His Defiant Mistress: The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress / The Venetian's Midnight Mistress / The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress

‘I’ll talk to Mavis when I get home and let you know.’ He looked up as a van came up the lane. ‘Here comes the nightshift.’

Sarah bent to hug Nero as he came bounding to greet her. ‘Hello, my lovely boy. How are you today? Hello, you two,’ she added, as the others came up the path.

‘Hi, there,’ said Josie, eyeing the newly planted Acer. ‘Gosh, it looks better and better here every time I come. Don’t you dare go lifting your leg on that tree, Nero.’

‘Don’t worry, Miss Carver, I’ll tell him not to, and he doesn’t need telling twice,’ said Ian proudly.

‘Of course you don’t, you clever lad,’ said Sarah, giving the dog a last stroke. ‘Right, then, time I went home and got cleaned up. See you tomorrow, Harry.’

‘I’ll give you a ring later, boss.’

Sarah felt weary as she drove back, conscious of a sense of anticlimax now the cottages were ready to sell. Tomorrow three estate agents were coming at different times to view.

When the phone rang while she was eating her supper Sarah seized it eagerly. ‘Harry—’

‘Afraid not. It’s Alex. Alex Merrick,’ he added, in case she was in any doubt.

The unexpected pleasure of her reaction struck her dumb for a moment. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said at last.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m very well.’

‘Glad to hear it. Are the cottages finished?’

‘Just about.’

‘Then let’s meet to discuss the sale. Friday would be good for me.’

He still wanted them, then. ‘Sorry. I can’t make Friday.’

‘When then?’

Never, for a Merrick, if she followed her instincts. But it would be interesting to see how high Alex would go with his offer.

‘Are you still there?’ he demanded.

‘Yes. I could do Saturday morning.’

‘Right. I’ll see you at the cottages at ten.’

When the phone rang again shortly afterwards it actually was Harry, with an invitation to Sunday dinner at the farm so she could have a look round.

‘How lovely! Please thank your sister for me, Harry.’

The houses passed the building inspector’s final examination with flying colours, and the visits by the estate agents went equally well. They forecast figures much higher than Sarah had dared hope—the highest from one of the more exclusive agents, who assured her he’d have no trouble in shifting all six houses if she put her business in his company’s hands.

But if she did Sarah knew only too well she’d lose a hefty percentage of her profit to them. But that was far preferable to selling them to a Merrick. Though she might as well meet Alex Merrick and know what figure he had in mind, if only for the pleasure of turning him down. The vice-chairman of the Merrick Group would probably beat her down mercilessly. Just let him try, she thought fiercely.

Instead of spending the evening glued to columns of figures on her laptop Sarah went early to bed that night, feeling more relaxed now the die was cast. She achieved a good night’s sleep for once, and turned up at the cottages next morning full of energy for the last minute touches. She swept and dusted throughout, then buffed up the latest thing in stainless steel door furniture on each of the cottages while Harry cleaned the windows.

‘But don’t let on about me doing women’s work,’ he warned, when they went down to the Green Man at lunchtime.

Sarah zipped a finger across her lips. ‘Not a word. Though you’ve done it miles better than this woman would have done.’

‘You mean there’s something you can’t do, then, boss?’ he teased.

‘Lots of things—and cleaning windows as well as you do is way up there on the list.’

‘Have you decided which agent’s going to handle the sale?’

‘Not yet. I’ll have a chat with Oliver over the weekend and let them know on Monday.’

Close as she’d grown to Harry, Sarah felt it best to keep her meeting with Alex Merrick to herself.

She spent some time next morning over her choice of clothes for her Saturday rendezvous. Her aim was somewhere below the full-on babe outfit of an evening with Oliver but well above the scruffy look of her working day. And, most important of all, Sarah was determined to obliterate Alex’s last impression of her in striped pyjamas and the dressing gown her mother had given her for her fifteenth birthday. She felt a little uneasy about seeing him again after the disaster of his encounter with Nero. But this was different; it was a business meeting, she reminded herself, though not the occasion for one of the suits she’d worn in the office. She settled for a pair of black linen trousers and a plain white shirt, and because the forecast was showery armed herself with the short black trench coat she wore for trips into Hereford. She’d treated her unruly curls to a blow-drying session for once, and tied them back with a silk scarf, then surprised her face by applying some make-up for a change, instead of just the usual smear of moisturiser—though this last came in handy when she found she’d run out of polish for her flat black shoes.

