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“You will pay. But not with money.”
Cressy swallowed. “You mean—in spite of everything—you’re going to marry me?”
Draco’s laugh was harsh. “No, not marriage, my sweet. I will not be caught again. This time I’m offering a less formal arrangement.”
“You’re saying that if I—sleep with you—you won’t enforce my father’s debts. Draco, if you loved me, you wouldn’t…”
“I said that I wanted you, Cressida mou. I did not mention love.”
They’re the men who have everything—except a bride….
Wealth, power, charm—what else could a heart-stoppingly handsome tycoon need? In the GREEK TYCOONS miniseries you have already been introduced to some gorgeous Greek multimillionaires who are in need of wives.
Now it’s the turn of favorite
Harlequin Presents® author Sara Craven, with her passionate and compelling romance THE TYCOON’S MISTRESS
This tycoon has met his match and he’s decided he has to have her…whatever that takes!
The Tycoon’s Mistress
Sara Craven
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
CRESSIDA FIELDING turned her Fiat between the two stone pillars and drummed it up the long, curving drive to the house.
She brought the car to a halt on the wide gravel sweep outside the main entrance and sat for a moment, her hands still tensely gripping the steering wheel, staring up at the house.
The journey from the hospital had seemed endless, through all the narrow, winding lanes with the glare of the evening sun in her eyes, but she’d have gladly faced it again rather than the situation that now awaited her.
Her mind was still full of the image of her father in the intensive care unit, his skin grey under the bright lights and his bulky body strangely shrunken.
Lips tightening, Cressida shook herself mentally. She was not going to think like that. Her father’s heart attack had been severe, but he was now making good progress. And when his condition was sufficiently stable, the surgeons would operate. And he would be fine again—in health at least.
And if it was up to her to ensure that he had a life to come back to, then—so be it.
With a sudden lift of the heart, she noticed her uncle’s Range Rover was parked by the rhododendrons. At least she wasn’t going to be alone.
As she went up the short flight of steps the front door opened to reveal the anxious figure of the housekeeper.
‘Oh, Miss Cressy.’ The older woman’s relief was obvious. ‘You’re here at last.’
‘Yes, Berry, dear.’ Cressida put a comforting hand on Mrs Berryman’s arm. ‘I’m back.’ She paused in the hall, looking round at the closed doors. She drew a deep breath. ‘Is Sir Robert in the drawing room?’
‘Yes, Miss Cressy. And Lady Kenny’s with him. A tower of strength he’s been. I don’t know what I’d have done without them.’ She paused. ‘Can I bring you anything?’
‘Some coffee, perhaps—and a few sandwiches, please. I couldn’t eat on the plane.’
She watched Berry hurry away, then, with a sigh, walked across the hall. For a moment she halted, staring at herself in the big mirror which hung above the pretty crescent-shaped antique table.
She was a cool lady. Her boss said it with admiration, her friends with rueful smiles, and would-be lovers with exasperation bordering on hostility.
It was a persona she’d carefully and deliberately constructed. That she believed in.
But tonight there were cracks in the façade. Shadows of strain under the long-lashed grey-green eyes. Lines of tension tautening the self-contained mouth and emphasising the classic cheekbones.
It was the first time she’d had the chance to take a good look at herself, and the emotional roller-coaster of the past few weeks had left its mark.
Her clothes were creased from travel, and her pale blonde hair seemed to be sticking to her scalp, she thought, grimacing as she ran her fingers through it. She stopped for one deep, calming breath, then went into the drawing room.
She halted for a moment, assimilating with shock the over-stuffed sofas, with their heavy brocade covers, and matching drapes, which managed to be expensive and charmless at the same time—all new since her last visit.
The lovely old Persian rugs had been replaced by a white fitted carpet, and there were gilt and crystal chandeliers instead of the graceful lamps she remembered, and mirrors everywhere.
It all looked like a stage setting, which had probably been exactly the intention, with Eloise playing the leading part—the nearest she’d ever come to it in her entire career. Only she’d quit before the end of the run…
Sir Robert, perched uneasily on the edge of a chair amid all this splendour, sprang to his feet with open relief when he saw Cressida.
‘My dear child. This is a bad business.’ He hugged her awkwardly. ‘I still can’t believe it.’
‘Nor can I.’ Cressida shook her head as she bent to kiss her aunt. ‘Has there been any word from Eloise?’
‘None,’ Sir Robert said shortly. ‘And we shouldn’t expect any. She practically ransacked the house before she left.’ He frowned. ‘Berry says she’s taken all your mother’s jewellery, my dear.’
‘Dad gave it to her when they were married,’ Cressida reminded him evenly. ‘She was entitled. And as least we’re rid of her.’
‘But at a terrible price.’ Sir Robert pursed his
