Mistress on his Terms

Catherine Spencer

“Don’t try to sugarcoat the facts, Sebastian. We had a one-night stand!”

“Stop it, Lily!”

“Why, am I speaking the truth too plainly?”

“It’s not the truth and you know it.”

“No?” A lone tear trembled on her lashes.

“You want to know something?” he muttered. “I wish we could have met under different circumstances. Perhaps if we had…”

“We might have fallen in love? I don’t think so, Sebastian. Love doesn’t come calling only when it’s convenient. Please let me go. I can’t bear your being kind to me like this.”

“It’s not kindness. God help me, I want you, Lily. More than ever. And I think you want me, too.”

CATHERINE SPENCER, once an English teacher, fell into writing through eavesdropping on a conversation about Harlequin romances. Within two months she changed careers and sold her first book to Harlequin in 1984. She moved to Canada from England more than thirty years ago and lives in Vancouver. She is married to a Canadian and has four grown children—two daughters and two sons—plus three dogs and a cat. In her spare time she plays the piano, collects antiques and grows tropical shrubs.

Mistress on His Terms

Catherine Spencer

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

CHAPTER ONE

“I’LL be waiting by the baggage claim carousel,” Hugo Preston had told her, when they’d spoken by phone the night before. “You’ll know me by my gray hair and the bouquet of roses I’ll have brought for you—red roses, because tomorrow’s a red-letter day for me. I’m counting the hours until we meet, Lily.”

But the other passengers had already collected their belongings and gone, leaving Lily standing alone with her two suitcases and carry-on bags stowed in a luggage cart. Although there’d been a number of older men with gray hair waiting to meet the Vancouver flight when it landed on time in Toronto, none had been carrying roses, nor had any come forward to identify himself as her biological father.

Caught between a sense of letdown and resentment—so much for his anxiety to connect with the daughter he’d always known about but never met!—Lily took out the map tucked in the side pocket of her purse.

Stentonbridge, the small town where Hugo maintained a year-round residence, lay some hundred and fifty miles northeast of Toronto, so she supposed that, because of the heavy rains in the area, it was conceivable that the drive had taken longer than he’d expected.

But then, another scenario rose up to haunt her. What if, even as she stood there silently berating him for his apparent parental disregard, a car crushed beyond recognition was being hauled out of a ravine, and the man she’d come so far to meet lay covered by a sheet in an ambulance bound for the nearest morgue?

Refusing to allow the thought to take root, she stuffed the map back into her bag. Tragedy like that didn’t strike twice in a row; it was the terrible exception, not the rule. There was some other perfectly plausible reason for Hugo’s tardiness, and quite possibly a message explaining it waiting to be picked up at the airline information desk. If not, he’d given her a number where he could be reached.

Wheeling around, she scanned the arrivals terminal again. A lull between incoming flights left the immediate area relatively uncrowded. Apart from a family of four trying to pack a baby as well as their overflowing bags into one cart, a group of students gathered around their tour leader, and a man forging a purposeful path between the lot of them, she remained in conspicuous isolation.

The man was imposingly tall and the crowd, small though it was, fell back to allow him passage in much the same way, Lily thought with dry amusement, that Moses might have parted the Red Sea. Craning her neck, she peered past him, searching for the familiar Air Canada logo.

He, however, appeared determined not only to obstruct her view but also to occupy the one spot in the