Whether pride goes before a fall, or wrath leads to a passion that consumes entirely, one thing is certain: the road to true love has never been more enticing!

So you decide:

How can it be a sin when it feels so good?

Sloth—Cathy Williams

Lust—Dani Collins

Pride—Kim Lawrence

Gluttony—Maggie Cox

Greed—Sara Craven

Wrath—Maya Blake

Envy—Annie West

Seven titles by some of

Mills & Boon Modern Romance’s

most treasured and exciting authors!

The Innocent’s Sinful Craving

Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel, Garden of Dreams, for Mills and Boon in 1975. Apart from writing (naturally!), her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became the UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire—Shakespeare country.

For Leo, stern critic and amazing support.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Seven Sexy Sins

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

Endpage

CHAPTER ONE

AT THE TOP of the hill, she stopped the car on the verge and got out, stretching gratefully after the drive from London.

The house lay below her in its secluded green valley, a sprawl of stones like some ancient dragon sleeping in the sunlight.

Dana drew a long, satisfied breath, her taut mouth relaxing into a smile of pure pleasure.

‘I’ve come back,’ she whispered. ‘And this time I’m going to stay. Nothing—and no one—is going to drive me away again. You’re going to be mine. Do you hear me?’

And after one final, lingering look, she returned to the car and drove down the hill towards Mannion.

It would not—could not be the same. For one thing, there would be no Serafina Latimer with her kindness and smiling grace that could so suddenly change to severity. She was back in her beloved Italy, and Aunt Joss, of course, had gone with her.

But I’ve changed too, she thought.

She was a long way from the confused seventeen-year-old who’d left here seven years earlier, physically, emotionally and—yes, she supposed, even financially.

No longer the housekeeper’s niece, there on sufferance, for ever on the outside looking in, but a successful and well-paid negotiator with a top London estate agency.

And the past years of fighting her way up the ladder, reinventing herself into a force to be reckoned with, had taught her a lot.

I’ve helped a lot of people make their dream come true, she thought. Now, it’s my turn.

Except that Mannion wasn’t simply a dream. It was her birthright, whatever the law might say. There was such a thing as natural justice, and she would lay hold to it, no matter what means she had to employ. Or what the consequences might be.

She’d decided that a long time ago, and the passage of time had only deepened her resolve.

She drove through the tall wrought-iron gates and up the long drive through the sweeping lawns and formal gardens to the house. There were already cars parked on either side of the main entrance and she slotted her Peugeot into the nearest available space.

Climbing out, she stood for a moment, scanning the other vehicles, steadying the sudden flurry of her breathing, and smoothing any creases from her khaki linen skirt before collecting her weekend case from the boot.

As she turned she saw that the heavily studded front door had opened and a plump woman in a neat dark dress was waiting there.

‘Miss Grantham?’ Her voice was quietly civil. ‘I’m Janet Harris. Let me take your case and show you to your room.’

I probably know the way better than you do, Dana thought, amused, as she followed the housekeeper. How many times have I trotted round after Aunt Joss, making sure everything was ready for arriving guests? Sometimes even being allowed to put the flowers in the bedrooms.

I wonder if anyone’s done that for me?

The answer to that, she soon discovered was ‘no’, along with the fact that she’d been allocated the smallest of the guest rooms in the remotest part of the house, looking over the shrubbery to the slope of the valley where the summer house still stood.

The one thing she had no wish to see. That she’d hoped would no longer exist, although the memories it evoked were still potent. Bitterly and disturbingly so.

However the choice of view was probably not deliberate, she thought, turning from the window. Unlike the selection of the room with its faded decor and elderly carpet, seemingly intended to put her firmly in her place.

That’s fine, she thought. When the game’s over, let’s see who’s won.

‘The bathroom is just down the corridor, Miss Grantham.’ Mrs Harris sounded almost apologetic. ‘But you’ll have it to yourself. If there’s anything else you need, please let me know.’ She paused. ‘Miss Latimer asked me to say there is tea in the drawing room.’

How very formal, Dana thought with faint amusement as the housekeeper withdrew. And how very unlike Nicola. But perhaps she was finding it was rough going being a hostess.

She hadn’t much to unpack apart from her dresses for this evening and tomorrow night’s party which she hung in a wardrobe as narrow as the single bed.

The bathroom was basic but well supplied with towels, a tub with a hand shower and a full-length mirror.

