Claiming the Ashbrooke Heir. Mary Nichols

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      He pushed himself off the tree and walked towards her, admitting he did not like that idea at all. He had to know.

      ‘Major Ashbrooke,’ she said, trying hard not to let his continuing presence disconcert her. ‘I should have thought you had something more important to do than hang about here.’

      ‘At the moment, no. Allow me to escort you.’ Again he took her burden from her.

      ‘You do not know where I am going.’ She was going to buy food and then hurry home. She had to rid herself of him before that, because it was important he did not see her son. It was the child that had brought him to Norwich; she was sure of it. Lady Ashbrooke had told her never to come back, and Annette did not doubt she had meant it, but perhaps she had had a twinge of conscience about the baby. Or had the Major come of his own accord? He struck her as a man who would follow his own path, never mind what others thought. He was so handsome and so very … very masculine. A strong man—not only physically, but in every other sense. Stronger than Jeremy, who had had little difficulty in overpowering her.

      ‘Perhaps you would be so good as to tell me.’

      ‘No, it is none of your business. I have left Riseborough. I am no longer employed there. So you cannot dictate to me.’