Sarah drove down to the cottages at nine to relieve her house-sitters, who had tidied all their gear away and left milk for her coffee. She thanked them warmly, and after a romp with Nero waved them off to enjoy their weekend. Sarah went on a tour of all six houses, then sat down in the show house to read the paper she’d bought on the way. She skimmed through the news items, and even did half a crossword, but at last felt too restless to stay indoors and went outside.

After a week of sunshine and showers, the gardens in all the cottages were looking surprisingly well established. Sarah had time to make a thorough check on all of them before the familiar Cherokee nosed down the lane. When Alex got out, holding a briefcase but otherwise looking casual in jeans and sweater, she strolled up the lane towards him.

‘Good morning.’ He met her halfway, smiling that smile of his, and shook her hand. ‘Congratulations. You’ve done a great job here.’

‘Thank you. Take yourself on a tour, if you like.’

‘Come with me—please?’

‘Certainly.’

This time Alex was in no hurry. He put his briefcase down on the kitchen table, then made a thorough exploration of every house, taking such minute notice of every feature that Sarah was more glad than ever that she’d bought top-quality fittings—especially when he commented on the Belfast sinks installed in the curving, custom-built counter tops in all the kitchens.

‘You’ve achieved a very clever balance between traditional and modern,’ he said, when they eventually returned to the show house.

‘Thank you. My aim was a country cottage with local appeal, but which would also tempt a town buyer looking for a weekend retreat.’

‘Where did you get the vintage furniture?’

‘I put the contents of my family home into storage when the house was sold. I sent for some of them last week, so I could make the show house look like a real home. At which point,’ she added, ‘Ian Sollers promptly moved into number two at night, to avoid any possibility of his damaging anything.’

‘Not to mention any Nero might cause,’ said Alex with feeling.

‘Nero doesn’t do damage. He’s a very well-behaved dog,’ said Sarah firmly. ‘He was just doing his job that night.’

‘You obviously love dogs!’

‘I do.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘But even if I had room for one dogs aren’t allowed at Medlar House.’

‘So sell your ivory tower and move to a place where you can keep a pet. In your kind of job you can take a dog with you on site.’

‘True,’ said Sarah. ‘But I don’t want to move right now. I’ve only just got my flat into shape. Talking of property,’ she added, suddenly brisk, ‘would you care for some coffee while we get down to business?’

‘Thank you.’ Alex promptly sat at the head of kitchen table, as though chairman of the board was his rightful place.

Sarah made coffee in china cups with saucers, and carried a tray to the table. ‘Only instant, I’m afraid.’

‘Fine,’ he said, waiting for her to sit down. ‘Now, then, Miss Carver. How much do you want for the entire property?’

Sarah multiplied the highest price by six and gave him the answer.

Alex stared at her in disbelief. ‘That’s totally unrealistic.’

‘It’s the price I was advised to ask,’ she assured him.

‘But any other buyer would want only one cottage,’ he reminded her sharply. ‘If I buy the entire row you’ll have to come down, Miss Carver. A long way down,’ he added.

Sarah had done her homework in so much depth and so repeatedly she knew exactly how low she could go and still make the profit necessary to make her venture a success. ‘I suppose I could come down a trifle.’

Alex snorted. ‘You’ll have to do a lot better than that!’

‘Look,’ she said reasonably, ‘if you don’t want them I’m assured I’ll have no problem finding other buyers.’

He stared at her in exasperation. ‘I do want them, but only at a reasonable figure.’

‘You mean what the Merrick Group considers a reasonable figure!’

‘Exactly. Nothing personal. It’s just business.’

‘I know all about the business done by the Merrick Group,’ she retorted, before she could stop herself.

His eyes narrowed. ‘And what, exactly, do you mean by that?’ he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Her chin lifted. ‘Merely that your group is big enough to submit tenders which put smaller companies out of business.’

Comprehension dawned in his eyes. ‘You said your father was a builder—’

‘He was taken over by Barclay Homes, which as you well know is a subsidiary of the Merrick Group.’ Sarah wished now she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘Shall we return to the matter in hand?’

‘By all means,’ he said curtly, and made her an offer only a little higher than the lowest possible she could accept to make a profit.