So, having combed her hair, replenished her lipstick and freshened her scent, Dana inspected herself with the same critical intensity she expected to encounter downstairs.

Her light brown hair, well-cut and highlighted so that it glowed with auburn lights, hung, smooth and shining, to her shoulders, and the subtle use of cosmetics had emphasised the green of her hazel eyes and lengthened her curling lashes.

Her body, rounded in all the right places, was slim and toned thanks to the exercise and dance classes she attended with zealous regularity. Not cheap, but the end would justify the means.

And Nicola’s unstudied greeting of ten days ago had also been reassuring. ‘Dana, it’s wonderful to see you again. And you look amazing.’

A total exaggeration, but gratifying just the same, she thought as she started on her way downstairs.

Now that she had time to look around her, she realised it wasn’t only her bedroom that needed refurbishment. The whole house looked tired and shabby and it was all too evident that the high standards of cleanliness observed in Aunt Joss’s day had slipped badly.

Surfaces no longer glowed as they once had. There was no beguiling mixture of lavender and beeswax in the air, and in places there were even cobwebs.

It all looked—unloved, but perhaps that was what happened when the mistress of the house was no longer in residence.

Not that Serafina Latimer had enjoyed much choice in the matter. Once she’d decided to avoid Inheritance Tax by gifting Mannion to Nicola’s older brother Adam, she was allowed only casual and infrequent visits to her former home in the seven-year period it took for the gift to become legal and Adam to become Mannion’s full owner.

Aunt Joss had explained it all to Dana in some detail, brushing aside all attempts at questions or protests, before adding with chill emphasis, ‘So, once and for all, let that be an end to this nonsense.’

Yet, how could it be, when Dana knew, as surely as the sun rose in the east, that she had been passed over?

Her rightful inheritance given away like some free bar of soap?

Knew too that her aunt was wrong, and the fight was far from over.

Poor Mannion, she thought, as she reached the foot of the stairs. But when you’re mine, you won’t be passed from hand to hand again.

And this time there’ll be no one around to stop me.

There was none of the expected buzz of conversation as she approached the dining room, and she found herself hesitating briefly before entering.

For a moment, as she took in the old-fashioned chintzes that covered the deep sofas and armchairs, and saw the long brocade curtains moving gently in the faint breeze from the open French windows, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time.

Then, in the same instant, she realised that she’d totally misread the housekeeper’s message, because it was quite another Miss Latimer waiting for her behind the tea table. A much older version, her plump girth squeezed into unbecoming floral silk, her bleached hair like a metal helmet, her lips pursed.

Nicola’s Aunt Mimi, she thought with a silent groan. Oh, God, I should have known.

‘Well, Dana.’ She was motioned to a chair by a beringed hand. ‘This is a surprise.’ Mimi Latimer’s tone suggested it was more of an unpleasant shock. ‘I didn’t realise that you and Nicola were still in touch, let alone so close.’

Dana smiled, unfazed. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Latimer. No, sad to say, we probably haven’t seen so much of each other lately.’ Seven years to be precise. ‘But I’m sure you remember that we were at school together.’

‘Yes,’ Mimi Latimer said with a touch of grimness as she poured straw-coloured Earl Grey into a fragile cup and held it out to Dana. ‘I certainly hadn’t forgotten that. Or that your scholastic career came to a sudden end. A poor reward for all Serafina’s kindness to you.’

‘Perhaps we both felt she’d been quite kind enough,’ Dana returned coolly. ‘And that it was time I stood on my own feet.’ Besides, it was recognition as her granddaughter I wanted—not her charity.

‘I don’t think anyone would argue over that,’ Miss Latimer said with a sniff, proffering a plate of sandwiches smaller than a child’s finger.

That, and a Madeira cake, comprised the entire spread, Dana realised, remembering coming back for the school holidays to find the table laden not just with sandwiches but scones and cream, or buttered crumpets, depending on the season, to be followed with a rich chocolate cake and a Victoria sponge oozing strawberry jam. And Serafina presiding over these delights, gently questioning Nicola and herself on how the term had gone.

‘And your family. Are they well?’

Memories scattered under Mimi Latimer’s acidly pointed question.

‘All fine, thank you.’ At least on the rare occasions when I have news.

But the older woman had not finished. ‘And your mother? Still living in Spain?’

