The Unexpected Pregnancy. CATHERINE GEORGE

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      Harriet opened her eyes to see James standing in a shaft of moonlight at the end of the bed.

      She smiled at him drowsily for a moment, and then shot upright in shock. It was no dream. He was here, in the flesh.

      “I frightened you,” said James tersely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

      She pulled the sheet up over the heart banging against her ribs. “But you knew I was coming to La Fattoria.”

      “I meant here in my room.”

      “Oh.” She heaved in a shaky breath. “I didn’t know it was your room.”

      James took in a deep breath. “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

      The door closed behind him and Harriet’s heart was still thumping from the shock of finding a man in her room. Only it wasn’t just a man, it was James. She slid out of bed, and then snatched at her dressing gown as the door flew open and James strode in again….

      CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and early in life developed a passion for reading that eventually fueled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the U.K. And instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings, she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera, browse in antique stores and walk the Labrador.

      The Unexpected Pregnancy

      Catherine George

       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

      CHAPTER ONE

      HARRIET let herself into the still, empty house, but instead of making her usual nostalgic tour went straight to the kitchen to make a pot of the expensive coffee brought along for brain fuel. It was crunch time. She had to get to grips right away with the problem she’d taken a week’s holiday leave to solve. Before she went back to London a decision had to be made about her legacy. Her grandmother had made it very clear in her will that End House and its contents were to be left to Harriet to dispose of exactly as she wished. But what she wished, thought Harriet fiercely, was that her grandmother were still alive, and that any minute she’d come in from the garden with a bunch of herbs in her hand, demanding help to make supper.

      When the coffee-pot was empty Harriet took her bags upstairs and, because this might be the last time she ever slept here, put them in her grandmother’s room for the first time instead of her own. She ran a caressing hand over the brass rails of the bed, hung up some of her things in the oak armoire, and folded the rest away in the beautiful Georgian chest. Olivia Verney had disapproved of clothes flung down on chairs. Harriet grinned as she made up the bed. A good thing her grandmother had never seen her flatmate’s bedroom. Dido Parker was a good friend, and good at her job, but tidy she was not.

      After supper Harriet made some phone calls to announce her arrival, watered the array of plants in the conservatory, and had just settled down to read in the last of the evening light when she heard a car stop outside. She got up to look, and dodged back in dismay when she recognised the driver. But there was no point in hiding behind the sofa. Tim had probably told his brother she was here.

      When the knock came on the door, Harriet counted to five before opening it to confront the tall figure of James Edward Devereux.

      She gave him a cool smile. ‘Hello. I’m afraid Tim’s not here. I came on my own.’

      ‘I know that. May I come in?’

      As if she could refuse, she thought irritably, and showed him into the small, elegantly furnished sitting room.

      Her visitor was silent for a moment as he looked at his surroundings. ‘It’s months since your grandmother died, but here in her house it seems only right to offer my condolences again, Harriet.’

      ‘Thank you. Do sit down.’

      ‘I liked your grandmother very much,’ he said, choosing Olivia Verney’s favourite chair. ‘I was deeply sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I went down with some virus at the time.’

      ‘I heard.’ She perched on the edge of the sofa, feeling edgy. She’d known Tim’s brother since she was thirteen years old, and lately she’d even run into him in London once or twice, but they’d never been alone together before. What on earth was he doing here?

      ‘It must have been a shock when she left you so suddenly,’ he said with sympathy.

      Harriet nodded soberly. ‘A shock for me, but great for her.’

      ‘True.’ James Devereux became suddenly businesslike. ‘Right, then, Harriet, I’ll get to the point. Did Mrs Verney tell you I’d approached her about selling the house to me?’

      She stared at him blankly. ‘This house?’

      ‘Yes. The others in the row already belong to Edenhurst—’

      ‘You mean to you.’

      ‘Yes, Harriet, to me,’ he said patiently. ‘I need more staff accommodation, and End House would be ideal.’

      ‘Sorry,’ she said instantly. ‘It’s not for sale.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Tim told me you were spending a week here to come to a decision.’

      ‘I am.’

      ‘So when did you arrive?’

      ‘A couple of hours ago.’

      ‘And the decision’s already made?’ His smile was mocking as he got to his feet. ‘Tell me, Harriet. If someone else had made the offer would you have accepted?’

      ‘It’s nothing personal,’ she said, lying through her teeth. ‘I just don’t want to sell End House right now.’

      ‘But Tim said you’d had it valued.’

      ‘On his advice, yes,’ she said curtly, making a note to have strong words with Tim Devereux.

      He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘If I offered slightly more than the estimate, would that change your mind?’

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