Undecided Bride

By Rebecca Ambrose

When Paula takes on the job of research assistant for famous novelist Andrew Carr, she hopes to make a smooth return to work after caring for her mother, Jill, who was injured in a road accident. Jill is a fan of his books, and soon Paula also comes under his spell, but Andrew can be difficult to deal with and as Paula discovers more about his past she thinks she understands why. Increasingly drawn to the wealthy, yet lonely, author Paula realises that he is also attracted to her, but she cannot bring herself to believe in the possibility of love between them. Even a research trip to her beloved Florence only complicates matters when Andrew thinks Paula has betrayed him. But even if she regains his love, can Paula forget her guilty past and find happiness? This is a Rebecca Ambrose sweet romance. It contains some sex scenes, but not prolonged or very explicit in nature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Ambrose
• Release date: Jan 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310090233

Rebecca Ambrose

Rebecca Ambrose is a prolific British author of hot romance and erotica. She also writes as Vivienne Lafay, Vanessa Davies, Nadine Wilder and Rosanna Challis.

Book preview

UNDECIDED BRIDE

by

Rebecca Ambrose

Copyright©Rebecca Ambrose 2013

Chapter One

'You know who that is, don't you?'

Paula shook her head at Sarah Williams, who had seen her reading an advert on the notice board. The busybody postmistress couldn't resist calling out from behind the wire barrier.

'That's Andrew Carr, the novelist. He wants a research assistant. Bet he's offering good money, too – that man's loaded! And whoever works for him would get to see his house. Lucky them! You'd think he'd open it up occasionally, wouldn't you, maybe for charity . . . '

Paula ignored the woman's chatter as she wrote the phone number down on a scrap of paper. Should she apply? It would all depend on her mother, of course. But the advert did say 'flexible hours' and that could be the perfect solution.

As she hurried home to Rose Cottage, Paula felt her heart racing with excitement – and not a little fear. Andrew Carr! Her mother would be pretty excited too. Only a few weeks ago Paula had fetched one of his best-selling historical thrillers from the travelling library, and her mother had devoured it almost at a sitting. They knew he lived somewhere nearby but, not being on the village gossip circuit, they had heard nothing more about him.

Jill Brooks was waiting in the kitchen, with the kettle on. They'd had the house completely adapted to her needs, so she could use the washing machine, cooker and dishwasher just as well as Paula.

'There you are dear, I was getting worried,' Jill said, as Paula appeared. 'Did you get my chocolate biscuits?'

'Yes, Mum. And the cheese, and the rest.' Paula put the bag down on the table. 'While I was in the post office I found out something interesting.'

'Really?' Jill's eyes lit up. 'Some bit of gossip?'

Paula frowned. 'Not exactly. It was on the notice board for everyone to see.' She began to make the tea while her mother wheeled herself over to the table and opened the packet of biscuits.

'Come on then, spill the beans!' Jill said, eagerly.

Paula made her wait until she had poured the tea, then explained about the job advertisement. Immediately, Jill's faded blue eyes grew bright with interest.

'Andrew Carr! How marvellous! You could actually be working for Andrew Carr? I can hardly believe it.'

'Now Mum, I haven't even made the phone call yet. I wanted to talk it over with you first.'

'What is there to discuss? Go for it, girl! You may never have a chance like this again.'

'But how will you manage, on your own?'

'Good heavens, of course I'll manage. I absolutely insist you apply for that job. You've been out of work far too long. There's no way you should waste your life sitting around at home with me.'

Paula put her hand over Jill's, on the table. 'It's not a waste, Mum. But if I do get the job it will mean more money for us both. We might even be able to afford a holiday this year. I know you could do with one.'

'You're the one that needs a holiday – from me! Give the man a call, right now. You don't know how long that card's been up, and you don't want someone else to beat you to it!'

When Paula had drunk her tea she went to use the home phone. The ring tone went on for quite a few seconds and Paula was afraid she would get an answer phone, but then a man's deep voice said, 'Carr speaking.'

Somehow she had not expected the great man himself. Her voice trembled as she spoke. 'Er . . . I'm calling about the card in the post office. About the job . . . '

Paula held her breath, waiting for him to say it had already gone. Instead, he asked, 'Got any experience of research work? I need someone who knows what they're doing.'

'Well . . . I am a qualified librarian, and . . . '

But he wouldn't let her finish, butting in with, 'Not the one who goes round in that ghastly van, I hope?'

'Oh . . . no! I used to work in a university. I've done plenty of research work on behalf of the lecturers and students, and . . . '

'Internet?'

'Yes, I'm fine with that too.'

'Sounds like you'll do. Can you start tomorrow morning, nine thirty?'

Paula was taken aback. She stuttered, 'B . . . but don't you want to meet me first? And what about references?'

