Jacqueline Baird began writing as a hobby when her family objected to the smell of her oil painting, and immediately became hooked on the romantic genre. She loves travelling and worked her way around the world from Europe to the Americas and Australia, returning to marry her teenage sweetheart. She lives in Ponteland, Northumbria, the county of her birth, and has two teenage sons. She enjoys playing badminton, and spends most weekends with husband Jim, sailing their Gp14 around Derwent Reservoir.

PROLOGUE

PENNY ran lightly across the field, leapt over the fence into the old stable yard, and headed straight for the back door of the house. She was late and Veronica would kill her. Penny had promised to return before five to babysit her half-brother, while her stepmother went to the hairdresser. But her boss in the antique shop had been late getting back, and then Penny had bumped into her best friend, Jane Turner, the local vicar’s daughter, and Jane’s brother Simon.

Simon had just returned from a trekking holiday in the Himalayas. A year older than the girls, he was full of his experiences, and waxed lyrical about his prowess as a mountain climber. Jane was delighted because her older sister Patricia, who was married and lived in New York, was coming home on holiday next month, and bringing her new baby with her. Penny was pleased for her friends but it had delayed her even more.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Penny yelled as she dashed into the rear porch that led to the kitchen.

Veronica stood, baby James in her arms, blocking her way. ‘About time! I’m going to be late and you know how important this dinner is tonight. We have invited Mr Maffeiano and his PA, and with a bit of luck not only will Maffeiano buy the land, and solve our immediate money worries, but also he might be persuaded into going into business with Julian. It could be the making of your father, and heaven knows we need the income to keep this place up.’

It was the familiar moan, and Penny shrivelled a little inside. Veronica wasn’t a bad person; in fact, when she had first married Penny’s father Julian eighteen months ago they had got on well. It was only when Veronica had given birth to a baby boy ten months later, and begun talking of when James would inherit the estate, and her husband had disabused her of the notion, informing her Haversham Park was always left to the oldest child, irrespective of sex, that she’d changed.

Penny’s own mother had died of cancer when Penny was thirteen, and for a while her father had been depressed. But four years later he had met and married Veronica.

‘Well, take him, for heaven’s sake! I have to dash,’ Veronica snapped.

‘Sorry, Veronica,’ Penny apologised again, reaching out and taking James into her arms. She adored her brother. But, casting a glance at her stepmother, she could not help thinking uncharitably that it was amazing how quickly Veronica had lost interest in Penny, and to some extent the baby, when she’d realised her husband wasn’t as wealthy as she’d thought.

‘Sorry isn’t good enough—we really do need the money. Working in that dusty junk shop for a gap year before going to university will nowhere near cover the cost of keeping you at college for three more. Your father will have to pay. Heavens! We can’t even afford a caterer! Feed James, and put him to bed, then keep an eye on Mrs Brown’s cooking. The woman is far too old to work and she flatly refused to take James for me, saying she was too busy. The nerve of the woman.’

‘Okay,’ Penny agreed as Veronica swept out. Penny sighed with relief as she walked into the kitchen.

‘She’s gone and left you holding the baby again,’ Mrs Brown, the live-in housekeeper, remarked grimly.

‘I don’t mind.’ Penny grinned at the older woman and slipped a gurgling James into his high chair, then set about preparing his bottle and food.

“Brownie”, as Penny called her, had lived at Haversham Park since before Penny was born and Penny could not imagine the house without her. Much as Veronica complained about the woman, she had not tried to get rid of her.

However, this was probably because Brownie worked for a small salary and, more importantly, Veronica did not cook… In fact Veronica’s one aim in life, as far as Penny could see, was to look good and be part of what she called the social scene. This apparently, entailed flitting back and forward to London for dinners and charity balls.

