Jake Howard's Wife

Jake Howard's Wife
Anne Mather

Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.They make the perfect couple! Jake is attractive, rich and successful. Helen is beautiful and intelligent. Together they make perfect sense. So why is there trouble in paradise?! Jake is about to find out there’s more to his trophy wife than he first expected. And Helen will discover the real man behind the wealth… As an unexpected heat flares between them, this marriage could prove to be pure heaven – or absolute hell!

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Jake Howard’s Wife

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover (#u06d4e14a-08cb-5153-ab6b-fdccdbe044c5)

About the Author (#u5b8cc91d-aa37-55a6-bc0b-d88f85e26670)

Title Page (#u1451a68a-ef8d-55b5-bb77-7b524f6519d4)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_56fadb85-649d-599c-8341-cc3d108a8b58)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b3eacd5d-2793-5e7c-ac32-c37bc6e06674)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1817fedf-87d4-556a-b295-6699169b94d6)

THE inter-city express was nearing King's Cross. It was running between the high tenement buildings that did not endear this section of the city to its planners. More contemporary were the soaring skyscrapers, as ugly in their way as the tenements; slabs of concrete and glass, stark and impersonal. At least the tenements had lines of grimy washing outside to advertise human habitation. The skyscraper flats could have been some kind of monolithic temples to the gods.

Jake Howard glanced up from the papers strewn on the table in front of him and registered his whereabouts with a faint flicker of surprise. London; only two and a half hours after leaving York. How easy it was to get about these days! He could have flown down, of course, but he enjoyed the train journey. It reminded him of his youth, of his first impressions of the big city, of the young, inexperienced fool he had been then.

A steward tapped on the window of his private compartment and with an imperative gesture Jake indicated that the man could enter.

‘Only five minutes to King's Cross, Mr Howard,’ he said, politely, deferentially. ‘Is there anything else you need, sir? Another drink, perhaps?'

Jake shook his head, and sliding his hand into his trousers’ pocket drew out a five-pound note. ‘Nothing else, thank you,’ he replied, handing the man the note. ‘But you can arrange for the luggage to be taken to my car when we arrive.'

‘Of course, sir. Thank you, sir. I hope you've had a pleasant journey.'

Jake's grey eyes narrowed ironically. ‘Reasonably so, thank you,’ he drawled.

The steward smiled politely and withdrew. After he had gone Jake began to thrust his scattered papers back into his briefcase. During the course of the journey he had been able to complete his assessment of the Havilland deal and he felt confident that there would be no hitches there. Havilland Chemicals would soon be part of the Howard Foundation, and that pleased him enormously. Of course, he would need to discuss the details with Sinclair in the morning, but that was merely a formality.

He finished putting his papers away, and taking out a case of cigars put one between his teeth. He lit it casually, resting his dark head against the soft upholstery. Outside the train's slightly misted windows the lights of the town glimmered brightly. It was after seven and it was too late in the year to expect the light to last much longer. It was cold, too. He had felt it as he waited for the train on the station at York; the sharp biting blast of an east wind accentuating the already cold October weather. After the heat of the west coast of the United States it was doubly chilling.

He smiled to himself. What a way to return to London from California; via Glasgow, and York railway station! But it was his usual practice. He always spent his first night back in England with his mother, and as she lived in Selby, in Yorkshire, he invariably flew into Prestwick and travelled south from there.

His thoughts moved on, over the irritating moments of changing from train to his chauffeur-driven limousine, to his eventual arrival at his own home, his house in an elegant square in Belgravia. And to Helen, his wife…

His lips twisted as he thought of Helen. By now she would have received the flowers he had despatched from Glasgow, and would no doubt be ready and waiting to greet him. He drew deeply on his cigar recalling the exquisite appointments of his house, anticipating with the pleasure of possession an evening spent in his wife's company, when he would regale her with the details of his trip.

And she would listen. Helen always listened, he thought disparagingly, and felt again the amazement he had felt three years ago when she had accepted his proposal and agreed to become his wife.

Then, of course, he had despised her. All his life he had had to strive to make his successful way in life. Born the son of a Yorkshire weaver, he had had to work hard to achieve any kind of position, spending all his days and nights, too, furthering his education, dragging himself up by his finger nails towards his goal. He would have gone to any lengths to succeed. He had a ready charm, and was quite prepared to use it to get what he wanted. He flattered and was pleasant to people he secretly found contemptible, he charmed people, men and women alike, and his innate intelligence was sufficient to guarantee him not to put a foot wrong. Unlike his father he was not interested in the mill; he was interested in chemicals. From an early age, he had found the study of substances and how they were formed fascinating, and a degree at Leeds University paved the way for greater things. He had the good fortune to get a job as laboratory assistant in a small chemical works near Selby, and although at the time his friends and relations thought he was a fool for confining his talents to such a small laboratory when he could have got a job with one of the larger concerns, Jake was already thinking ahead. By making himself indispensable to Mr Quarton, the works’ managing director, and charming to Quarton's wife, it became a natural process for Quarton to take him on as a director of the firm. It was a short step from there to the chairman's position, and Jake was nothing if not persistent.

Now he tapped ash into the fitted tray and moved his shoulders wryly. He supposed he ought to feel some shame, some remorse at the way he had systematically gained control of Quartons and in so doing laid himself open for bigger bids. When the offer came he had no compunction about destroying the smaller firm in order to get a seat on the board of a larger company.

After that, it became easy, and in some ways less satisfying. He had been used to using his brain to its ultimate ability and even today, with his own foundation and more than a million pounds in stocks and shares, he refused to delegate duty.

Three years ago, when he met Helen, he had been on the lookout for a wife, a suitable wife, of course. There had been plenty of women on his rise to the top; office girls and models, the wives of some of his colleagues, all of whom had shown themselves more than willing to make themselves indispensable to him.

But in spite of the quantity, it was quality Jake was looking for. As in all things, only the best would do. And that was when he met Helen Forsythe.

He had known her father some years before, Gerard Forsythe, and had considered him a pleasant, if somewhat dilatory, member of the London social set. Gerard's father had been Sir Edwin Forsythe, Bart., of Mallins, near Aylesbury, but unfortunately Gerard had been the younger son and in consequence his brother had inherited the title. But for all that Gerard Forsythe had exactly the kind of background Jake would have chosen had he had the chance. That Gerard had squandered the money his father left him meant little to Jake. In Gerard's position he knew he could have made the money work for him, but just because Gerard hadn't didn't alter his social position.

However, when Gerard died, in a motor accident after a particularly bad evening at the card tables, Helen was left almost penniless at only twenty-three years of age.

She could have got a job, of course, Jake realised that, but up until the time of her father's accident and the subsequent scandal it engendered, she had been practically engaged to Keith Mannering, son of the barrister, Geoffrey Mannering, and had spent her time enjoying herself. There had been skiing at St Moritz, and the Bahamas in late autumn, and the usual London social season to fill her days, and the idea of any other kind of life had not crossed her mind. But when her father was killed and Keith became rather elusive she was left high and dry, with only a small private income, inherited from her maternal grandmother, to live on. She had been well educated, had spent two years at a finishing school in Switzerland, and could speak several languages fluently. But apart from organising dinner parties and entertaining her father's guests she had never had to work in her life.