‘Yes,’ Dana confirmed evenly. ‘She is.’

‘And you seem to be doing well too. Trying to sell Nicola and Eddie an expensive flat, I gather.’

‘I’ve shown them a very beautiful flat,’ Dana corrected, helping herself to an egg and cress sandwich and making it stretch to two bites. ‘Well within the price guidelines she and her fiancé had established, and which they both seemed to like.’

‘How strange it should be you showing them round.’

‘I prefer to call it serendipity,’ Dana said lightly. ‘A happy discovery by accident.’ Apart from the wheeling, dealing and sheer manipulation it took to ensure I conducted that particular viewing.

She took a reluctant sip of cooling tea. ‘Where is Nicola, by the way?’

‘Taking Eddie and his parents to see the village church.’ Miss Latimer’s mouth tightened sourly. ‘She’s decided she wants to be married there. Quite ridiculous when London would be so much more convenient for everyone.

‘But she’s managed to persuade Eddie that they should have a quiet country wedding with just family, close friends and local people. As this weekend’s gathering was supposed to be,’ she added pointedly.

‘Heaven only knows what the Marchwoods will think,’ she went on peevishly. ‘I’ve tried to talk some sense into the child, but, for some reason, that cousin of Serafina’s, the Belisandro man, has taken her side.’ She sniffed again. ‘Of course, he’s always spoiled Nicola, encouraging her to have her own way. I’m only surprised he isn’t marrying her himself.’

Dana felt her heartbeat stumble and her throat tighten. She forced down another mouthful of Earl Grey.

When she spoke, her voice was remarkably steady. ‘Zac Belisandro hardly seems the marrying kind.’

Besides being safely on the other side of the world. Although it seemed that had not stopped him again pulling strings in the Latimer affairs.

‘Well, I dare say his father will have something to say about that before he’s much older,’ Miss Latimer opined snappishly. ‘Not that it’s any concern of mine,’ she added hastily. ‘Or yours for that matter.’

Dana managed a serene smile. ‘You’re quite right. Gossip can be so damaging.’

The silence that followed seemed to be waiting for her to ask, ‘And where is Adam?’

But all hell would freeze over before she said any such thing. Especially to Mimi Latimer.

Anyway, I shall see him soon enough, she thought, allowing her mind to dwell pleasurably on his windblown blond hair and almost boyish good looks, enhanced by the laughter lines at the corners of his blue eyes and the mouth that seemed always ready to smile.

A man that any woman would want, even without the riches he was bringing with him, and she knew it. Had reminded herself over and over again that it justified the course of action she was set upon.

Even so, she was suddenly struggling to hold on to that inner picture. To prevent it being superseded by another image, as disturbing as it was unwelcome. By another face, olive-skinned and saturnine, the features strongly marked, the eyes as dark and impenetrable as a starless winter night.

She put her cup with what remained of the tea carefully back on the table. ‘This has been most enjoyable, but, if you’ll excuse me, I need to stretch my legs after the drive.’

And, with another smile, she walked across the room and out through the French windows on to the terrace. Where she paused, staring at the lawns below as if in rapt admiration of its billiard table smoothness.

In reality, and in spite of herself, she was listening to her brain frantically re-echoing the name—Zac Belisandro.

His father’s only son and heir to the vast Belisandro International empire. Currently running its holdings in Australia and the Far East with an aplomb and success that was becoming legendary.

‘The man who makes Midas look like a beginner’ had been a headline in the business pages of a popular daily.

And to Dana—the man who’d caused her to be sent away from Mannion seven years ago. Her enemy, who would still want her barred now, if he wasn’t thousands of miles away.

Don’t think of him, she told herself fiercely. Concentrate on Adam. He’s the only one who matters and always has been.

But her mind—her memory—would not obey her. Because Zac Belisandro was still there like a shadow in the sunlight.

In spite of the heat, Dana shivered. Just let him stay away, she whispered silently. Don’t make me have to see him again. Ever. Or at least until I’ve got what I want and it’s too late for him to interfere and ruin everything a second time.

Until I’m Mrs Adam Latimer and Mannion belongs to me as it always should have done.

Captain Jack Latimer, she thought. Serafina’s soldier son and my father. If he hadn’t been killed in that ambush in Northern Ireland, my mother’s life—and mine—would have been very different. They would have been married, and whatever Serafina thought, she would have had to accept it.

