills and Boon in 1975. When not writing, she enjoys films, music, theatre, cooking, and eating in good restaurants. She now lives near her family in Warwickshire. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the former Channel Four game show Fifteen to One, and in 1997 was the UK television Mastermind champion. In 2005 she was a member of the Romantic Novelists’ team on University Challenge—the Professionals.

Recent titles by the same author:

WIFE IN THE SHADOWS

THE HIGHEST STAKES OF ALL

HIS UNTAMED INNOCENT

RUTHLESS AWAKENING

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

The End of Her Innocence

Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CHAPTER ONE

‘BUT, Chloe, I need you with us. I’m counting on you.’ Mrs Armstrong opened limpid blue eyes to their widest extent. ‘I thought you knew that.’

She paused. ‘Besides, just think of it—an entire summer in the South of France. And we’ll be away quite a lot, so you’d have the villa all to yourself. Now, isn’t that tempting?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Chloe Benson returned equably. ‘But, as I said when I handed in my notice, madam, I have my own plans.’

And staying in domestic service, no matter how gold-plated and lucrative, is not among them, she added silently. Nice try, Dilys baby, but no thanks.

‘Well, I’m very disappointed.’ Mrs Armstrong’s tone took on the faint peevishness which was her nearest approach to animation. ‘And I don’t know what my husband will say.’

He’ll say, ‘Bad luck, old thing,’ then go back to the Financial Times, just as he always does, Chloe thought, biting back a smile.

‘If it’s a question of money.’ Mrs Armstrong allowed her perfect brow to wrinkle. ‘If you’ve had a better offer, I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.’

On the contrary, Chloe wanted to tell her, it’s love rather than money that’s luring me away.

She allowed herself a happy moment to think about Ian. To summon up the image of his tall, broad-shouldered frame, his curling brown hair and smiling blue eyes. To imagine the moment when she’d go into his arms and say, ‘I’ve come home, darling, and this time it’s for good. Just name the day and I’ll be there.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing like that, madam. I’ve simply decided to take a different career direction.’

‘But what a waste, when you’re so good at what you do.’

What talent did you really require for saying, ‘Yes, madam, very good madam?’ Chloe wondered with faint exasperation. For organising the smooth running of a house with every modern convenience known to the mind of man and then some. For making sure the other members of staff did their jobs efficiently.

Whatever might be happening in the City, billionaire Hugo Armstrong wanted an untroubled existence at his country home, Colestone Manor. He was bored by day-to-day domestic detail, requiring any problems to be dealt with quickly and unobtrusively, the bills paid, and his guests offered the luxurious environment of a top hotel.

Quite simply, he asked for perfection, with the minimum effort on his part, and, during her tenure as housekeeper, Chloe had ensured that he got it.

She knew she was young for the job and she would have a lot to prove, but she was bright, energetic and a good organiser used to hard work, as her previous references attested.

Her responsibilities were manifold, her hours long, but her astonishing salary more than compensated for these and other inconveniences.

She was not, of course, expected to have any life of her own. Christmas and Easter were busy times at the Manor. She had not even been able to attend Uncle Hal and Aunt Libby’s thirtieth wedding anniversary, because the Armstrongs had arranged a large house-party that weekend, and couldn’t spare her. Her salary that month had been augmented by a large bonus, but it hardly made up for missing out on such a special occasion with people she loved, the only real family she’d ever had, and she still had feelings of guilt about it.

But she’d always known that the job was twenty-four-seven while it lasted. And now her notice was nearly up, and it was only going to last another week.

Losing her might cause her employers some temporary annoyance, she reflected as she went back to her quarters, but no-one was indispensable, and the Belgravia agency would supply a replacement for her with the minimum of fuss, so she was hardly leaving them in the lurch.

The computer in the housekeeper’s office was regularly updated with details of the shops that delivered the Manor’s supplies, and the tradesmen who provided any services required, plus the family’s food preferences, fads and fancies, as well as a complete rundown on all meals served to guests over the past six months, and the bedrooms they’d occupied where appropriate.

Her successor, she thought with satisfaction, should enjoy a seamless takeover.

She would miss her flat, she admitted as she closed its door behind her and looked around. Though small, it was self-contained, and luxuriously equipped with its own wet room, an expensive fitted galley kitchen, and a queen-sized bed dominating the bedroom.

It would seem odd sleeping in the modest room at Axford Grange again, with Aunt Libby filling a hot-water bottle for her whether she needed it or not, and popping in to say goodnight, but it would not be for long.

Maybe Ian would want her to move in with him before they were married, she thought pleasurably. And if he did, she would agree without the slightest hesitation. It was more than time his patient wooing was rewarded. In fact, she couldn’t understand why she’d held back for so long. At twenty-five and still a virgin, she was beginning to feel as if she was part of an endangered species.