‘Now you’re being unrealistic,’ she said scathingly.

The coffee cooled in the cups while they haggled, Sarah coolly resolute and Alex growing more and more exasperated as he fought a battle he’d expected to win with barely a shot fired. In the end he slapped a hand down on the table, making the cups rattle, and named a figure which was, he said very emphatically, his top offer, and Miss Carver could take it or leave it.

‘Do you want your answer now?’ she asked.

Alex fought for control. For God’s sake, he thought furiously. He faced tougher customers than Sarah Carver every day of his working life. ‘Yes,’ he snapped.

She shook her head. ‘I need time to think about your offer, Mr Merrick. I quite understand,’ she added, sweetly reasonable, ‘if you want to back out.’

To hell with it, thought Alex. Only the prospect of unsuitable tenants on land adjoining his luxury hotel kept him from doing just that. He got to his feet and snapped his briefcase shut. ‘Ring my office at nine sharp on Monday morning with your answer, or kiss the sale goodbye, Miss Carver.’

Sarah nodded briskly. She got to her feet to see him out, and followed him down the path.

‘Thank you for coming. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, Miss Carver,’ he said formally, and made no further reference to the deal before driving away.

Sarah watched him go, frowning. Now she had to get through the rest of the day with nothing to do. From a practical, purely financial point of view she knew very well that she should have said yes to Alex’s offer there and then. But because his name was Merrick she was not only going to turn him down, but make him wait all weekend before she did.

Sarah decided to stay on site all day, until Ian and Josie turned up in the evening. Perhaps she could persuade her young caretakers to spend the entire day here on Sunday while she was out with Harry. The weather forecast was good, and they would probably enjoy a day spent in the sun in the courtyard of number one. She’d offer to stand them a takeaway lunch as inducement. Until the cottages were sold—whoever bought them—she would need the services of her young security guards. Sarah locked up with care and drove back to the local Post Office stores to buy food, added a paperback novel to her haul, and then returned to Medlar Farm cottages for the day.

She passed some of the time with more gardening in the sunshine, though by now there was very little left to do. The shrubs looked healthy, the lawns were greening up satisfactorily, and the property as a whole was very different from the barely habitable row of houses she’d first seen with Oliver.

Sarah rang him later, to tell him about the offer she’d had from Alex Merrick.

‘Splendid, darling. I’m very proud of you. Is it all signed and sealed?’

‘Of course not. I haven’t accepted the offer, Oliver.’

‘You mean you didn’t jump at it?’ demanded Oliver in astonishment. ‘My dear child, what were you thinking of?’ He paused. ‘I suppose if he were a rose by any other name you would have said yes to Alex right away.’

‘Exactly, Oliver. How percipient of you.’

‘Far be it from me to try to run your life,’ he said, an edge to his voice, ‘but if you’re going to succeed in your line of business sentiment’s a luxury you can’t afford, Sarah.’

‘I know, I know,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t worry. The agents who valued the houses assure me they’ll have no trouble in selling them.’

‘Or in creaming off some of your profit,’ Oliver reminded her.

‘True. But it would be worth it,’ said Sarah. ‘I can’t bear the thought of Merrick hotel guests living in my cottages.’

‘Ah, but that’s not the plan. I had a little chat with George Merrick the other night and put out some discreet feelers on the subject. Apparently young Alex intends to use the houses as retirement homes for long service employees of the Merrick Group.’

‘What?’ Sarah’s eyebrows shot to her hair. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘I’m merely passing on what his father told me. In confidence, by the way,’ warned Oliver.

Sarah shook her head in wonder. ‘I was sure Alex Merrick meant to put them to work to make money, as an annexe for his hotel.’

‘I hinted as much to George. But he said that Alex, much to old Edgar’s disgust, is hell-bent on philanthropy. And he makes it very plain who’s in charge these days. So instead of making them pay for themselves, the cottages will house deserving ex-employees who will live in rural, rent-free bliss in your first venture into property development, Sarah. Should you sell to him, of course.’

‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the books,’ she said, deflated, and stayed silent for a while, thinking it over.

‘Are you still there, Sarah?’ demanded Oliver.

‘Yes. I was thinking. Much as it grieves me to say so, if what you say is true I suppose it would be a pity not to let Alex Merrick have them.’