Penny grimaced; it was a ball that was responsible for tonight’s dinner. Veronica had persuaded her father to take her to an exclusive charity event in London. As luck would have it, Veronica had bumped into an old friend of hers, a businessman, and had introduced him to Penny’s father. One thing had led to another, and apparently the man was interested in purchasing land, perhaps for a golf course. Personally Penny could not see the point but, as her father had explained, there was no money in farming any more, and they needed money. Veronica was right; this was an ideal opportunity for Julian to make some money and her father almost always bowed to what Veronica wanted, Penny thought ruefully. Who could blame him? He was a man in his fifties with a beautiful young wife and he just wanted to keep her happy.

But Penny took heart in the fact they would still keep the home she loved, a stone-built Tudor-styled house set in five acres of parkland, and she began feeding James with a smile on her face.

Once he was fed and happy, Penny left James with Brownie and set the large oak table in the dining room with the finest damask cloth and silver cutlery. Then, with a brief glance at her wrist-watch she dashed back to the kitchen.

A sleepy James stretched out his arms to her and she swept him up in hers, giving him a cuddle and a kiss. ‘Bed for you, little man,’ she murmured, and strolled out into the hall. Her foot was on the bottom step when the front door was flung open. Penny stopped and turned. Veronica was back quick.

‘Ah, Penelope and my favourite boy.’ Her smiling father walked towards her.

Oh, my God! She stifled a groan. The guests had arrived early, over two hours early by Penny’s reckoning!

Solo Maffeiano entered the hall, and wondered what the hell he was doing here. Two nights ago he had spent a couple of hours of inventive sex with Lisa, his occasional mistress in New York. She was a lawyer, she knew the score and was very accommodating.

In a way it was her fault he was here now. On a previous date with Lisa months ago, he had been flicking through a year-old magazine while he’d waited to be picked up for the airport. The centre-fold picture of a wedding had attracted his attention: the marriage of Veronica Jones to a much older minor English aristocrat, Julian Haversham.

Solo had laughed out loud as he had known the lady seven years before, not in the biblical sense, but it had not been for the want of trying on her part. Veronica had been the girlfriend of an Arab business associate of his when they had spent a week cruising the Greek Islands. Bridal material she was not!

But the picture of the bridesmaid, the daughter of the groom, had caught his eye. The Honourable Penelope Haversham was a beauty, with pale blonde hair and milky white skin, and an innocent, almost fey quality about the small, slender figure that had intrigued him.

He had met Veronica and her new husband at a charity ball in London a couple of weeks back. Now following his PA Tina down the hall, he realised he should have taken her advice and had nothing to do with the proposition Veronica was pushing, the purchase of farming land and possibly a joint leisure development. If the house were included it might have been viable. But it would be sacrilege to alter it. It was a beautiful example of Tudor architecture, and Solo appreciated works of art. His hobby was collecting rare objects; his home in Italy was a treasure trove of objets d’art.

Probably because he had been brought up in the back streets of Naples with a whore for a grandmother and a mother who’d followed in the family tradition! He was the result of an American sailor’s fling with his mother. He was named Saul after him but the name was quickly bastardised to Solo, and by the time he was ten he’d been on his own.

There was very little he had not seen and done. But blessed with a brilliant mind and a quick tongue, he had never fallen foul of the law. He had worked and acquired a formal education whenever he’d had the time and opportunity, ultimately graduating with honours in economics. But privately he acknowledged the economics of poverty and the street had proved to be a much more valuable lesson, when dealing with the upper echelons of international finance.

At thirty-four he was a success. Wealthy beyond most people’s wildest dreams, he was a whiz at playing the markets and had also invested heavily in property around the world. He could have any woman he wanted without really trying. So why was he wasting his valuable time on the off chance of seeing the girl from the picture? He wondered, his lips twisting in a self-derogatory smile.

Then he saw her, and he stopped dead. The picture did not begin to do her justice.

Penny held James a little more securely and, putting a brave face on it, she said, ‘You’re early, Daddy. I’m just going to put James to bed.’ Her father was a tall, slender man, with white hair and brown eyes, and she loved him to bits.

‘Not to worry, darling. Come and let me introduce you to our guests.’

Penny’s glance skimmed over two people. A redheaded woman and a tall man, half hidden behind her father.