And yet she’d remained celibate entirely through her own choice. Her creamy skin, tip-tilted hazel eyes with their long lashes and warmly curving mouth had attracted plenty of male attention since her teens.

She’d been sixteen when Ian arrived at the Grange on placement from his veterinary college and, almost from the first, she’d been sure that they were meant for each other.

As soon as he was qualified, he’d come back to work in her uncle’s busy practice, and he was now a full partner.

Soon he’ll be my partner too, she thought and smiled to herself.

He’d proposed for the first time just after she’d left university, but she’d demurred, knowing she wanted to test her newly fledged wings. She’d planned to work as a magazine journalist but jobs in the industry proved elusive, and as a temporary measure she’d joined an agency offering domestic help. Most of her friends at college had worked in bars or waited on restaurant tables to supplement their money, but Chloe, with Aunt Libby’s training behind her, opted for cleaning jobs instead, working in the early mornings and earning a reputation for being reliable, fast and thorough.

She’d just laughed when she was nicknamed Chloe the Char, retorting ‘honest work for honest pay’. Her view on that had never changed.

Ian had not been at all happy when she told him she’d been offered the job at Colestone Manor.

‘It’s one hell of a distance from here,’ he’d protested. ‘I thought you were going to find something locally. That we were going to have some real time together at last.’

‘And so we shall,’ she said. ‘But it’s also a chance to make some real money.’

‘I’m not exactly earning peanuts,’ he returned, his mouth tightening. ‘You won’t be living in penury.’

‘I know.’ She kissed him. ‘But have you any idea what even the smallest wedding costs these days? And Uncle Hal and Aunt Libby have done so much for me all my life. This is one expense I can spare them. Besides, the time will soon pass. You’ll see.’

Only it hadn’t, and Chloe wondered sometimes whether she’d have taken the job if she’d realised how all-consuming it was, with the Armstrongs quite reasonably expecting her to be at their beck and call all day and every day.

Communication with Ian and the family over the past year had been largely through hurried notes and phone calls. Not a satisfactory state of affairs by any means.

But all that was behind her now, she thought, and she could concentrate on the future and turning herself into the ideal niece and the perfect fiancée.

Because of her savings, of course, she didn’t even need to find another job—not immediately. So, she could take her time. Look around. Find the right thing, and stick to it for a couple of years until they decided to start a family.

It was all going to work out perfectly, she told herself and sighed with contentment.

She was waiting for the coffee percolator to finish brewing, when she heard a knock, and Tanya, the nanny to the Armstrong twins put her head round the door.

‘The rumour mill is working overtime,’ she announced. ‘Tell me it’s wrong for once, and you’re not leaving after all.’

‘Oh, but I am.’ Chloe smiled at her and took down a second beaker.

‘Tragedy.’ Tanya slumped into a chair, stretching out long legs, her pretty freckled face disconsolate. ‘Where can I go for sanity when the brats are driving me mad?’

‘What have you done with them at the moment? Tied them to chairs in the nursery?’

‘Dilys is taking them to a tea party—mummies only,’ Tanya said grimly. ‘I wish her luck.’

‘My sympathies are with the hostess,’ Chloe returned, pouring the coffee.

‘Well, spare a thought for me. I’ll be the one left holding the baby—literally—in the South of France while Dilys and Hugo do the Grand Tour from villa to villa and yacht to yacht,’ Tanya said moodily. ‘The only thing holding me together was the prospect of you being there too. I was sure she’d persuade you. Get you to withdraw your notice.’

‘She certainly tried,’ Chloe said cheerfully, handing her a beaker. ‘But no dice. I’m off to get a life.’

‘You have a new job lined up?’

‘Not as such.’ Chloe hesitated. ‘Actually, I’m going to be married.’

Tanya’s eyes went to her bare left hand. ‘To that vet you mentioned back home? I didn’t know you were even engaged.’

‘Well, it’s strictly unofficial as yet. I wasn’t ready before when he asked me, but, now, settling down seems like a really great thing to do, so,’ she added, smiling, ‘I’m going to do it.’

‘Won’t village life seem tame after all this glitz and glamour?’

Chloe shook her head. ‘I’ve never bought into it, any more than you have. I know my priorities and this job was always just a means to an end.

‘Apart from getting my hair cut once a month,’ she went on, running a hand through her mop of dark curls. ‘And having the odd cinema and pizza jaunt with you when we could get time off together, I’ve hardly spent a thing. So I have a lot of money sitting in the bank right now.’

Her smile widened. ‘Enough to pay for a wedding, certainly, and also contribute to the updating of Ian’s cottage, which it sorely needs. Together, we can make it wonderful.’

Tanya’s brows lifted. ‘Does Ian share this view?’