He wouldn’t have allowed the girl he loved to be sent away in disgrace.

She walked down the terrace steps and headed across the lawn to the shrubbery. Ever since she’d first come to live at Mannion, it had been her favourite bolthole, a place to hide in when she was missing her mother and wanted to cry in peace. Aunt Joss was kind enough but too busy and often too harassed to devote much time to her. And taking charge of her young niece was something Dana knew had been thrust upon her, because her sense of duty would not allow the little girl to be fostered during her mother’s frequent and often lengthy absences in hospital.

So, a lot of the time, she was lonely. Not the kind of desolation where she knelt on the other side of a locked door listening, frightened, to her mother’s harsh weeping.

It was more a sense of bewildered abandonment which remained even when she and her mother were reunited in some new poky flat, while Linda, each time more fragile, more diminished, struggled with yet another dead-end job, and promised the brisk women who visited her in the evenings with their files of paperwork, that this time she would make an effort—make it work for Dana’s sake as well as her own.

She paused, fists suddenly clenching at her sides, as she wondered if she, a small child, had been the only one to see it was never going to happen.

And by that time all that filled her heart and mind was Mannion.

‘Our home,’ Linda had told her over and over again, murmuring to her at night in the bed they shared. ‘Our security. Our future. Taken away because I was only the housekeeper’s sister.

‘I thought your grandmother would welcome me when I went to her. Be glad that Jack had a child. I thought we could mourn for him together. Instead she sent us both away. I felt my heart break when I lost your father, but she shattered it all over again.

‘But she won’t beat us, my darling. Mannion was your father’s inheritance, so it belongs to us now and one day we’ll take it back. Say it, sweetheart. Let me hear the words.’

And obediently, eyes closing, voice fogged with sleep Dana would whisper, ‘One day we’ll take it back.’

Not that it helped. Because, all too soon, it would begin again—the soft monotonous sobbing from behind the closed bedroom door, interspersed with the periods where Linda sat by the living room window, unspeaking and unmoving as she stared into space.

When Dana would find herself whisked back to Mannion and Aunt Joss, each time finding herself more secure. Feeling a sense of possession growing as the seeds her mother had planted took root.

Mrs Brownlow, one of the brisk ladies who visited her mother, was now calling at Mannion for regular conferences with Aunt Joss.

Sometimes, she caught snatches of their conversation. ‘Such a difficult situation...’ ‘Not the child’s fault...’ ‘Very bright at school, but suffering from these disruptions...’

And over and over again from Aunt Joss: ‘This unhealthy obsession...’

One day, Mrs Brownlow had been soothing. ‘Linda seems much more upbeat—a real change. We’re hoping that this complete break will help get her back on track. She seems to be looking forward to it.’

‘Two weeks in Spain?’ Aunt Joss had sounded doubtful. ‘Without Dana?’

‘This first time, yes. To see how she copes. Perhaps we can arrange a joint holiday later on.’

Dana was thankful. Not that she was particularly happy at the village school where the children, confused by her arrivals and departures, treated her as an outsider. But she wasn’t altogether sure where Spain was—except that it was almost certainly a long way from Mannion, the only place she really wanted to be.

And where she would fight to stay.

But Linda, it seemed, had given up the fight because, towards the end of the two weeks, Aunt Joss got a letter from her to say she’d got a job in a bar and had decided to stay in Spain for a while.

Her decision had caused uproar among the officials who were handling her case, but Aunt Joss was calm, even philosophical, informing them that it could be for the best and would, at any rate, give Dana the chance of a stable upbringing.

Dana missed her mother but she also felt grateful that the burden of Linda’s seemingly endless despair had been lifted from her.

And at least she was living in the place that Linda had wanted for them both, and maybe, in time, Serafina’s attitude might soften and she would accept Dana as her granddaughter.

And in another way, Dana’s life took a definite change for the better when Nicola arrived to spend the summer at Mannion.

Another orphan of the storm, Dana recalled wryly, her parents acrimoniously divorced, with custody of Nicola and her older brother being awarded to their father. Megan Latimer was now living in the wilds of Colombia with the millionaire boyfriend who had caused the marriage breakdown on an estate rumoured to be like an armed fortress.

‘And I’m not allowed to go there,’ Nicola had confided as Dana was rather awkwardly showing her the gardens on Serafina’s instructions. ‘The judge said so, even though I said I liked Esteban.’