‘My daughter Penelope.’ Her father stepped aside and smiled at the couple, before glancing back at Penny. ‘Solo Maffeiano, and his PA Tina Jenson, our guests this evening. It was such a lovely afternoon we decided to come down early and conduct our business here rather than in a London office.’

The woman was tall and elegant. ‘How do you do?’ Penny said politely. ‘I hope you will excuse me not shaking hands, but as you can see my arms are full.’

Penny looked up at the other guest with a polite smile on her face, and her heart quite inexplicably began thumping against her ribs. She simply stared, struck dumb by the sheer dynamic presence of the man.

Solo Maffeiano was the most devastatingly attractive man she had ever seen. He was wearing a tailored lightweight grey suit that fitted his elegant frame to perfection. He was well over six feet tall with wide shoulders that tapered down to lean hips and long legs. He was olive-skinned with thick black curling hair, his eyes were a piercing grey, his nose straight. His perfectly sculptured lips were curved in a smile over brilliant white teeth.

‘Delighted to meet you, Penelope,’ Solo husked. She was a vision of feminine perfection with a baby in her arms, and Solo felt an instant reaction in the groin area. It had not happened like that for him in years.

Her hair was fair, and it fell long and straight down her back like fine silk. Her petite features held a perfect symmetry, her lips full and sensually curved. Her eyes were a stunning green but darkening to deep jade as she watched him, the lashes thick and curling, and he noted the tinge of pink on her cheeks.

He knew the effect he had on women and for the most part ignored it, but he felt a stab of savage masculine pride that this dainty creature before him reacted so helplessly. In that instant he decided he wanted her, and he was a man who always got what he wanted.

Penny finally found her tongue. ‘And you, Mr Maffeiano.’ She swallowed hard.

‘Please call me Solo.’ He smiled again, and she was mesmerised.

‘Solo,’ she breathed his name, and at that moment young James decided he did not like his sister’s attention diverted from himself, and grabbed a handful of her hair and tugged.

‘Oh, you little devil,’ she cried at the swift stab of pain, bringing her back to reality with a jolt, but she was grateful to James. It had stopped her staring at the man like a besotted fool. ‘Come on, it’s bed for you.’ With the briefest glance at the others, she murmured, ‘Excuse me.’

But before she could turn Solo Maffeiano reached out one elegant finger and slid it gently down James’s chubby cheek.

‘I hope you know how lucky you are, boy, with a beautiful girl to take you to bed.’

James gurgled happily and reached a chubby hand out to the man and the others all laughed. Penny shot a startled glance at the dark stranger, and blushed scarlet. She saw the knowing amusement lurking in his silver eyes; he knew exactly how he affected her. How he affected every woman he met, she thought, reality clicking in. He was a sophisticated, handsome beast—add wealth and power, and he had it all. He was way out of her league, she told herself, turning to her father and gripping James like a lifeline.

‘See you later, Daddy. Veronica is not back yet, and I must get James to bed.’ She was babbling, she knew, but she needed to get away from Solo Maffeiano and the peculiar feelings, the tension he aroused in her. ‘I’ll see you all at dinner,’ she said and almost ran up the stairs.

Lying in the bath later when James was safely tucked up in bed, Penny told herself she had overreacted. Solo Maffeiano was just a man like any other. It had been shock at the early arrival of the guests that had made her react so oddly.

It was almost eight when Penny made her way back downstairs. She had herself firmly under control—she was nearly nineteen. no longer a giddy teenager prone to blush if a boy so much as looked at her.

Her grin vanished as she walked into the drawing room for a pre-dinner drink.

Conversation stopped dead and four pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

‘Really, Penny, you must learn to be punctual. I said seven-thirty for eight.’ Veronica’s opening comment had her stuttering for a response.

Her father’s ‘Leave the child alone, you know how Penny adores playing with James and she loses all track of time,’ and brief smile before he looked around the other three did nothing for her self-esteem.

Tina Jenson smiled politely at Penny, and turned back to Solo Maffeiano.

