His Wedding-Night Heir

His Wedding-Night Heir
Sara Craven

“You’re assuming that I share your wish for a divorce,” said Nicholas.

“You can’t wish to stay married to someone who—who won’t live with you.” Cally said, slowly and unsteadily.

“Of course not.” He sounded almost brisk. “Naturally I want a wife who’ll share my home and my bed.”

He smiled at her, his eyes touching her—stripping her, she realized, as her heart began to flutter in panic.

“In fact, I want you, my sweet,” he added softly. “Because you stood beside me in church and made certain vows. I remember it perfectly. You were wearing a white dress with a lot of little buttons down the front of it. Frankly, I was fantasizing about undoing them all—with my teeth,” he added, with a kind of sensuous reminiscence that made her shiver.

“Now, at last, I want those vows fulfilled, and I really think, my sweet, that I’ve waited long enough. Even you must agree that our wedding night is long overdue….”

Legally wed,

but he’s never said…

“I love you.”

They’re…

The series where marriages are made in haste…and love comes later….

Look out for more WEDLOCKED! wedding stories available only from Harlequin Presents

Look out for the next book in this miniseries:

The Antonides Marriage Deal

by Anne McAllister

#2533

His Wedding-Night Heir

Sara Craven

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

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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CHAPTER ONE

SHE was running. Forcing herself onwards down a long straight road, where flanking trees threw grotesque shadows in front of her. Shadows that she did not want to enter. Her breath tore at her lungs, and her legs ached, but she could not stop. And dared not look behind.

Must keep going. Need to move on. The words beat a rhythm in her brain. Have to run. Have to…

Cally Maitland sat up, gasping, her body damp with perspiration, as the sudden shrill of the alarm clock invaded her subconscious and brought her with shocking suddenness to the reality of a new day. She reached out a shaking hand and silenced the noise, then sank back against her pillow, trying to clear her head.

My God, she thought. What was all that about?

But of course she already knew. Because she’d had that dream before. Several times.

The sun was pouring into the room through a gap in the shabby curtains, and it was clearly a beautiful May day. But Cally felt a chill in the air, and wrapped her arms round her body with a faint shiver.

She said softly, half under her breath, ‘It is—definitely—time to go.’

She pushed back the thin quilt and got out of bed, running her fingers through her tousled light brown hair, smoothing it into its usual shoulder-length bob. That was one thing she had refused to economise on—her monthly trip to the best hairdresser in town.

There were shadows under her long-lashed hazel eyes, she realised, giving herself a swift, critical glance in the mirror, and the flowered cotton pyjamas she’d bought from a market stall covered her slim body without grace.

She felt, she recognised with bewilderment, like a stranger in her own skin. A being totally alien to the cherished, pampered girl she’d been eighteen months ago. That girl had vanished for ever.

Her mouth tightened with sudden bleakness. But there was no time to linger feeling sorry for herself, she thought, squaring her shoulders. Kit had phoned the previous evening to call an emergency breakfast meeting at the Children’s Centre, and she couldn’t be late.

She collected clean underwear, and one of the plain grey skirts and cream blouses that formed her working gear, and headed for the small dank shower room which had been created in a corner of the attic room she inhabited.

The landlord had thrown up cheap plywood partitions to divide the living space from the sleeping area, and pushed together a rudimentary kitchen with a sink and a gas stove in an alcove. He felt that entitled him to christen the whole thing a flat, but it was still nothing more than a draughty bedsit.

To call it adequate would pay it an undeserved compliment, Cally thought, grimacing over the fact that her towel was still damp from the day before.

It was not the kind of accommodation she had ever envisaged for herself. But it was just affordable, and it was also the last place on earth where anyone would think to look for her, and that was its major—its sole—attraction for her as far as she was concerned.

Still she would bid it goodbye without a moment’s regret.