‘At the money he’s offering it would be downright stupidity to turn it down, my girl. Forget about his name for once and accept his offer. As your practical father,’ he added with emphasis, ‘would have urged you to. And take my advice—which to anyone else is inordinately expensive—in future transactions use your head, not your heart, Sarah. And ring me on Monday to let me know what happened.’

Harry collected Sarah from Medlar House at twelve next day, in cords and a tweed jacket, and sporting a new haircut.

‘You look very smart, Harry,’ she told him, and dumped her rubber boots in the back of the pick-up.

‘So do you,’ he said, eyeing her crisp striped shirt and newly laundered jeans. ‘A mighty big improvement on those overalls of yours.’

‘Practically anything would be. I hope it’s not putting your sister out to have an extra guest for lunch,’ added Sarah.

‘If you can put Mavis and Bob in the way of making a bit of money she’ll be glad to do it every Sunday,’ he assured her. ‘They never had sons, which means paying for labour now the girls are married and can’t help out any more, so things are a bit tight on the farm these days. Mind,’ he added awkwardly, ‘I didn’t say that to influence you.’

‘I know that, Harry! But it struck me yesterday that I’m going to be like a lost soul with no work to do. I do so hope the barns are a feasible proposition.’

To Sarah’s intense relief they were. After introducing her to his sister and her husband, Harry kept in the background while Mavis, a smaller, jollier version of her brother, insisted on serving coffee before she let her large, amiable husband take Sarah on a tour of the barns. The meal giving out savoury aromas in the big farm kitchen would be ready in one hour exactly, Mavis informed them.

‘So you’d best go too, Harry,’ she said, ‘and make sure Bob brings Miss Carver back here on time.’

Sarah was jubilant later, on the way home. The barns were small enough to be viable for conversion, though not to the holiday lets the Grovers had intended. Permanent dwellings were essential for Sarah to gain her necessary profit. A lane separated the barns from the main farm, and gave good access for the equipment Sarah would hire—also for the tenants who would eventually occupy the finished houses.

‘What do you think, Harry?’ she asked. ‘If I make an offer to your brother-in-law are you game to go on working with me?’

‘Wouldn’t have mentioned the barns else,’ he assured her. ‘So you see them as a workable proposition?’

‘I certainly do.’ She gave him a sparkling look. ‘Mr Grover told me he owns fishing rights on a short stretch of the river, too, which could appeal to male buyers. And for women who don’t fish it’s not far to Hereford for retail therapy.’

Harry laughed. ‘You had all this worked out in your head before Mavis dished up the rhubarb crumble.’

Sarah grinned. ‘I certainly did.’ She sobered. ‘But I can’t make a firm offer until I sell the cottages. With luck I should be able to some time next week.’

‘You’ve got someone interested in one of the cottages?’

Sarah nodded. ‘I’ve got a possible buyer for the lot, but I haven’t clinched the deal yet.’

‘All six houses?’ Harry took his eyes off the road for a second to look at her. ‘You don’t look all that pleased about it.’

Sarah smiled ruefully. ‘We’ve been working on those cottages for quite a while now, Harry. It’s a wrench to part with them.’ Especially to a Merrick. ‘But if the sale goes through I can start planning the new look for the barns right away. Do you think Ian and Fred will fancy helping again?’

‘Try stopping them,’ said Harry dryly as he drove into Medlar House. ‘Now, get a good night’s rest. I’ll check up on the youngsters myself on the way back.’

Sarah did her best to take Harry’s advice, but after a phone call from Oliver to confirm that she still intended to sell to Alex she was too wound up to sleep much—partly from excitement over the barns, but mainly because she couldn’t rid herself of the idea that now, when she’d finally, reluctantly, made up her mind, Alex Merrick would say his offer had been withdrawn when she rang him to accept it.

When the sun began streaming through the shutters next morning Sarah gave up all pretence of even trying to sleep and got dressed. She let herself out of the flat, and later enjoyed her morning coffee all the more for the mile long round trip to buy a paper. She ate some toast while she caught up on the day’s news, then just sat with her phone in her hand, gazing out at the sunlit garden as she waited for the appointed hour. Exactly on the stroke of nine she rang Alex Merrick’s office number, and in response to Greg Harris’s familiar accents told him Miss Carver wished to speak to Mr Merrick.

