Distracted by her Virtue

That discussion they’d just had about happiness was already taking on a deeper significance that he wanted to explore.

Depositing his glass of wine on the small wrought-iron table in front of them, he suddenly pushed to his feet. ‘What makes you think I wouldn’t keep my promise?’ he asked, irked that she would doubt him.

‘My son’s been let down by people breaking their promises to him before, and I don’t want him building up his hopes only to have them dashed again.’

‘Not everyone breaks their promises. Maybe you need to learn to trust a little bit more?’

‘Trust you, you mean? I barely know you.’

‘But that can be remedied, right?’

THE POWERFUL AND THE PURE

When Beauty tames the brooding Beast …

From Mr Darcy to Heathcliff, the best romantic heroes have always been tall, dark and dangerously irresistible.

This year indulge yourself as Mills & Boon® brings you a contemporary take on our favourite classic romances.

Formidable men—the ultimate heroes—untamable … or so they think!

This month one of the Brontës’ most brooding and passionate novels is given the Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance twist in:

DISTRACTED BY HER VIRTUE by Maggie Cox

Look out for more timeless love stories retold for the 21st Century

THE FORBIDDEN WIFE by Sharon Kendrick

THE MATCHMAKER BRIDE by Kate Hewitt

IN WANT OF A WIFE? by Cathy Williams

THE RETURN OF THE STRANGER by Kate Walker

A WICKED PERSUASION by Catherine George

About the Author

The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.

Recent titles by the same author:

A DEVILISHLY DARK DEAL

THE LOST WIFE

THE BROODING STRANGER

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Distracted

by her Virtue

Maggie Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Lesley, who never fails to make me laugh

and see the funny side of things!

You are such a blessing

and I’m so glad that we’re friends.

CHAPTER ONE

AS JARRETT picked his way carefully down the steep grassy bank that was made potentially treacherous by the odd jagged stone hidden amongst the greenery the chocolate-brown Lab accompanying him passed him with a swift, much more sure-footed tread. He lifted his head to follow the dog’s enthusiastic trail, and his gaze was suddenly captured by an unexpected sight. At the foot of the valley just ahead, down by the familiar babbling brook that the dog usually made a beeline for, he spied the unfamiliar figure of a lithe young woman dressed in jeans and a khaki-coloured weatherproof jacket. Her hands held a camera, and as he observed her she dropped to her haunches to photograph something.

At this distance it was hard to see what it was, but it crossed Jarrett’s mind that the woman might be one of those horticulturists who occasionally visited the area, cataloguing some rare plant or flower. It was a fine spring day and, having just closed the deal on a prime parcel of land not twenty miles from here, Jarrett was predisposed to be sociable.

‘Hello there!’ he called out as he drew nearer, and the woman lifted her head and glanced round at him, startled. As he drew nearer, the beauty of her face literally stopped him in his tracks. Who was she? Inside his chest his heart thumped hard—as though he’d sprinted down that treacherous hillside. He’d never come across eyes of such a light green hue before … like the softest summer grass. And the silky mantle of chestnut hair that flowed down over her shoulders was the perfect foil to bring out the colour, he thought with pleasure as his lips formed an appreciative smile. ‘It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’

‘Charlie? Charlie, come over here to me right now!’

He hadn’t seen the child, but at the woman’s urgent-voiced command, like an arrow expertly released from its bow to fly towards its target, he appeared out of a distant clump of trees and threw himself into her lap, almost knocking her over. Was she his mother? Jarrett wondered. She looked almost too young.

Though she might just be a passing stranger, the need to know who she was wouldn’t leave him alone. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he apologised, holding out his hand, ‘My name’s Jarrett Gaskill. I live on the other side of that rise up there.’

If he’d been expecting her to reciprocate with similar information then he was doomed to disappointment. Glancing at his outstretched hand, the green-eyed beauty made no move to take it. Instead she laid down her camera, sat back on the grass and tenderly patted the small boy on his back, as if to reassure him that everything was all right. The child’s riot of dark curls was tucked beneath her chin as if he wanted to hide.

‘I know it may not look like it, but I’m not taking pictures purely for my own amusement. I’m actually working.’

The bewitching green eyes flashed, but for a moment Jarrett’s attention was more captivated by her voice. There was such resolve and firmness in its husky tones—a warning too—that it took him aback. Did she think he presented some kind of threat to her and the child?

The thought made him retreat a couple of steps, and he let his hand drop uselessly down by his side. As if to remind him of his presence, the chocolate Lab that he was dog-sitting for his sister Beth nudged his muzzle into his palm and gave him a lick. The creature had done his usual trick of galloping joyfully through the water, and as a result was now sopping wet from head to tail. ‘It’s all right, boy … we’ll be on our way in just a minute.’

‘Was there something else?’

