The Determined Husband Read online

  “What is it you want?”

  His smile wolfish, Keir replied, “You know quite well what I want, Sera.”

  “Revenge, presumably.”

  “Revenge, certainly. But there’s something I want a great deal more. You in my bed,” Keir told her.

  “There are plenty of other women,” Sera insisted.

  “It happens to be you I want.”

  “I’ve already told you I’m not for sale to any man.”

  “Then if money won’t do the trick, I’ll have to think of some other way to get you….”

  There are times in a man’s life…

  When only seduction will settle old scores!

  Pick up our exciting new series of revenge-filled romances—they’re recommended and red-hot!

  Coming soon:

  The Marriage Demand

  by Penny Jordan

  Harlequin Presents® #2211

  Lee Wilkinson

  THE DETERMINED HUSBAND

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE elevator descended smoothly and sighed to a halt. As the doors slid open, like a prisoner scenting freedom Sera stepped out and, her rubber-soled trainers squeaking a little on the marble floor, hurried across the Warburton Building’s impressive, chandelier-hung foyer.

  At this very early hour it was deserted, but as she approached the smoked-glass doors, the blue-uniformed night-security guard appeared.

  His seamed face breaking into a welcoming beam, he said, ‘Morning, Miss Reynolds,’ and decided, with fatherly concern, that she was still looking a mite thin and pale.

  ‘Morning, Bill. How’s your lumbago?’

  ‘Not as bad as it might be.’

  He surveyed her navy and white track suit, her shiny nose, and the long, silky black hair caught up in a pony-tail. She looked no older than fifteen in that get-up, though he knew from a previous conversation that she was twenty four, the same age as his own Nancy.

  ‘Off for your usual run round the Park?’ he asked.

  Sera, who was by no means an athlete, only walked or jogged gently according to her mood, but she answered pleasantly, ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, you’ve sure got a nice day for it.’

  Bill was a creature of habit, and the same conversation took place each morning, the only difference being his last comment, which changed according to the weather.

  He held open the side door for her, and she thanked him with a smile. She was a pretty little thing, he thought for the umpteenth time, and, unlike a lot of the tenants, she always managed a pleasant word and a cheerful smile, in spite of an ever-present air of sadness.

  Outside it was cool and fresh, the sky a pale, innocent blue. Fifth Avenue lay as quiet as a sleeping babe in the after-dawn lull, undisturbed as yet by the bustle of the day.

  In Central Park the green leafy trees looked newly washed, the flowers heavy with dew. Swirls of early morning mist hung over the grass like translucent ghosts lingering on after some spooky midnight gathering.

  Taking her usual route, Sera began to walk at a good pace, enjoying the coolness of the air with its promise of a scorching day to come.

  Other than a solitary jogger in the distance, she seemed to have the Park to herself. She liked the sensation of being alone. This was the only hour of the day when, free from the stifling atmosphere of Martin’s luxurious apartment, she felt truly at ease, unpressured, able to be herself.

  That, apart from the much-needed exercise, was the reason she treasured these early morning outings. It was also the reason she kept them a secret from Martin.

  Kathleen, his attractive, black-haired Irish nurse knew, but was sympathetic and said nothing.

  Sera was truly grateful.

  If Martin found out, she knew instinctively that he would find some way to put a stop to them. With a jealous possessiveness that amounted almost to paranoia, he wanted her by his side every minute of every hour of every day.

  Though having the utmost sympathy with his bitterness and frustration at being in pain and confined to a wheelchair, and suffering for him vicariously, Sera was frayed.

  She could only feel guiltily thankful when Kathleen occasionally relieved her of the burden by insisting that, after a morning of business, he should rest alone in his room for a couple of hours.

  When that happened, still wanting her within call, he would turn to Sera and order peremptorily, ‘Don’t go out.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ she’d assure him.

  After the stick would come the carrot. ‘When I’ve had my afternoon therapy, we’ll take a drive.’

  But she was weary of the specially adapted, air-conditioned limousine, of sitting when she would sooner have been walking, of having Martin beside her when she would rather have been alone…

  Miserable and ashamed of herself, she broke off the disloyal thought. No doubt things would be a great deal easier when he was able fully to resume his business life.

  Martin was a vigorous go-getter and found any kind of inactivity or restriction irksome, to say the least. His temper ready to flare at any moment, he had made a difficult, demanding patient, and even Kathleen’s imperturbable good humour had sometimes been stretched to the limit.

  It had been a great fillip to him when, only a few days ago, his doctors had given him a positive progress report.

  Though he might never be able to run a marathon or jump hurdles, and he would be left with a slight limp, in a matter of months he should be relatively free from pain and on his feet once more.

  Normally a very sociable man, since the accident he’d hardly seen a soul, apart from his sister, Cheryl, and his brother-in-law, Roberto.

  Hating the idea of people seeing him in what he termed ‘This damned contraption’, he wouldn’t go out—his only excursions had been afternoon drives in the car—and he’d refused to invite anyone to the apartment.