Chloe sighed humorously. ‘He seems to think all a kitchen requires is a stove, a sink and a second-hand fridge. Also that a rusting bath is a valuable antique. I intend to educate him.’

‘Well, good luck to that.’ Tanya raised her beaker in a faintly ironic toast. ‘But maybe he’s already put in a new kitchen in honour of your return. Did you think of that?’

‘He doesn’t yet know I’m coming back. I want to surprise him.’

‘Christmas!’ Tanya eyed her quizzically. ‘You must be very sure of him.’

‘I’m sure of us both,’ Chloe told her serenely. ‘And I can’t wait to get back to Willowford.’ She sighed again. ‘I’ve missed it so much.’

‘It must be a hell of a place to coax you away from the Riviera,’ Tanya commented. ‘What’s so special about it?’

‘Well, it’s not exactly picture-postcard stuff,’ Chloe said, frowning. ‘There are no thatched roofs, and the church is Victorian. Although the Hall is considered rather splendid—Jacobean with later additions.’

‘And does it have a squire who twirls his moustaches and chases the village maidens?’

Chloe’s smile held faint constraint. ‘I don’t think that’s Sir Gregory’s style,’ she said, after a pause. ‘Even if his arthritis allowed it.’

‘Is he married?’

Chloe shook her head. ‘A widower.’

‘Children?’

‘Two sons.’

‘The heir and the spare,’ said Tanya. ‘Very conventional.’

Chloe bit her lip. ‘Not really, because the spare doesn’t feature much any more. There was a gigantic rift a few years ago, and he became persona non grata.’

‘Aha.’ Tanya’s eyes gleamed. ‘This is more like it. What happened?’

Chloe looked away. ‘He had an affair with his older brother’s wife,’ she said at last. ‘Broke up the marriage. All very sordid and nasty. So his father threw him out.’

‘What happened to the wife?’

‘She left too.’

‘So are they together? She and—what do they call him?—I can’t go on saying “the spare”.’

‘Darius,’ Chloe said. ‘Darius Maynard. And I don’t think anyone knows where he is or what happened to him. Or even cares, for that matter.’

Tanya drew a deep breath. ‘Well the place is clearly a seething mass of steaming passion and illicit desire. I can see why you want to get in on the action. And the heir needs another wife, presumably.’ She gave a wicked wink. ‘Maybe you could do better than a country vet.’

‘No way.’ Chloe drained her beaker. ‘To be honest, I think quite a few people found Andrew Maynard a bit of a stuffed shirt and didn’t altogether blame Penny, who was incredibly beautiful, for looking around. But Darius already had a bad name locally, so no-one ever thought he’d be the one to get a second glance.’

Tanya’s eyes gleamed. ‘What sort of bad name?’

‘Expelled from school. Drinking, gambling, mixing with the local wild bunch. Parties that people only whispered about behind their hands.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Plus rumours that he was involved in other even worse things—illegal dog fighting, for instance.’ She added bleakly, ‘No-one was sorry to see him go, believe me.’

‘Well, for all that, he sounds more interesting than his brother.’ Tanya finished her coffee and stood up. ‘I’d better get back. I thought while the monsters were missing, I could fumigate the toy cupboards.’

Left alone, Chloe washed out the beakers and put them in the drying rack.

For the life of her, she could not fathom why she’d told Tanya all that stuff about the Maynard family. It was seven years since it had happened, she thought, and should have been relegated long ago to some mental dump bin.

She suddenly had an image of a man’s face, tanned and arrogant, nose and cheekbones strongly, almost harshly, sculpted, the mouth wide and sensual. From beneath a swathe of dirty-blond hair, compelling green eyes had stared at the world with disdain, as if daring it to judge him.

Yet it had done so, and, starting with his father, had condemned him as guilty. The adulterer who’d betrayed his brother and been sentenced to exile as a result. Although that could have been no real hardship for Darius Maynard, she thought. He’d always been restless and edgy. Willowford was far too small and tame a world for him and always had been.

But it suits me just fine, she told herself, biting her lip. It’s a decent little place with good people. Somewhere to put down roots and raise the next generation. It gave me a loving home when I was a small baby, and now it’s given me Ian. It’s security.

Sir Gregory had been part of that, she thought. A large, rather forbidding man, but rock-solid like his house. A pillar of his community, as the saying was. And Andrew Maynard was much the same. An outdoor man with a passion for climbing, more conventionally handsome than his younger brother, courteous and faintly aloof. Part of a continuing line or so it had seemed.

Except, ‘Thank heaven there are no children to be hurt,’ Aunt Libby had said quietly when the scandal broke.

But Darius had always been different—the joker in the pack. A throwback to some other, wilder time with his dangerous mocking smile, and cool smoky drawl.

