Anne Mather - His Virgin Mistress

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline , my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.comand I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

About the Author Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author ANNE MATHER Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages. This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given. We are sure you will love them all!

Title Page His Virgin Mistress Anne Mather www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

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‘IS THAT her?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Spiro Stavros gave his employer a faintly sardonic look. ‘Not exactly what you’d anticipated, is she?’

Demetrios Kastro arched a dismissive brow. As yet his arrival had not been noticed, and he was able to look across the crowded salon to where his father and his companion were standing without being observed. They were surrounded by the guests who had been invited to welcome the old man back to Theapolis, and Demetri watched with a tightening of his jawline as his father put a possessive arm about the woman’s shoulders.

‘Perhaps not,’ he conceded at last, aware that Spiro knew exactly what he was thinking. He had expected her to be younger. A ‘blonde bimbo’ was how she had been described to him by his sister, and because it was what he had wanted to hear he had believed her. But the woman his father had adopted as his mistress didn’t look like a bimbo. There was intelligence as well as beauty in the high-cheekboned face, with its wide-set eyes and mobile mouth, and, although she was undoubtedly a blonde, she wore her hair drawn up into a severe knot that, whatever its purpose, tended to draw attention to the slender column of her neck. ‘She is certainly older than I had imagined.’

‘And more sophisticated?’ suggested Spiro drily. ‘I have the feeling she is not going to be as easy to get rid of as you thought.’

Demetri cast his assistant a dark look. ‘You think not?’ He was cynical. ‘In my experience, my friend, everyone has their price. Man or woman. It makes no difference. If the rewards are great enough, they all succumb.’

Spiro’s snort was disbelieving. ‘Do you include me in that assessment?’

Demetri sighed. ‘We were not talking about you, Spiro.’

‘That does not answer my question.’

‘All right.’ Demetri scowled. ‘I would hope not. I consider you my friend as well as my assistant. But few people are as scrupulous, Spiro. You know that.’

‘Not all women are like Athenee, Demetri,’ the other man reminded him gently. Then, aware that he was in danger of overstepping the mark, he added, ‘I suppose I must consider myself honoured.’ He grimaced. ‘So? What are you going to do now?’

‘Now?’ Demetri’s dark, tanned features smoothed themselves into an urbane mask. ‘Why, now I am going to announce my arrival to my father, and ask to be introduced to the delightful Kiria Manning.’

Spiro’s mouth compressed and, taking a chance, he put a detaining hand on Demetri’s sleeve. ‘Be careful,’ he said, risking a rebuff. But although his hand was shaken off, Demetri merely gave him a mocking smile.

‘Am I not always?’ he enquired, loosening the button on the jacket of his dark blue silk suit. ‘Calm yourself, Spiro. I am not likely to show my hand so early in the game.’

Nevertheless, as Demetri made his way across the room he was aware of an intense feeling of irritation. Dammit, his father had only been out of hospital for a few weeks; weeks that he had spent in London, ostensibly to avoid the blistering heat of Theapolis in mid-summer. The old man had been ill; seriously ill. In God’s name, when had he found the time to meet this woman, let alone become intimate with her?

He would find out. Offering a word of greeting here, an acknowledgement of welcome there, he gradually covered the space dividing him from Constantine Kastro and his mistress. What was her name? Manning, yes. But what was her first name? Demetri frowned, thinking. Joanna! That was it. Joanna Manning. Was it her real name? If so, it was elegant, just like the woman herself.

‘Do not tell me that frown is because you are sad to see me back, Demetri.’

His father’s chiding words—spoken in English for the woman’s benefit, Demetri assumed—were delivered in a mocking tone. Demetri realised he was allowing too much of his feelings to show in his face and he hastily schooled his features. Then, finding a polite smile, he shook the old man’s hand and submitted to the customary embrace with genuine warmth.

‘Forgive me, Papa,’ he said disarmingly, and no one could tell from his expression that he was anything but delighted with the present situation. ‘Naturally, I am relieved your physicians consider you well enough to return to us at last.’

Constantine looked less than pleased now, his narrow features mirroring his discontent. ‘I am not an invalid, Demetri,’ he declared irritably, even though his wasted body belied the fact. ‘The doctors have given me a clean bill of health, and I do not appreciate you behaving as if I had only just got out of hospital.’

Demetri made no response to this. Instead, his eyes moved to the woman standing at his father’s side, and, because they were surrounded by interested spectators, Constantine was obliged to introduce his companion to his son.

‘My dear,’ he said and Demetri stiffened at the implied intimacy in the term. ‘Allow me to present my son to you. Demetrios: this is Joanna. Joanna Manning. My—my friend.’

‘How do you do?’

The woman didn’t make the mistake of calling him by his first name and Demetri’s thin lips stretched into a tight smile. ‘It is my pleasure to meet you, Kiria Manning,’ he responded politely. ‘I trust you are not finding our weather too trying for your English tastes?’

‘On the contrary.’ Despite the faint film of perspiration on her upper lip, she denied it. ‘I love the heat. It’s so—sensual.’

Sensual?

Demetri had to work hard to prevent himself from showing his incredulity. He had heard his father was besotted by the woman, but he hadn’t expected her to disconcert him. And why was she watching him with that air of amused speculation? She was taller than most of the women of his acquaintance—easily five feet eight or nine—and, although he was still almost a head taller than she was, she didn’t have to tilt her head too far to look up at him. If he hadn’t known better he’d have wondered if she wasn’t deliberately trying to irritate him. But that was ridiculous. Nevertheless, there was a definite look of challenge in her face.