Bride By Blackmail. Carole Mortimer

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mouth firmed as she recalled exactly whose divorce had been discussed this evening. ‘Not in the least,’ she answered. ‘You are absolutely nothing like Jed Lord,’ she added with certainty. That was one thing she was sure of; she wouldn’t be attracted to Andrew if he were anything like Jed Lord! ‘I can all too easily imagine why his wife wanted to get away from him!’

      Andrew looked concerned. ‘You really didn’t like him, did you?’

      ‘No,’ she confirmed with an inward shudder. Jed wasn’t a man who was easy to like; you either loved him or hated him. And Georgie knew which emotion she felt towards him!

      ‘Oh, well, with any luck you may not have to meet him again,’ Andrew said. ‘I don’t think my father will keep him waiting too much longer for an answer on that land.’

      Georgie looked at him searchingly. ‘Is everything all right? With your father, I mean?’ If it wasn’t, maybe that would explain the difference she had sensed in Andrew’s manner earlier?

      Of course,’ Andrew dismissed. ‘Now, it’s time we both went to bed, young lady; I for one am absolutely bushed.’ His words were followed by an involuntary yawn. ‘See.’

      Georgie shook off her earlier mood of uncertainty as she smiled at him; it was probably seeing Jed again that had given her these misgivings! ‘I’ll see you in the morning, then.’

      Andrew nodded. ‘But let’s not make it too early, hmm?’ he ventured, sounding tired.

      ‘As late as you like,’ Georgie assured him.

      With any luck Jed would already have left the next morning by the time she put in an appearance.

      She could always hope!

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘LAWSON has absolutely no idea you were once married to me, does he?’

      Georgie froze in the doorway of the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom, staring across to where Jed reclined on the bed—her bed!—still dressed in the dark suit and white shirt he had worn for dinner, his head resting back on the raised pillows as he calmly returned her startled gaze.

      Georgie could feel the anger building within her, was absolutely furious at finding him here, incredulous that he could have dared—have dared—

      But why should she be surprised by anything Jed chose to do—hadn’t he always done exactly as he pleased?

      Of course he had. And he would see no problem now in invading the privacy of the bedroom allotted to her by Annabelle Lawson if that was what he chose to do. Georgie should have known she had escaped too easily earlier!

      Georgie stepped further into the room, relieved she had put on her nightgown and robe after taking her shower. Although she doubted that if she had been stark naked it would have bothered Jed unduly. After all, he had seen it all before, hadn’t he.

      ‘Get out,’ she told him in a coldly even tone.

      Being Jed, he didn’t move. ‘Exactly when are you going to tell Lawson about me?’ he demanded scornfully. ‘Before the wedding, one hopes,’ he added mockingly.

      ‘I don’t happen to think that is any of your business,’ Georgie responded icily. ‘No?’

      ‘No!’ she confirmed shortly. ‘I believe I told you to get out,’ she then reminded him forcefully, all too aware of how alone they were in the privacy of her bedroom.

      ‘I believe you did,’ Jed confirmed, still making no effort to move. ‘Expecting Lawson, are you?’ he continued scathingly, eyeing the pale peach-coloured silk robe and nightgown she wore.

      Georgie drew in a sharp breath, her body feeling suddenly warm under the onslaught of that assessing gaze. ‘Again, I don’t happen to think that is any of your business,’ she snapped.

      Jed shrugged, sitting up to swing his legs over the side of the bed, his sheer size suddenly dominating the room. ‘Maybe you don’t,’ he conceded hardly. ‘But I do.’

      Her eyes widened. ‘You—’

      ‘You’re looking good, Georgie.’ Jed cut in huskily on her angry rebuke, grey eyes moving slowly over her, from the top of her fiery head to her size four feet. ‘Very good,’ he amended appreciatively.

      Georgie’s cheeks were as fiery red as her hair by the time that caressing grey gaze returned to her face.

      How did he manage to do that? To make her completely aware, not only of the forceful attraction of his body but also her own body’s response to it? Her skin seemed to burn beneath the silk material, her nipples were taut and pouting, and there was a warm glow at her thighs.

      ‘You look awful,’ she returned bluntly.

      If not exactly truthfully. Jed did look older, there were lines beside his nose and mouth that hadn’t been there a year ago, and now there were flecks of grey threaded into his almost black hair, too. But none of those things detracted from the fact that he was extremely attractive—he’d always been!

      And probably always would be, she conceded wearily. Jed was not only a very handsome man, his hard features seeming as if they were carved from granite, his body lithe and fit, but he also exuded a strength, an arrogance, that would always be attractive to women, no matter what his age.

      Some women, Georgie amended forcefully. She—thank goodness!—had been irrevocably cured of her own attraction towards him!

      His mouth twisted ruefully at her deliberate insult. ‘I see you’re still as truthfully honest as ever,’ he drawled. ‘At least as far as I’m concerned,’ he continued pointedly.

      Back to the subject of her honesty with Andrew about her previous marriage…!

      ‘And you, I see, are still as dogmatic as ever,’ she returned scathingly, not rising to his challenge. ‘What do you want, Jed?’ she prompted sharply.

      He shook his head slowly. ‘I’m not sure you want to hear that,’ he murmured softly.

      Georgie’s head snapped up. His eyes were now a deep gunmetal-grey, and a nerve was pulsing in his squarely set jaw. What—?

      She took an involuntary step backwards as Jed stood up, her eyes blazing deeply green as she saw his look of speculation at her obvious response.

      ‘Not as self-possessed as you would like me to believe, are you?’ he observed with lazy satisfaction.

      ‘Even a fox knows when to be frightened of the hound!’ Georgie shot back insultingly.

      Angry colour darkened his cheeks. ‘Frightened?’ he echoed harshly. ‘You’ve made it more than obvious—on several occasions!—that you hate me, Georgie. But fear…?’

      ‘Wary, then,’ she amended wearily. ‘Jed, it’s late, and I—’

      ‘Frightened was the word you used,’ he persisted hardly.

      Maybe because frightened was the right word! Five years ago, as an inexperienced eighteen-year-old, she had been frightened

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