'You don't sound the sort to steal the silver.' She could imagine his lip curling as he said that. What a strange man! This was the oddest 'job interview' she had ever had.

'Well?' he persisted. 'Do you want to work for me or not?'

He must be desperate, she thought. But so, in a way was she. Eighteen months was a long time to be out of work, and it looked like this job had fallen into her lap.

'You did say flexible hours in the advert,' she pointed out.

'Half nine too early for you?'

'No, it's not that. But I have an invalid mother, and I'd like to fit my hours around her needs, if possible.'

'No problem. So long as you get the work done. Might be possible for you to work at home sometimes, send me stuff by email. That suit you?'

Paula was delighted. 'Yes, of course! How many hours a week would I have to work?'

'I pay by the hour. We'll come to some arrangement. Some weeks I might want a lot of work, other weeks hardly any. It all depends on my writing schedule. I presume you know I'm a writer?'

The irony in his tone was not lost on her. There could be few people in the country who had not heard of Andrew Carr, and seen his books being promoted in shop window displays. One of them had even been serialised on television.

'Of course, and I'd be honoured to work for you, Mr Carr.'

'Spare me the sycophancy. You'll soon find out I have feet of clay. And call me Andrew. What's your name, by the way?'

'Paula Brooks.'

'I'll expect you tomorrow then, any time before ten. Let's say this is a month's trial, either way. If you get up my nose, or vice-versa, we'll call it a day after that. Fair do's?'

'Yes, that seems fair.'

'Until tomorrow then, Paula.'

Starting to put the phone down, Paula realised she did not know his address. When Andrew told her, she realised that she had often driven past the tall wrought iron gates and along the brick wall, wondering who owned the estate. She would never have guessed it was a famous writer like Andrew Carr.

Jill was thrilled to know her daughter had got the job.

'You should wear your nice blue linen outfit,' she told her. 'Must make a good impression on your first day, dear.'

'Oh Mum, I really don't think Mr Carr – Andrew – will give a damn what I look like. He didn't even ask how old I was, or question me much about my experience. I got the feeling that he's desperate for a research assistant and will take almost anyone.'

As she said that, it crossed her mind that his previous assistant might have left in a hurry. What was that he'd said about him 'getting up her nose?'

'Don't put yourself down though, darling, and make sure he pays you properly,' her mother cautioned. 'You're very well qualified, experienced and conscientious. He's very lucky that you happen to be living in the area.'

'Have you still got his book out of the library?' Paula asked. 'I can't recall whether I returned the last one.'

'Yes, it's upstairs, by my bed – ‘At the Queen’s Pleasure’. It’s an Elizabethan murder mystery, set in the tower of London. But there's a lovely romance running through it too. The man can certainly write.'

'I think I'll take a look at it.' Paula smiled. 'Maybe I'll get some insight into my new boss!'

That evening, after picking up the book with its lurid cover, she turned straight to the photo of Andrew on the end flap. It showed a man with intelligent, thoughtful brown eyes and a strong bone structure, the severity of his expression contrasting with the rather sensual mouth and luxuriant dark brown curly hair, that looked hard to tame.

The biographical details were brief. Born in Oxford, in the 1970s, to academic parents who encouraged his love of history. Graduated from Oxford then had various careers – in law and banking – before discovering he had a talent for writing. His books sold in their millions almost from the start.

Paula flipped to a page at random and was startled to find it was quite a passionate love scene between an English lady-in-waiting and a French ambassador. She soon became absorbed and did not stop reading until she heard her mother call out that she was going to bed.

'I wouldn't stay up too late yourself, Paula,' she said, wheeling her chair into the hall. 'First day in a new job, you want to be fresh.'

'Do you want a hand with the stair lift?' Paula asked from the sitting room, snapping the book shut.

'I'm sure I can manage, dear. I'll shout if I need help.'

Just lately, Jill had been trying to become more independent of her daughter. She had found a way to heave herself out of her wheelchair and into the stair lift. Once upstairs, she could swing herself around with the aid of crutches, but it left her very breathless and Paula wished she would let her help. She hated seeing her mother so immobilised.

Never a day went by that Paula did not long to turn the clock back . . .

If only she had driven more carefully on that icy road! Before the accident Jill Brooks had been an active, lively, fifty-something, with a job she enjoyed and a good social life. Then, in one fatal swerve on a slippery bend, all that had come to an end.

Riddled with guilt, Paula had given up the job she loved to look after her mother in her country cottage. At first every day had been a challenge, as she tried – with the help of doctors, physiotherapists and social workers – to enable Jill to lead as normal a life as possible in her own home. She had made great progress but Paula knew that, for the rest of her mother's life, she would have to be there for her.

They had talked of Paula finding some local job, that would help with the finances and get her out of the house for a few hours each day, but neither of them had dreamed that the perfect opening would turn up on their doorstep. Paula couldn't believe her luck. Whatever Andrew Carr turned out to be like, she was determined to hold down this job and make the most of this golden opportunity to return to the kind of work she loved.