But he simply ignored everyone else and crossed the room to Penny. His cool grey eyes flicked over the mass of fair hair she had swept up and knotted on top of her head, roamed down over her small face, her elegant neck and slender shoulders, and lingered on the boat neckline of her dress that revealed the soft curve of her surprisingly luscious breasts. His intent gaze dropped lower to the indentation of her waist, flat stomach, and down to where her straight skirt skimmed her slim hips and ended some two inches above her knees, right down to where her small feet were encased in high-heeled black sandals.

‘You look beautiful, well worth waiting for,’ he said with casual charm, taking her arm, ‘And your father must be blind if he thinks you’re a child,’ he drawled huskily so only she could hear.

The touch of his fingers on her bare flesh seemed to burn through to the bone. Penny felt a wild heat surge through her body, and she did not know what had hit her.

Dinner was torture to Penny, although she persuaded Brownie to pretend her arthritis was bad so that Penny could do the serving.

Brownie gave her a quizzical look. ‘Your stepmother won’t like that.’

‘Tough, I don’t want to be stuck listening to boring business all night.’

A few minutes later Penny walked back into the dining room, carrying a tray, with the first course, melon and Parma ham.

‘Where is Mrs Brown?’ Veronica demanded curtly.

‘Her arthritis is bothering her so I offered to help.’

‘The trouble is good help is so hard to find when you live in a backwater like this,’ Veronica began as Julian dealt with the wine.

Thirty miles or so outside Cambridge, the village was small, but it was also only about ninety minutes’ drive into London, so hardly the back of beyond, Penny thought dryly as she put the plates on the table and took a seat next to Tina. Only then did Solo Maffeiano sit down directly facing her.

‘I can imagine,’ Tina Jenson drawled in agreement, while Penny kept her head down and tried to eat. ‘But if Solo does decide to invest in the place I’m sure he will have no trouble finding staff. He never does,’ Tina concluded with a smile at her boss.

Penny’s head shot up at the words, and with a horrified glance at the man opposite, ‘But the house is not for sale,’ she blurted.

Solo leaned back in his chair, his silver gaze sweeping slowly over the delicate beauty of her features. He caught the tightening of her lush mouth, the tension she could not quite hide, before he captured her gaze with his own.

‘Isn’t that up to your father to decide?’ he asked smoothly. ‘After all, you’re a very attractive young woman, some man is bound to snap you up before long.’ One ebony brow arched enquiringly. ‘Or are you already committed to some lucky man?’

Penelope heard her father’s soft chuckle, and felt herself the object of all eyes around the table, and colour surged in her cheeks. ‘No,’ she responded quietly, ‘to both your questions,’ she concluded with a brief flare of resentment she could not quite disguise. Solo was deliberately needling her. She might be young, but she could recognise a chauvinistic statement when she heard one.

‘Penelope is right,’ Veronica piped up, supposedly in support of Penny, but then she went on to describe how Penelope stood to inherit the house. As Julian’s wife Veronica only had the right to live in it, never own it, as did baby James.

Incredibly hurt by Veronica’s implication that Penny was likely to throw her stepmother and brother out, she leapt to her feet, and whipped around the table collecting the plates. It was some consolation to hear her father say firmly, ‘That is not quite true Veronica, I could sell if I wanted to, but I don’t. Havershams have lived here for three hundred years, and always will as far as I’m concerned. And I have not the least doubt Penelope would share everything with her family. We Havershams always do.’

Penelope slanted her father a grateful smile for sticking up for her, and shot off to the kitchen without another word.

For the rest of the meal she kept quiet and listened. But keeping her eyes from straying to the handsome man opposite was not such an easy feat. She couldn’t help but look at him. Solo Maffeiano’s voice was deep and melodious, his English had the slightest trace of an Italian accent, and his easy wit as the conversation flowed held her enthralled. But when Veronica started name-dropping shamelessly as she described the house party she and Julian were going to attend that weekend at Lord Somerton’s, Penny had had enough.