My God—little Chloe grown up at last. Who’d have thought it?

She was suddenly aware she was gripping the edge of the sink so hard that her fingers were hurting, and released it hastily with a little gasp.

Memories were risky things, rather like pushing a stick to the bottom of a tranquil pool and watching the mud and debris rise. Far better, she thought, to let the water remain still and unsullied in case it never truly cleared again.

Oh, get a grip, she told herself impatiently as she returned to the sitting room. Put your microscope away.

It had all happened long ago, and should remain in the past where it belonged. If not forgotten, then ignored, as if Sir Gregory had only ever had one son. And as if that son had never married the Honourable Penelope Hatton and brought her back to Willowford Hall to tempt and be disastrously tempted in her turn.

I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, thought Chloe. We all did. I think I even envied her.

But now everything’s changed. I’m the one looking forward to a happy future with the man I love. And, if she knew, she might well be the one envying me.

It had been raining first thing when she set off from Colestone, but now the skies seemed to be clearing and a watery sun was showing its face.

A good omen, Chloe thought happily, switching the car radio to a music station, and humming along as she drove.

Rather to her surprise, she’d found herself genuinely sorry to leave the Manor. After all, she mused, it had been the focus of her attention for the past year. Besides, however indolent and self-absorbed they might be, the Armstrongs had been generous employers in the only way they knew, and she’d liked the other staff.

In the bag beside her on the passenger seat was the pretty carriage clock they’d bought her as a farewell present, and she’d been moved almost to tears as she thanked them and promised it pride of place on her future mantelpiece.

‘As for you,’ she’d muttered as she hugged Tanya. ‘I’m going to be needing a bridesmaid.’

‘Happy to oblige,’ Tanya whispered back. ‘Unless I get arrested for twin-strangling in the meantime.’

Her successor had arrived—a widow in her forties with a brisk air. She had dismissed Chloe’s computer system, saying that she had her own methods, at the same time running a suspicious finger along the office windowsill in search of non-existent dust.

Life at the Manor, Chloe thought wryly as she wished her luck, could become quite interesting quite soon.

She stopped at a roadside pub for a lunch of ham sandwiches and coffee to fuel her for the final two hours of her journey, choosing a table outside in a sheltered corner of the garden where bees were busy among the honeysuckle.

With the excitement of all the coming reunions bubbling away inside her, she almost had to force herself to eat.

As she poured her second cup of coffee, she reached into her bag for her mobile phone.

She’d called Aunt Libby again the previous evening to tell her what time she hoped to arrive, and while her aunt had seemed her usual warm self, Chloe had detected another faint nuance beneath the welcoming words.

‘Is something wrong?’ she’d asked at last. Libby Jackson had hesitated.

‘I was wondering if you’d spoken to Ian yet—informed him you were coming home, this time for good.’

‘But I told you, Aunt Libby, I want to surprise him.’

‘Yes, darling, so you said.’ Another pause. ‘But I can’t help thinking that a complete change of your whole life-plan like this, which involves him so closely, really needs some prior warning.’

‘Not unless he’s developed some serious heart condition and you think the shock could kill him.’ Chloe was amused. ‘Is that it?’

‘God forbid,’ said her aunt. ‘When last seen, he looked as strong as a horse. But I keep thinking of these dreadful surprise parties people keep giving, which I’m sure are far more fun for the organisers than the recipients. Just a thought, my dear.’

And maybe it was a good one, Chloe decided, clicking on Ian’s number. But it went straight to voicemail, indicating that he was working. So she left a message then rang the cottage, and announced herself on the answer-phone too.

Belt and braces, Aunt Libby, she thought. So now he should be ready and waiting.

She smiled to herself as she replaced the phone, imagining the smile in his eyes when he saw her, the warmth of his arms around her, and the touch of his lips on hers.

He was so worth waiting for, she thought gratefully. And now she was back, she would not leave again.

She had five miles still to go when the petrol warning light suddenly appeared on the dashboard, when only fifteen minutes before it had been registering half-full.

Chloe wrinkled her nose, wondering which was the true reading. ‘Memo to self,’ she murmured. ‘Take the car to Tom Sawley’s garage and get the gauge seen to. Particularly before the MOT becomes due again.’

Fortunately, she was approaching a turning for the main road, where there was a small filling station only a few hundred yards away.

All three pumps were busy when she arrived, so she joined the shortest queue, and got out of the car stretching.

And then she saw it, parked over by the wall, its number plate as familiar to her as that of her own car.

Ian’s jeep, she thought joyously. What was more, the bonnet was up, and there he was bending over the engine with his back to her, his long legs encased in blue denim, as he made some adjustment.

She was sure he would sense her presence and turn, but he was leaning too far over, intent on what he was doing.