Yet as she drove along the country lane next morning at nine-twenty, Paula felt as nervous as a new girl at a big school. What if she didn't get on with Andrew Carr?

She reminded herself that a few of her previous colleagues had been oddball types, but she had managed to get along with them pretty well. The difference was that in the busy university library there had been plenty of other people around, but now it would be just him and her, boss and employee. Already Andrew had raised doubts in her mind, by offering her a month's trial. Well, at least she had that get-out clause if she really couldn't stand the man. She could stick anything for a month.

The black metal gates had an intercom to one side. Paula got out of the car and spoke into it. Soon Andrew's now familiar voice said, 'Come up the drive, Paula. I'll be at the door.'

The tall gates swung open and she drove slowly through them, following the tarmac road. There was park land all around, with some clumps of trees, and soon the house appeared on a slight incline, surrounded by lawns. It was a solid Georgian dwelling, with a portico supported by twin columns.

As Paula drove up she could see a tall figure standing at the top of the steps, looking every inch the Lord of the Manor. She fancifully thought he resembled one of the characters from his own historical novels: a Byronic figure, perhaps, charismatic and talented, but with a fatal self-destructive streak.

'Park anywhere!' he called, waving his arm over the gravel in front of the house.

By the time she had parked the car, however, Andrew was no where to be seen. She climbed nervously up the steps and entered through the imposing doorway. He was standing inside, awaiting her with an air of impatience.

The spacious hall was dimly lit but Paula could still recognise him from his book jacket photo, except that his eyes seemed rather more piercing, and less pensive, in real life. His light tan looked natural with his dark colouring. He was dressed casually, in forest green cords and a charcoal polo neck that looked soft enough for cashmere. Paula felt a shiver of excitement at being in the presence of such a celebrated writer.

He held out his hand with a tight smile. 'Good to meet you.'

Andrew Carr's grip was firm as he enclosed her small, cool hand with his large, warm one. Paula was thrilled to think that the hand she was shaking had written so many best selling books. But the greeting lasted barely a second, then he ushered her into a large room on the left.

It was obviously a library. Shelves groaning under the weight of leather-bound books reached almost to the ceiling, the top shelves accessed with library steps. There were some busts and statues, a few paintings, and a huge window which broke the view of the garden up into little squares. The thick red carpet, round oak table and chairs, gave the room a more homely appeal, and Paula was surprised to see a tasteful flower arrangement in one corner.

'This is the original library of the house,' he explained. 'I've had a small room off here converted into an office, with computer, printer and so on. There's a toilet opposite. My work room is beyond. You'll report for duty there each morning.'

'Yes, sir!' She almost saluted and stood to attention, in response to his military manner.

To her surprise he gave a hearty laugh, his brown eyes twinkling at her. 'It's Andrew, remember? No need to be formal. Want some coffee?'

Soon they were sitting in his light, airy study where the books were mostly reference ones that Paula instantly recognised from their spines. A computer work station was tucked away in an alcove, as if it did not deserve more prominence in the room, but Paula guessed that was where he did all his writing. The rest of the room was a comfortable lounge, with arm chairs and a coffee maker.

Andrew watched her sip from the cup he had given her. 'Coffee all right for you? I like it strong myself.'

'It's fine, thanks.'

He turned his formidable gaze on her, and she felt a shiver go through her. 'Don't just say what you think I want to hear. I can always water it down, or give you more cream.'

'No really, it's fine. I got used to strong coffee when I worked at the university.'

'What made you leave?'

His eyes were boring into her still, and his tone was suspicious, as if he thought she might have left under a cloud. It put her on edge.

'I had to look after my mother. She's disabled.'

'Yes, you mentioned on the phone. Always was the fate of the spinster daughter. But not all of us can choose our path in life, can we?'

Paula could scarcely believe her ears. Talk about getting up her nose! How dare he assume that she was some kind of sex-starved virgin, simply because she had become her mother's part-time carer! She began to doubt whether she could last a day in this insufferable man's company, let alone a month.

'I've chosen to take this job,' she reminded him, icily, 'because I thought it might be work I would enjoy.' Then she recalled something that had been puzzling her. 'But I did wonder why you chose to advertise it in the local post office, with Oxford University so nearby.'

'Pah!' he exploded, his expression disdainful. 'I had a couple of researchers from there before. Stuck-up academics, who thought they were the bee's knees! They were only doing it for the money. In the eyes of such people, a best-selling popular author can only produce trash.'

'Well I don't think so at all!' Paula exclaimed , remembering how much she had enjoyed reading his novel - and how addicted to his books her mother was. 'I will definitely take this work seriously.'

'Good. I thought if I advertised in a low-key way I might get someone like a retired professor's wife with an interest in history. You're much younger