Conflict Of Hearts

Conflict Of Hearts
Liz Fielding

I have no intention of marrying you!Lizzie was astounded when her widowed father decided to marry Noah Jordan's beautiful sister. It made her all the more aware that it was time she found a husband of her own! But that didn't mean she was about to accept Noah's marriage proposal….Noah was rich, gorgeous, charming, but he saw marriage to Lizzie simply as a means of keeping her under control - a temporary measure to give the newlyweds time alone.Lizzie was determined not to become a convenient bride - but Noah was equally determined to have her!

‘I have no intention of marrying you!’

Lizzie French is astounded when her widowed father decides to marry again. It only serves to remind her that maybe it’s time she found her own other half! But that doesn’t mean she’s about to accept tycoon Noah Jordan’s outrageous marriage proposal…

“We’ll have to go to the register office tomorrow morning to make the arrangements.”

“Noah, you’re not listening to me. I have absolutely no intention of marrying you on Wednesday or—”

“Thursday might be better,” Noah agreed.

“Or any other day,” Lizzie insisted.

“I’ve got an appointment first thing, but after that I’m free until the evening,” he continued, disregarding her objection.

“I am busy on Thursday.”

“You see, the great thing about having the ceremony on Thursday, Elizabeth, is that Francesca and Peter will be back from Stratford. We can... No, you can invite them to be our witnesses. What could be more perfect?”

He was serious. He really meant it....

LIZ FIELDING was born in Berkshire, England, and educated at a convent school in Maidenhead. At twenty she took off for Africa to work as a secretary in Lusaka, where she met her civil-engineer husband, John. They spent the following ten years working in Africa and the Middle East. She began writing during the long evenings when her husband was working away on contract. Liz and her husband are now settled in Wales with their children, Amy and William.

Conflict of Hearts

Liz Fielding

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover (#u8c576729-9fa5-5887-be21-b1ad9ecf4d86)

“We’ll have to go to the register office tomorrow morning to make the arrangements.” (#ub42950bf-1d20-5eff-a1b7-2915e6d7712c)

About the Author (#u4013c048-fac2-5f3d-a75c-5381688bce6c)

Title Page (#ua8c28199-ffe0-53e7-8f7e-0a3a982fce51)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ed1ca360-a563-5fdc-88d6-6c64b2c83cc0)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_7918c076-44cf-5e01-b5f1-cc988f1550d2)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_896fa129-7fc8-56c3-943a-037e427d2fae)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a16a9bdc-c755-5c0c-96c7-40c66253a2fe)

LIZZIE FRENCH jumped involuntarily as the church door clanged noisily behind a latecomer. Had he come? She had almost given up hope, but now, heart-in-mouth, she turned.

Too late. Whoever had entered the church had slipped into one of the pews at the back and was already hidden from sight.

‘It was a middle-aged lady in a puce hat that perfectly matches her complexion.’ Startled by this wickedly telling description of the vicar’s wife, Lizzie involuntarily glanced at the man standing beside her.

Noah Jordan’s dark brows were lifted just a fraction, his mouth turned down slightly at the corners in a mocking expression that might just have been an apology that he was the bearer of such disappointing news. But somehow she didn’t think so.

She jerked her eyes back to the page in front of her, determined to shut the man out of her mind. But Noah Jordan refused to be shut out. Even as she stared at the order of service the grey sleeve of his morning coat brushed against the smooth golden skin of her shoulder while he turned the page for her, silently indicating the place with the tip of one long finger.

She could almost hear him laughing at her. And her father actually expected her to go and stay with the wretched man while he was away on his honeymoon... If only Peter would come!

She shifted, uncomfortably aware that she was being assessed by a pair of hawkish grey eyes that would miss nothing—certainly not the angry flush that coloured her cheeks. It was all too easy to imagine him examining a painting from a dubious source with just that look. The signature might be right, the provenance perfect, and yet...

Well, let him look. She didn’t care one jot what he thought. Noah Jordan might have a reputation as a man with an infinite capacity to charm, but he hadn’t charmed her. Not one bit.

Lizzie made a determined effort to concentrate on the service, and there were no more late arrivals to set her heart jangling. Only the unexpectedly disturbing touch of Noah’s cool hand against her skin as he took her arm and they followed her father and his new bride into the vestry to sign the register.

‘You don’t much approve of this, do you?’ Amidst the congratulations and kisses, Noah’s words jolted her back to reality.

“I...” What could she say—Your sister is going to break my father’s heart, and I know what that will do to him because I’ve been there before?

Her father hadn’t believed her, so why should Noah Jordan? And so, for today, to make her father happy, she had smiled and played bridesmaid. But those probing, eagle-sharp eyes hadn’t been fooled. Was that what puzzled him? Did he find it so impossible to believe that anyone would not welcome his dazzling sister as a stepmother?

Her eyes fell upon the laughing bride. She looked so happy, so radiant, so totally in love. But then she was a supremely gifted actress. ‘Does it matter?’ Lizzie asked. She made no further effort to pretend. The man could apparently see straight through her.

‘Not to me. To your father... to Olivia it might,’ he drawled, his voice making her skin tingle as if he were rubbing velvet the wrong way. ‘What do you object to particularly?’

She raised her chin a little. ‘She’s a lot younger than Dad,’ she said. ‘It seems an odd match.’ But if she’d hoped to divert him with the kind of gossip she overheard in the village shop she was mistaken.

‘A lot younger?’ he repeated thoughtfully, but he was unimpressed by this argument. ‘She’s thirty-four, Elizabeth. Hardly a girl.’ His mouth compressed into a thin line. ‘She won’t run off and leave him for a younger man, if that’s what is on that devious little mind of yours.’

Elizabeth. How she hated that. No one but her mother had ever called her that, except when she was in deep trouble. But then she was—in the deepest trouble. ‘My father is nearly fifty,’ she responded frostily.