  His thirty-third birthday, which fell on the following Saturday, would have gone unmarked. But bolstered by the good news, and encouraged by Cheryl, whose suggestion it was, he’d started to make plans for a weekend party at Pine Cove, his house in the Hamptons.

  ‘How many people were you thinking of inviting?’ Cheryl had asked.

  ‘Perhaps twenty or so to stay at the house—though we’ll need to warn Mrs Simpson—and some of the neighbours for the Saturday evening…’

  ‘Right. Roberto and I are having a break at Fiddler’s Cottage, so you can leave all the arrangements to me. I’ll talk to Mrs Simpson, phone or fax the invitations, and arrange for the caterers. We’ll need plenty of champagne. I think news like this calls for a celebration!’

  As for Sera, the doctors’ verdict had been like some precious gift. She had been secretly terrified that Martin might never walk again, and her relief was so great that she had broken down and wept for joy.

  The rather less than joyous reaction that had followed later had been a purely personal one. With the promise of an almost complete recovery, their wedding day had suddenly loomed so much closer.

  Martin was already talking about early October as a possibility, and she felt as though a silken noose was tightening around her neck.

  Sometimes, when she had temporarily escaped like this, Sera toyed with the idea of never going back.

  But, of course, it wasn’t really an option.

  Apart from her board and lodging, her job as Martin’s PA was an unpaid one. As though afraid she would leave him if she were
independent, he never gave her any cash.

  When, one day, she had pointed out quietly that there were certain small things she needed to buy, he’d said, ‘Buy anything you want, and charge it,’ which had effectively prevented her from buying anything but absolute necessities.

  The mere fact that she had nowhere to go, and no money, wouldn’t have deterred her, but feeling morally bound to stay, she was as much a prisoner as if she’d been kept in chains…

  The solitary jogger had long since disappeared and there wasn’t a soul in sight as, still busy with her thoughts, she reached the stand of trees and the side track she usually took.

  As she rounded the corner, as though he had been lying in wait for her, a man’s tall dark figure suddenly appeared directly in her path. The sheer unexpectedness brought a startled cry to her lips.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her quickly, ‘there’s no need to be scared.’

  That voice, low-pitched and with a suggestion of huskiness, was one she would have recognized anywhere, a voice she would have left her grave for; that lean, darkly handsome face, was one she had loved and would love until the day she died.

  Fright was replaced by shock so great that a wave of dizziness assailed her. Her brain robbed of blood and her legs of strength, she thought for a moment that she was going to faint.

  Apparently he thought so too, because strong hands shot out and gripped her upper arms, steadying and supporting her.

  ‘Keir!’ He was the same, yet not the same. A little leaner perhaps, but the same virile physique was there, the same powerful structure of chest and shoulder.

  His hard face was the same, the firm jaw, the strong nose and high cheekbones, the cleft chin, yet beside that chiselled mouth were lines of pain and disillusionment.

  His impact was the same, the same intense sexuality that had once caused Sera to respond with such ardent abandonment, but now that sexuality was leashed, guarded.

  Looking into those dark blue eyes with their thick sooty lashes, she whispered dazedly, ‘What are you doing here?’

  Indicating his black track suit and sweat band, he asked laconically, ‘What does it look as if I’m doing?’

  He’d jogged in the past, she knew. Was that what had subconsciously given her the idea for her early morning outings?

  ‘B-but I thought you were living in England now,’ she stammered.

  ‘I decided it was high time I came back to see what was happening on the New York scene.’ Then with no change of tone, ‘So how is Rothwell?’

  Wondering if he’d heard about the accident, she managed, ‘Martin is doing well.’

  ‘I heard Anglo American Finance made even bigger profits over this last year,’ Keir remarked sardonically.

  Reaching for her left hand, he studied the magnificent half-hoop of diamonds she wore. ‘No wedding ring yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? Rothwell was mad about you.’

  ‘He still is,’ she replied flatly.

  ‘Then, why the delay? You were all set to marry him last summer.’ When she said nothing, he added caustically, ‘He must be worth a tidy few millions by now, which should make you very happy.’

  Stiffly, she said, ‘I really don’t know what you’re getting at.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter to me how many millions he has.’

  ‘There, now! And I thought it mattered very much.’

  ‘Well, you were wrong.’ Then helplessly she said, ‘I can’t understand what makes you think such a thing.’

  ‘Forgive me if I point out that it didn’t take you long to ditch me when someone with plenty of money came along.’

  ‘I did nothing of the kind,’ she denied angrily, and wondered how he could possibly blame her for the break-up. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t care about money.’

  ‘Despite that assurance I can’t help but believe things might have been different if I’d had any to spend on you.’

  Gritting her teeth, she made to brush past him and walk on.

  Keir turned and kept pace with her. ‘I guess we just met at the wrong moment. When I moved into that apartment Downtown, falling in love was the last thing on my mind…’

  No matter what he said now, she knew he had never loved her.