She looked woebegone. ‘Daddy said we could all go on a sailing holiday, but I didn’t want to, because I can’t swim very well and I get seasick. So he’s just taking Adam, and got Aunt Serafina to say I could come here.’

‘It’s lovely here,’ Dana said. ‘You’ll like it.’ And they exchanged cautious smiles.

In the kitchen garden, Mr Godstow, face ruddy under his faded cap, filled a trug for them with the pods of young, sweet peas, raspberries and gooseberries which they carried off to share in the den Dana had constructed in the shrubbery.

It was a curious form of bonding, but it worked. They’d both been on an emotional see-saw and now, unexpectedly, had found a friend in each other.

Until, of course, Zac Belisandro had engineered their separation.

But I’ll have my revenge, she told herself, when Mannion’s mine and it’s his turn to be barred.

And it would happen. She’d been thwarted once, but since then she’d had a long time to prepare for this second crucial attempt on the glittering prize that had possessed her heart and mind to the exclusion of so much else for so long.

The reunion at the flat viewing had gone like clockwork. Nicola’s delight at seeing her again was quite unfeigned, and while Dana might tell herself it was just a means to an end, she knew it wasn’t true, and that she was equally thrilled.

‘Eddie has to go back to work now,’ Nicola said when they joined Dana in the spacious living room after their second, private tour of inspection. ‘So why don’t we find a bar and have a double celebration?’

‘Double?’

‘Of course.’ Nicola’s wide grin was just the same. ‘Finding our future home and you, again, at the same time.’

‘Two wonderful reasons,’ Dana laughed back. ‘Let’s go.’

‘So what happened to you?’ Nicola asked as they toasted each other in Prosecco in a local wine bar. ‘Why did you suddenly disappear like that—before your final year at school?’

You mean that Zac Belisandro didn’t tell you...

Aloud, she said lightly, ‘It wasn’t really that sudden. I’d already decided against university, so when that London job came up again, I took it.’

‘But you went without a word.’ There was hurt in Nicola’s voice. ‘And you never answered any of my letters although your aunt promised she’d send them on.’

Except her first loyalty was to Serafina, not her own disgraced, illegitimate niece, exiled before she caused more trouble.

Dana swallowed. ‘Well, I did move around quite a bit. The letters are probably still in the system, trying to track me down.’

‘Well, I shan’t let you slip away again,’ Nicola said resolutely. ‘We’re having a family get-together down at Mannion the weekend after next to talk wedding plans and you’re going to be there. And I won’t take no for an answer.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Dana said with perfect truth, her mind reeling.

‘It will be just like old times,’ Nicola went on. ‘Jo and Emily are going to be there, as they’re my bridesmaids, and they’re bringing their blokes.’ She paused. ‘So, if you’ve got someone in your life, invite him along.’

Dana took another mouthful of Prosecco. ‘There’s no one serious. Not at the moment.’

But that would all change—down at Mannion.

Nicola sighed. ‘You sound like Adam. As soon as I get to like one of his girlfriends, he’s on to the next.’ She pulled a face. ‘And Zac, the serial monogamist, sets him a bad example.’

‘I can imagine.’ Dana’s mouth felt suddenly stiff. ‘Maybe Adam just hasn’t met the right woman yet.’ Or not at the right time.

Afterwards, she’d been assailed by doubts, telling herself that it couldn’t possibly be that simple, half expecting a call from Nicola telling her that the weekend had been cancelled or making some other excuse.

Instead she’d had a call from Eddie offering the full asking price on the flat, and when Nicola phoned a few days later, it was to confirm the invitation and say how much everyone was looking forward to seeing her again.

Including Adam? wondered Dana, but did not dare ask.

Although she would soon find out, she thought now, glancing at her watch. It was time to stop skulking in the grounds and begin her campaign.

She was halfway across the lawn when she realised she was being watched. That a man was standing, silent and unmoving, at the head of the terrace steps.

For one jubilant instant, she thought, Adam...

Then her footsteps faltered as she realised her observer was much too tall to be Adam. And much too dark.

Dark as midnight. Dark as a bad dream.

Only she wasn’t dreaming. Not this time. She was looking at Zac Belisandro—not on the other side of the world but, by some ill chance, right here.

Waiting for her.

Bepul matn qismi tugadi. Ko'proq o'qishini xohlaysizmi?