The woman appeared almost affronted that he might be contemplating staying for even a second longer when she’d clearly demonstrated that his presence wasn’t welcome. Swallowing down the disagreeable sense of rejection that curdled briefly in the pit of his stomach, Jarrett met her unflinching glare with an equally unwavering one of his own. His lip even curled a little mockingly. ‘No … I was simply passing the time of day. Nothing more sinister than that.’

‘Don’t be offended. It’s just that when I’m working I have to give my full attention to my subject. If I allow myself to get distracted then the photograph turns out to be useless.’

‘In that case I won’t distract or disturb you any longer. Enjoy the rest of your day.’

‘You too.’

‘Come on, Dylan … time for us to go.’

The boy on her lap turned his head to steal a helpless glance of longing at the dog. Jarrett saw that the child, too, was uncommonly striking. But his bright long-lashed eyes weren’t the arresting green of the woman’s. They were a dark berry-brown. Was she his mother? he wondered again. He’d love to know. More to the point, did she come from one of the nearby villages? Due to the demands of his business, he didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but nonetheless he didn’t think she was a native of the area. He was certain he would have heard about her if she was. Such beauty would not go unnoticed for long.

Despite his curiosity, Jarrett knew that it was time for him to go. As he turned away it felt as if the bright day had suddenly dimmed. Even the memory of the deal he had just closed couldn’t diminish the blow to his ego that the green-eyed beauty had dealt him with her indifference and distrust.

‘Her name’s Sophia Markham. She’s moved into High Ridge Hall.’

‘What?’ The information his sister had so helpfully provided when she’d rung to let him know that she and her husband Paul had returned from their weekend trip to Paris had sent a thunderbolt jack-knifing through Jarrett’s heart. He’d been trying to purchase the old manor house for years, but the elderly lady who had lived there until two Christmases ago had doggedly refused to sell—even when it became clear that the building was heading for rack and ruin due to her neglect. The place had been standing empty since she’d died, and even though he’d made several enquiries to all the local agencies neither they nor he were any the wiser regarding who owned it or what was going to happen to it now. So now, when Beth so matter-of-factly told him that the girl he’d described down by the stream yesterday had moved into it he was crushed with disappointment.

High Ridge Hall was much more than just a once grand crumbling edifice he yearned to restore to its former glory. Historically, it had always been the seat of one of the richest families in the area. Owning such a place would set the seal on the successes of the past few years during which his ‘property empire’—as Beth teasingly called it—had gone from strength to strength. He couldn’t help but feel jealous that the green-eyed beauty had moved into the place. She must have some important connections indeed for her to be able to live there—even though it must be falling down round her ears. But then, as he remembered the powerful tug of attraction he’d experienced towards her almost on sight, he was reminded of the lustful heat that had assailed him at just a single glance from her bewitching eyes …

‘Local opinion is that she is related to old Miss Wingham,’ said Beth. ‘How else could she move in? The place wasn’t even put up for sale.’

‘Damn it all to hell!’

‘Mum would turn in her grave if she heard you say that, Jarrett.’

‘Thankfully I’m not encumbered by our late mother’s religious proclivities—and nor should you be,’ he answered irritably.

‘Anyway … you say you met her down by the stream in the valley? I hear she has a son. Was he with her?’

‘Yes. He was.’

‘There’s no evidence of a father or husband. Do you think she’s divorced? Or maybe her husband works abroad?’

‘You’re becoming as nosey as the rest of the village.’

‘Don’t pretend you’re not interested. I hear our Ms Markham is a real looker.’

Jarrett elected not to reply. He was still coming to terms with the idea that purchasing the house—a goal he had set his heart on—was no longer an option. At the other end of the line his sister emitted a long-suffering sigh.

‘Couple that with the fact that she’s moved into High Ridge Hall, and my guess is that you won’t be so eager to fly off on any long-haul business trips any time soon … at least not until you find out how she got the house and who she is.’

‘Well, you’re wrong about that. As a matter of fact I’m flying out to New York on Friday. I expect to be away for at last a fortnight, if not more.’

‘I’m only teasing you, little brother.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ replied Jarrett, who at six foot two could scarcely be described as ‘little’.

‘To me you’ll always be my little brother. And with both our parents gone it’s down to me to keep a sisterly eye on you. Changing the subject—have you seen anything of Katie Stewart lately?’

Katie Stewart? The woman he’d taken out on a few dates he hadn’t even wanted to go on? She had barely crossed Jarrett’s mind. Her company was pleasant enough, but her conversation hardly lit up the world. As attractive as she was, he wouldn’t date any woman purely because she was easy on the eye. At the very least she had to be bright and engaging, with a good sense of humour. And of course the most important element of all was that there had to be some fundamental connection between them—an undeniable spark that would keep him interested. At thirty-six he was still single, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. The kind of woman his heart secretly yearned for seemed hard to find—at least in his world. Beth put it down to pickiness, but Jarrett preferred to consider himself discerning.