  ‘I simply couldn’t afford to fall in love. I had neither the time nor the money to spare. But fate plays funny tricks.’

  Looking straight ahead, she kept walking.

  Glancing at her pale, set face, he went on, ‘I’d certainly never expected to bump into the woman of my dreams in a run-down apartment house…’

  Sera’s stride faltered as memories rushed in to swamp her…

  Brand-new to the States, she had been living in a single room on the top floor of an old Brownstone in Lower Manhattan, when one warm evening in late spring they had bumped into one another.

  Literally.

  Head bent and deep in thought, she had been making her way up the stairs, a brown paper carrier full of shopping clutched to her chest. At the same time a man had been coming down the next steep, uncarpeted flight of steps two at a time.

  They reached the landing at the same instant, and a glancing blow from his shoulder made her drop her shopping and stagger back.

  With great presence of mind he flung his arms around her to save her falling backwards, while various cartons and packages and a selection of fruit rolled and bounced gleefully down the steps.

  Sera was five feet seven, but the man holding her was a good six feet and wide-shouldered. His beautiful, thickly lashed eyes were dark blue, his hair black, and with a tendency to curl.

  He was dressed nicely, if casually, in stone-coloured jeans and an open-necked shirt. Lean-hipped, and carrying not an ounce of surplus weight, he looked like an athlete.

  Tilting back her head, she focused on a tough, hard-boned face, with a cleft chin and a mouth that made butterflies dance in her stomach, and was suddenly breathless.

  His dark eyes studied her flawless, heart-shaped face as he asked, ‘Are you all right?’ His voice was low-pitched and attractively husky.

  Flustered, as much by his powerful sex appeal as by the narrowness of her escape, she answered a shade jerkily, ‘Yes, thanks to you.’

  His white smile set her pulses racing and she found herself unable to take her eyes off that chiselled mouth.

  ‘Considering that I’m the one who almost knocked you flying in the first place, that’s a nice, forgiving sort of way of looking at it.’

  Tearing her gaze away, she told herself crossly that, though she was a level-headed twenty-three-year-old, she was acting like some gauche schoolgirl.

  Doing her best to sound casual, to hide the effect his nearness had on her, she managed lightly, ‘I’m a nice, forgiving sort of person. And, to be honest, it was partly my fault.’

  ‘Honest as well as forgiving,’ he mocked gently. ‘A woman in a million.’ Before she could think of a suitable rejoinder, he added, ‘And undeniably English.’

  With unconscious pride, she told him, ‘I’m half American…’

  A level black brow was raised in surprise. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed.’

  ‘Though I’d never been to the States until I got this chance to spend a year in the Wall Street branch of the company I work for.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Anglo American Finance.’

  ‘I know them,’ he said at once. ‘In fact, I’ve had business dealings with Martin Rothwell, the man who virtually owns Anglo American… What do you actually do?’

  ‘I’m PA to Cheryl Rothwell, Mr Rothwell’s sister. I met her when she came over to the London office and, after she discovered I was half American, she offered me this opportunity.’

  ‘I see. So, which of your parents came from the States?’

  ‘My mother. She was born in Boston.’

  ‘Now, there’s a coincidence! So was mine.’

  ‘Oh… Then you are American? I couldn’t be sure from your
accent.’

  ‘That’s probably because, like yourself, I’m half American and half English. I was born and brought up in New York, but educated at Oxford.

  ‘My paternal grandfather lives there, though our family originally came from Caithness.’

  Just as he finished speaking, an orange, which had been balanced precariously on the edge of the top step, rolled off with a thump.

  Glancing down, he said, ‘Though it’s much more fun standing here and holding you, I’d best rescue the shopping before it all ends up in the hall.’

  As, bemused, she watched him deftly gather together the straying fruit and groceries, she knew that something special and momentous had happened to her.

  Returning everything to the brown paper carrier, he remarked, ‘Not a great deal of damage done, except to the eggs. They’ll never be the same again.’

  He looked ruefully at the damp, mangled package and added, ‘I hope you weren’t intending to have them for supper tonight?’

  ‘I was as a matter of fact.’

  His eyes on her left hand, which was bare of rings, he queried, ‘Were you planning to eat alone?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

  He clicked his tongue. ‘On a Friday night, with the weekend just beginning?’

  A shade defensively, she explained, ‘I’ve only been in New York for a few days. I haven’t had a chance to make friends.’

  Though most people liked her, her natural shyness compounded by her upbringing, meant that she had never found it very easy to make friends.

  He smote his forehead and cried theatrically, ‘Poor little Annie! Alone and friendless in the big city!’

  She was surprised into laughter by his clowning.

  Gazing at her, fascinated, he exclaimed, ‘Twin dimples as well as beautiful green eyes. My two favourite things. Do you know, Annie, I’ve never met anyone with dimples and green eyes before.’

  ‘My name’s Sera,’ she told him. ‘Sera Reynolds.’

  ‘And I’m Keir Sutherlands.’