‘I’ll see if he’s free,’ said the young man stiffly, obviously still smarting from their previous exchange. ‘Will you hold?’

‘Certainly.’

‘I’m putting you through,’ he said a moment later, and her stomach clenched as the familiar, confident voice came on the line.

‘Good morning, Miss Carver.’

‘Good morning, Mr Merrick.’

‘I take it you have an answer for me?’

‘Yes. I accept your offer for the Medlar Farm Cottages.’

Alex was silent for so long Sarah’s stomach did a nosedive. Had she been right to worry? Had he changed his mind?

‘Good,’ he said at last.

Her eyes kindled. Swine! He’d done that on purpose.

‘I suggest,’ he went on, ‘that we meet here at my office at eleven tomorrow to make the exchange. Is that convenient for you?’

‘Yes.’

‘One of the Merrick Group lawyers will be present, and you will naturally wish to bring your own legal support.’

‘Naturally,’ she said crisply, praying that the solicitor Oliver had found for her would be free to accompany her into the lion’s den.

‘In the meantime, I’ll send our chief surveyor round to the cottages today at ten to make our own official inspection—if that’s convenient?’ Alex said, hoping Sarah couldn’t tell he was grinning from ear to ear.

‘Of course,’ she said coolly, and disconnected to call her solicitor and make her request.

Charles Selby, it appeared, was only too glad to accompany her, and promised to pick her up at Medlar House well before the appointed hour. Probably because she was the goddaughter of Oliver Moore QC, thought Sarah the cynic, then rang Oliver’s chambers, as ordered, to give him the glad news.

‘Splendid, darling,’ he said, delighted. ‘Congratulations. I wondered if you might change your mind at the last minute.’

‘So did I,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘By the way, I’ve asked Mr Selby to go with me tomorrow, Oliver.’

‘Good girl. He can brief me later. Louise and Sam would be so proud of you, Sarah. I’ll drink a toast to all three of you tonight.’

Once Sarah had swallowed the lump in her throat, she rang Harry to put him in the picture.

‘Well done, boss,’ he said gruffly. ‘But if it’s not signed and sealed until tomorrow you’ll need Ian again tonight.’

‘I will, indeed. Then tomorrow the Merrick Group can take over. I’m driving down to the site right now to wait for their building inspector, Harry. How about celebrating with a ploughman’s at the Green Man later?’

‘I’m here at the cottages now,’ he told her. ‘Ian had to go off early this morning, so he asked me to come over.’

‘Thank you, Harry, you’re a star!’

‘Get away with you. I’ll put the kettle on.’

Sarah spent a tense morning with Harry, praying that the Merrick surveyor would find nothing wrong when he arrived to inspect the houses.

‘Stop worrying,’ Harry told her. ‘The official building inspectors were satisfied with it, so I doubt this fellow will find anything wrong.’

‘I just hope you’re right,’ she said fervently.

The inspector had finished by lunchtime, but to Sarah’s disappointment he made no comment on the properties other than to tell her he would pass on his findings to Mr Merrick.

‘I wish I knew what his findings were,’ said Sarah, frustrated.

‘You will, soon enough. The surveyor Bob Grover hired for his barns was just as thorough,’ Harry told her.

‘I’ll take Mr Grover’s outlay into consideration when I make my offer,’ Sarah assured him. ‘Though I’ll need a second survey on the barns. The original intention was holiday lets, so it’s vital I make sure I have the necessary permits for permanent dwellings.’

Lunch at the Green Man cheered Sarah up considerably, though Harry advised her in advance against giving the regulars her news. ‘Time enough for that when the deal’s gone through,’ he warned.

‘Don’t worry, Harry. I won’t breathe a word to anyone until the money’s safe in my bank account.’

When they went into the bar to a chorus of greetings Sarah had to put up with some good-natured teasing about being dressed up today, instead of in her working clothes.

‘You clean up pretty good, I must say,’ said Fred, handing her a half of cider. ‘I don’t think you’ve met Eddy’s son,’ he added, indicating the man who’d just come through into the bar. ‘Daniel, this is Miss Sarah Carver—the prettiest property developer in the business.’

Daniel Mason put up the flap to come round the bar and shake Sarah’s hand. Unlike his stocky father, he was tall and slim, with smooth fair hair and confident blue eyes. ‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ he said fervently.