‘No, I haven’t seen Katie Stewart lately. When and if I do I’ll be sure to give you a report.’

‘I just worry about you having no one who really matters to you in your life. All the money and success in the world won’t make you happy or keep you warm on those bitter winter nights, Jarrett.’

He grinned into the receiver. ‘Now you’re sounding like one of those batty psychics that tell you you’re going to meet a tall dark stranger if you cross their palm with silver.’

‘Is Sophia Markham tall?’

Jarrett’s grin immediately turned into a scowl. ‘I’ve no idea. When I saw her she was crouching to take a photograph. Anyway, I’ve got to get on. I’ll bring the dog back to you around lunchtime, shall I?’

‘Are you angling for a lunch invitation?’

‘Throw a slice of ham between a couple of slices of bread, make me a cup of tea and I won’t dash off. I’ll stay and have a chat with you.’

‘The day I “throw” a slice of ham between two slices of bread and call it lunch, I’ll know I’ve seriously lost the plot!’

Reflecting on some of the wonderful meals his sister had made for him long before she’d gone to catering college and eventually become head chef for one of the high-end restaurants in the west end of London, Jarrett’s feelings towards Beth palpably softened. ‘You’re a true culinary genius, sweetheart, and believe me—both my stomach and my palate are grateful for it. I’ll see your around one o’clock, shall I?’

‘And don’t forget to bring Dylan with you, will you?’

‘As if I’d forget … Every time I turn round he’s either doing his best to enslave me with those huge seal-pup eyes of his or trip me over!’

As she drew back the ancient tapestry drapes, the rain of dust made Sophia cough violently. She stepped back just in time as the heavy brass curtain rail clattered heavily down onto the dark wooden floor.

‘Of all the stupid things to do …’ she muttered.

Knowing she’d had a lucky escape, she shook her head, planted her hands on her hips and smiled ruefully. For a while she just stood, watching the dust motes that jumped up from the floor swirl madly in the beam of sunlight that arrowed in through the window. If she’d longed for a project to help quell the misery and despair of the past then she’d found one right enough. It was going to take a good deal of hard toil, sweat and probably tears too to make this house anywhere near comfortable enough to enjoy living in. But she hardly had cause for complaint. Not when her eccentric Great-Aunt Mary had bequeathed her such an incredible gift.

Who would have guessed that a woman who had barely even acknowledged her as a child except to frown down at her through her half-moon glasses would turn out to be her guardian angel and fairy godmother all rolled into one?

‘Aunt Mary dislikes most of her family … the adults at any rate,’ Sophia’s dad had told her once, even as his merry green eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘She doesn’t believe that we deserve to count her as a relative. We’re a great disappointment to her, I’m sure. When she goes she’ll leave this gothic monstrosity of a house to some cat or dog charity … just wait and see!’

Well … her eccentric great-aunt hadn’t bequeathed High Ridge Hall to an animal charity. She’d left it to Sophia instead.

The day before she’d been due to leave the home that she had been forced to sell she’d had a phone call from a solicitor’s office in London. They had spent months trying to track her down, to tell her that she was the sole beneficiary in her great-aunt’s will. Sophia had been appalled—she hadn’t even heard that she’d died. Since her dad had passed away she’d lost touch with practically everyone but her brother David, and she saw him infrequently enough. In a way she was glad. Since her husband’s destructive behaviour and alcoholism had grown even worse, she’d become too ashamed to let family or friends see how low she had sunk. To learn that not only had she been left High Ridge Hall but a small amount of money too had been overwhelming.

Dropping down into the one remaining antique chair in the living room that hadn’t yet been sold to help meet her deceased husband’s mountain of debt, Sophia had cried hard with gratitude and relief at her eleventh-hour reprieve. If her great-aunt hadn’t left her beautiful old house to her even contemplating the alternative living arrangements insisted upon by her bullying father-in-law would have been too grim to bear …

Her little son ran in from the kitchen, his dark eyes round as saucers when he saw the dislodged brass rail and the pile of old curtains that half smothered it. ‘What happened, Mummy? I heard the loudest bang.’

‘The curtain rail fell down. These walls are very old, Charlie. The plaster is crumbling like powder. It’s going to take a lot of work to make this room nice again … The whole house is in need of some major attention to make it fit to live in. I’m only grateful that your uncle David was able to take some time off to get a couple of the rooms ready for us before we moved in—otherwise we would have had to camp out in the garden in a tent!’

Charlie was already losing interest in the dramatic incident that had caused him to rush in from the kitchen. Instead he was staring down at the colourful toy he’d carried into the room with him, restlessly turning it over and over between his fingers, as if itching to employ it in some way.

