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About the Author
CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills and Boon. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’
THE SCANDALOUS ST CLAIRES
Three arrogant aristocrats—ready to marry!
Don’t miss any of Carole Mortimer’s
fabulous trilogy:
January—
JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS
February—LUCAN ST CLAIRE
March—GIDEON ST CLAIRE
And read where it all began—with The Notorious St Claires, in Regency England!
Only in Mills & Boon® Historical Romance,
out next month
LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE
JORDAN ST CLAIRE:
DARK AND
DANGEROUS
CAROLE MORTIMER
MILLS & BOON
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PROLOGUE
‘I THINK I should warn you, Miss McKinley—at the moment my brother is behaving like an arrogant lout!’
Must run in the family, Stephanie thought wryly as she looked across at Lucan St Claire, who was sitting behind his desk in the London office of the St Claire Corporation. Tall, dark, and aristocratically handsome, with a remoteness that bordered on cold, he wasn’t loutish at all—but this man had to be the epitome of arrogant!
The fact that he showed absolutely no interest in her as a woman might have something to do with Stephanie’s unkind thoughts—but, hey, a girl could dream of being hotly pursued by a mega-rich, tall, dark and handsome man, couldn’t she? That Lucan St Claire had more money than some small countries, and reportedly only dated leggy blondes—as opposed to women like Stephanie, with her average height and flame-red hair—probably had something to do with his lack of interest. Also, if that weren’t enough strikes against her, she was merely the self-employed physiotherapist this man intended hiring—she hoped—to aid his younger brother’s recuperation.
She steadily returned the piercing darkness of his gaze. ‘Most people in pain tend to become … a little aggressive in their behaviour, Mr St Claire.’
The sculptured lips curved in a humourless smile. ‘I believe you will find that Jordan’s a lot aggressive.’
Stephanie mentally sifted through the relevant facts she already had on the man who was to be her next patient. On a personal level, she knew Jordan St Claire was thirty-four, and the youngest of three brothers. Medically, she knew Jordan had been involved in some sort of accident six months ago, resulting in his having broken almost every bone down the right side of his body. Numerous operations later, his mobility still impaired, the man had apparently retreated from the world by moving to a house in the English countryside, no doubt with the intention of licking his wounds in private.
So far Stephanie found nothing unusual about his behaviour. ‘I’m sure that it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with in other patients, Mr St Claire,’ she said confidently.
Lucan St Claire leant his elbows on the leather-topped desk to look at her above steepled fingers. ‘What I’m trying to explain is that Jordan may be … less than enthusiastic, shall we say? … even at the mere thought of having yet another physiotherapist working with him.’
As Stephanie had never thought of herself as ‘yet another physiotherapist’, she found the remark less than flattering. She was proud of the success she had made of her private practice these past three years. A success that had resulted in almost all her clients coming as referrals from doctors or other satisfied ex-patients.
From what Stephanie had read in the medical file that now sat on top of Lucan St Claire’s desk—a confidential file that she was sure he shouldn’t even have had access to, let alone a copy of—the surgeons had done their work, and now it was up to Jordan St Claire to do the rest. Something he obviously seemed less than inclined to do …
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the aristocratically haughty face opposite her own. ‘What is it you aren’t telling me, Mr St Claire?’ she finally prompted slowly.
He gave a brief appreciative smile. ‘I can see that your professional reputation for straight talking is well earned.’
Stephanie was well aware that her brisk manner, along with her no-nonsense appearance—her long red hair was secured in a thick braid down her spine, and there was only a light brush of mascara on the long dark lashes that surrounded cool green eyes—invariably gave the impression she was less than emotionally engaged. It wasn’t true, of course, but inwardly empathising with her patients was one thing, and allowing them to see that empathy something else entirely.
As for her professional reputation.
Thank goodness Lucan St Claire didn’t give any indication that he had heard any of the rumours concerning Rosalind Newman’s recent accusation—that Stephanie had been involved in an affair with her husband Richard whilst acting as his physiotherapist. If he had, then she doubted he would even be thinking of engaging her.
‘I’ve never seen any point in being less than truthful.’ She shrugged. ‘Especially when it involves my patients.’
Lucan nodded in agreement. ‘Jordan wouldn’t accept anything less.’ He sat back in his black leather chair.
‘And …?’ Stephanie pierced him with shrewd green eyes. If she was going to work with this man’s brother then she needed to know everything there was to know about him—and not just his medical background.
He gave a heavy sigh. ‘And Jordan has absolutely no idea about my intention of engaging you.’
Stephanie had already had a suspicion that might be the case. It made her job more difficult, of course, if the patient was hostile towards her before she had even begun working with him, but she had worked with difficult patients before. In fact most of Stephanie’s patients were difficult; her reputation for being able to deal with ‘uncooperative’ patients was the reason there had been no shortage of work since she had opened her small clinic.
‘Can I take it from that remark it’s your intention to present him with a fait accompli?’
He grimaced. ‘Either way, he’s as likely to tell you to go away—impolitely—as