Mistress of His Heart by Deborah Hale

Years ago, the father of heiress Rosemary Greenwood forbade her to marry Merritt Temple, a young soldier, because of his lack of fortune. Now Merritt has returned to her small village a rich widower with an infant son. Rosemary is too proud to tell him that her family has been left penniless by her father's spendthrift ways and are struggling to save the family home from creditors. But Merritt has a secret of his own... Click here to view all Deborah Hale's titles CHAPTER ONE "That must be him!" Ivy Greenwood dug an elbow into the muslin -draped ribs of her sister. "Ouch!" Rosemary peered in the direction Ivy had been looking. On the far side of Lathbury's assembly hall, she could make out only vague shapes of people. Both necessary economy and a stubborn crumb of vanity prevented Rosemary Greenwood from wearing spectacles. Just because she was 24 and still unwed didn't mean she'd surrender tamely to old-maidenhood. "Don't stare! He's looking this way!" Ivy fluttered her fan protectively in front of their faces. "Who is he?" Rosemary raised her own fan. "And why shouldn't we look at him if he may look at us?" "He's coming this way!" Rosemary checked her impatience with her sister's high spirits. There'd been little in their lives of late to excite any emotion but worry. "Since you refuse to identify the gentleman, I suppose I must wait for an introduction." "It's the new master of Heartsease, of course." Ivy tossed her red -gold curls. "I hear he's widowed, and he must have an enormous fortune to afford such a grand estate." Rosemary cast a sidelong smile at her sister. "So you've set your cap for him, sight unseen?" "You must admit it would solve all our problems." "And spawn a host of new ones," muttered Rosemary. To her, the words wealthy widower did not conjure up an attractive picture. She glanced over the top of her fan to see the new master of Heartsease bowed before them. A tall fellow, many years younger than she'd expected, his broad shoulders filling out a well-tailored coat. "Ladies, forgive my impertinence in speaking to you without a proper introduction." The deep musical timbre of his voice set a swarm of bees buzzing inside Rosemary. Though she'd tried to forget, she never heard a man's voice without comparing it unfavorably to this one. "You probably don't remember me." He glanced up, catching Rosemary in a silver-gray gaze at once hard as tempered steel and soft as a summer mist. "I assure you we're acquainted. Merritt Temple is my name." Not remember? Rosemary might have laughed out loud, except a lump the size of a toast ed crumpet had risen in her throat. Not that Merritt Temple looked exactly as she remembered him. Seven years ago, he'd been an awkward, ardent boy. Now he was very much a man. Crisp brown hair was swept back from a high brow that suggested cleverness. Hi s lanky figure had ripened into its promise of spare, vigorous manhood, and the harsh Iberian sun had bronzed and weathered his compelling angular features. Those were not the changes that made Rosemary's heart lurch in her breast and her bones melt like butter on that toasted crumpet. Rather it was an air Merritt Temple carried about him now. Battle -hardened and subtly dangerous, yet tempered with an edge of wistful melancholy, as if he'd been wounded by something or someone in the past and had never fully recovered. Could she have been that someone?

CHAPTER TWO As he faced the woman who'd broken his heart when it was still fragile enough to break, Merritt Temple strove to address Rosemary Greenwood and her sister with casual courtesy. Even as his pulse thundered in his ears like a volley of artillery. "I was at school with your brother, Thorn. He kindly invited me to holiday at Barnhill on several occasions. I have many pleasant memories of those visits." Merritt failed to mention they were among the few pleasant memories in his life. Three brief summers with the Greenwoods had been his only experience of belonging to a family. Perhaps that was what had drawn him back to Lathbury to raise his son. As he stared at Rosemary Greenwood, whose girlish char m had ripened into willowy golden beauty, Merritt knew it was the vain hope of seeing her again that had lured him. "Mr. Temple!" Ivy Greenwood cried. "Thorn will be delighted to hear you're the new master of Heartsease. Isn't this a marvelous surprise, Rosemary?" "I'm quite overcome." Not with pleasure, apparently. If she'd been happy to see him, her delicate features might have pinkened, as they used to when he pretended to steal a kiss. Instead they paled and her luminous blue-green eyes clouded with dismay. "Wh-what brings you to back Lathbury after all these years, Mr. Temple?" He resisted a mad urge to blurt out the truth. "I have an infant son whose mother died shortly after he was born. His health has been a concern to me. The doctors advised wholesome country air." "A baby!" exclaimed Ivy. "I have no patience with infants but my sister dotes on them. Don't you, Rose?" Rosemary's graceful tawny eyebrows drew together in a look of distress that Merritt ached to comfort. "Dear Mr. Temple, we are heartily sorry for your loss. Now to be anxious over your son's health, too. You have my deepest sympathy on both accounts." As he accepted her words of consolation, Merritt berated himself for the vilest cad. How dare he impose on Rosemary's tender sympathy when his heart held more guilt than grief? Behind them, the musicians struck up a lively tune one to which they'd danced on a distant summer evening. He longed to ask if she might again, for the sake of an old friendship. But did he dare risk the blissful hazard of her touch? *** Rosemary recognized the lilting melody. As if it had been yesterday, she recalled the sweet felicity of dancing with Merritt Temple. Did he remember, too? Or did she only imagine the far -off look in his eyes? If he asked her to dance again for old times' sake, how would she answer? She must refuse, of course, politely but firmly. Even if Mr. Temple didn't hate her, which he must, there could be nothing between them, now. For the opposite reason such a connection had been impossible seven years ago. As Merritt started to speak, she opened her lips to decline his invitation. "Will you do me the honor of this danceMiss Ivy?" Ivy?

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