‘Can I go out to the garden to play? I want to make a fort. I promise I won’t go near the pond.’

‘All right, then. As long as you keep in full view of these windows so that I can see you. Promise?’

He grinned, showing a couple of gaps where he’d lost his baby teeth.

Sophia’s heart squeezed. ‘Give me a hug and a kiss first.’

‘You’re always hugging and kissing me.’

‘I know, but I can’t help it!’ Seizing her young son by the waist, she whirled him round and round until he shrieked with laughter.

‘Let me go!’ he begged. ‘You’re making me dizzy!’

When he’d got his bearings again, he threw his mother a disarming grin and rushed out of the house into the wild forest of a garden—the garden that was already keeping Sophia awake at night, as she planned how she was going to make it beautiful again and restore it to the fairytale garden of her childhood.

As she bent down to retrieve the curtains and the rail, out of the blue an image stole into her mind of the physically arresting man who had stopped to say hello the other day while she’d been taking photographs of wildflowers for her portfolio. His eyes had been electrifyingly blue, yet his hair was a thick, curling cap of ebony silk. A small flare of heat imploded inside her. Despite her attraction to him Sophia had been nervous. What if her father-in-law had sent him to find her … to force her to return to the neighbourhood where she had lived with her late husband?

God knew the man had the kind of strong, intimidating physique that could easily overwhelm her if he tried. She inhaled a long steadying breath. Her worst fears thankfully hadn’t come true, but she was still uneasy.

Jarrett Gaskill … what kind of a name was that?

Even if the man had never heard of her illustrious father-in-law, his name sounded a little too highbrow and pompous for her taste. No doubt he was some ambitious city type who kept a second home here in the country for weekends where he could entertain his London friends and play Lord of the Manor.

The thought brought a briefly cynical smile to her lips, before making her frown. Remembering his mellifluous tones, she’d thought he’d sounded sincere enough. Perhaps it was wrong of her to so judge him so quickly. But what did she know of sincere men when she’d been married to the biggest liar and cheat in the country? Tom Abingdon—the man she’d so stupidly rushed headlong into marriage with at eighteen against all advice—had been cruel, possessive, and self-indulgent to excess, as well as vain and self-obsessed, and the signs had been there right from the beginning.

How incredible, how naive, that Sophia had once believed she could turn him away from his destructive tendencies and show him that life together could be good. It hadn’t taken her long to find out how contemptuous he was of her sincere and innocent impulses. The dark road she’d been travelling with him had grown darker and more twisted day by day, and somehow, because her spirits had sunk so low, she’d been unable to find any means of breaking free.

Towards the end of his life he’d been intent on dragging her and their small son down to even more despicable lows, until one day, in the midst of her growing despair, it had suddenly become clear to her that she had to abandon her youthful dreams of ‘happy-ever-after’—she couldn’t fix her self-destructive husband’s life and she should walk away … right now. For Charlie’s sake, if not her own.

It was that thought that had rejuvenated hope in her—had spurred her on to make plans to leave him. But fate had had other more finite plans for Tom Abingdon. One night, after a heavy bout of drinking, he’d died in his sleep.

For a few unsteadying moments the sickening hurt and fury at the pain he had caused deluged Sophia’s heart and made her suck in her breath. Perhaps it was an apt reminder of the supreme idiocy of her getting involved with anyone ever again. If Tom was anything to go by, it was all too easy to be mesmerised and trapped by a man. Even the liars and cheats of this world could present a normal façade in order to get what they wanted, and it made her vow to be extra careful and much more vigilant.

If she ever saw him again, she promised herself she would give Jarrett Gaskill a wide berth. There was no way she would give any man the opportunity to get to know her … to discover the shameful truth of her marriage to a man who had frequently mistreated and degraded her. A new beginning was what she wanted for her and her son. One that didn’t include strangers—however friendly—who wanted to pry into her business. Not that she kidded herself for an instant that Jarrett Gaskill would even remember bumping into her and Charlie down by that idyllic little brook.

For the past three weeks Sophia had visited the weekly farmers’ market in the town centre. There was nothing like buying fruit and vegetables straight from the source, rather than from a soulless and anodyne supermarket, she thought. It was fresher, smelled better, and the taste far surpassed anything you could buy packaged and wrapped up in plastic.

Drawing her son closer to her side, she accepted the sturdy brown paper bag of apples she’d just bought from a friendly female stallholder and deposited it into her hessian shopping bag, on top of the other fresh produce she’d purchased. Glancing down at the cherubic little face that gazed up at her, she smiled brightly in anticipation of her plans for the afternoon. It was still such a treat to bake pies and cakes without fear of Tom coming home drunk, mocking her efforts and then throwing them against the wall.