She glimpsed the cynical smile on Solo Maffeiano’s face, saw the contempt in his grey eyes, and she cringed. Looking down at the table, she placed her napkin by her plate before rising to her feet and declaring brightly to no one in particular, ‘I’ll go and get the coffee.’ She couldn’t get away fast enough.

‘I’ll help you,’ Solo Maffeiano declared smoothly.

‘No, no, please, you’re a guest,’ Penny flung over her shoulder as she scuttled out of the room and into the kitchen.

Breathing deeply, Penny crossed to the bench where the coffee percolator stood. Brownie had gone to bed, but she had left the tray, and the coffee on, bless her!

Not long now and Penny could make her own escape. She grasped the edge of the bench to steady her shaking nerves. What a meal! She had never felt so aware, so disturbed by a member of the opposite sex in her life. Solo Maffeiano had the power to make her heart shake with only a glance from his pale eyes, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

Sighing, she turned, only to freeze at the sight of the man in question strolling towards her. ‘What are you doing here? I told you I don’t need any help,’ she snapped.

He didn’t immediately answer. Instead he stopped and captured both her hands in his and very slowly folded them behind her back, bringing her into intimate contact with his tall frame. A shiver rippled through her as her breasts pressed against his broad chest, her slender legs trapped against the strength of hard, masculine thighs. She tried to wriggle free, then gasped as she felt the stirring of his mighty body and its blatant masculine sign of passion.

A mixture of innocent embarrassment and not so innocent helpless heated arousal caused a tide of pink to sweep up over her face. Penny stared up at him and was paralysed by the blinding flame of desire in his eyes, her heart hammering against her chest so hard she could hardly breathe. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

‘What I have ached to do since the minute I set eyes on you,’ Solo declared, and smiled a slow, soft curve of his firm mouth. His dark head bent and too late she realised the danger she was in.

‘No,’ Penny gasped at the same time as his mouth covered hers. She had been kissed before, not very often, and never like this, was her last conscious thought.

The sexy male scent of him filled her nostrils, a hot, liquid sensation flowed through her body making her breasts tingle, and heat pool at the junction of her thighs, and his mouth! His mouth moved on hers with a soft, sensual pleasure, his tongue darting between parted lips, gently then fiercely plundering the hot, sweet interior in an erotic, wonderful kiss that quickly flared out of control.

Solo groaned and, freeing her hands, he slipped his own firmly around her waist, holding her in intimate contact with his hard body.

Penny felt his other hand sweep up under her breasts and cup the aching fullness in his palm. Her slender body arched into him as his thumb stroked across the tip of her breast, bringing the tender nipple into a rigid peak against the fabric of her dress. ‘Don’t.’ Her voice was a shocked murmur, verging on a moan.

Solo lifted his head, taking a swift breath. Dio! The girl was dynamite—he had come perilously close to forgetting where he was, and that had never happened to him before. He needed to tread warily and, wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her. ‘I knew it would be like this between us.’ He stepped back and released her.

Penny gazed bemusedly up at him. She lifted a hand to her full lips. ‘You… we…’ she stammered. She couldn’t say kissed, she didn’t have the breath. Solo Maffeiano; this incredibly attractive, virile man had kissed her, touched her. It felt more as if she had been hit by lightning. Powerful and sophisticated Solo, and yet she could have sworn she’d heard him groan as well.

‘Us, you mean,’ Solo amended throatily. ‘And there is going to be an us. But not here and not now. The others are waiting for their coffee.’ He slipped an arm around her waist to steady her. His eyes, dark as slate, stared down into hers and he saw her shock and confusion and knew she was exactly what he wanted. Innocent, well bred and maternal, she was perfect wife material. To a man who had everything, and had never considered marriage before, the thought of a wife and possibly a child suddenly held strong appeal. ‘How old are you, Penelope?’ he asked softly.

‘Nineteen in September,’ she answered without thinking.

‘I’m thirty-four, a lot older than you.’ And a hell of a lot more experienced, but Solo did not say it. He did not want to frighten her off. She was like a perfect rosebud slowly unfurling. She came alive in his arms, all heat and light and totally unconscious of her potent sensuality.

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