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Video Audio icon An illustration of an audio speaker. When you buy books using these links the Internet Archive may earn a small commission. Open Library is a project of the Internet Archive , a c 3 non-profit. See more about this book on Archive. Leon Aristides believes in money, power and family, so when he learns that his sister has died, leaving a son, he acts quickly and ruthlessly.
He tracks down the woman who has guardianship of his nephew and insists she marries him. Helen knows that Leon wants nothing more than a marriage of convenience, and he has made it clear that he believes her to be a money-hungry, experienced woman of the world - until their wedding night reveals otherwise.
But Helen want more than an incredible lover - she wants a loving husband. Previews available in: English. Add another edition? Leon Aristides, 39, believes in money, power and family. So when his sister dies, leaving a son, he acts quickly and ruthlessly. He finds the woman who has guardianship of his nephew and insists she marry him! Helen, 26, knows that Leon believes her to be a money-hungry, experienced woman of the world-until their wedding night reveals otherwise!
But Helen wants more than an incredible lover Copy and paste this code into your Wikipedia page. Aristides convenient wif.. Aristide's Convenient Wife, page 1.
Try our free service - convert any of your text to speech! More than 10 english voices! So when his sister dies, leaving a son, he acts quickly and ruthlessly. He finds the woman who has guardianship of his nephew and insists she marry him!
Helen knows that Leon believes her to be a money-hungry, experienced woman of the world--until their wedding night reveals otherwise! But Helen wants more than an incredible lover…she wants a loving husband! But the letter he had received at his office in Athens yesterday morning from a Mr Smyth, a partner in a firm of London solicitors, and the information enclosed within had totally stunned him.
Apparently the man had read an article in theFinancial Times, mentioning the dip in the price of Aristides International shares, where Leonidas Aristides had explained it was an understandable market reaction to the tragic accident that had claimed the lives of his sister and his father, the chairman of the company, but the price would quickly recover. The said Mr Smyth had informed him Delia Aristides was a client of his and he wanted confirmation of her death as his firm held a will made by the lady and he was the executor.
The Aristides name occasionally appeared in financial journals, but rarely if ever in the popular press. Their privacy was so closely guarded that the general public barely knew they existed. He had arranged to call him back later. There were the jewels their mother had left her, as he had expected. But there was also a copy of a will drawn up two years ago by the same Mr Smyth of London and officially signed and witnessed.
The information the new will contained so outraged Leon his initial reaction had been to tear the document into a million pieces. But only for an instant before his iron-cool control had reasserted itself and he had called one of his lawyers. The resultant conversation had made him think long and hard. At the crack of dawn this morning he had boarded his private jet heading for London. A sombre interview with the lawyer had confirmed the shocking news. Mr Smyth was an honest man but no fool, a banking company like Aristides International was not one to upset unnecessarily.
Leon manoeuvred the rental car into the short drive. In the ordinary course of events he usually travelled by a chauffeured limousine, but in this case absolute secrecy was required until he had assessed the situation. He stopped the car and glanced up at the house. Nestling in the Cotswold hills, it was a double fronted detached stone built house, surprisingly set in the corner of the walled grounds of a luxury hotel.
Which was why he had driven past the entrance drive to the Fox Tower Hotel and around the whole damn estate three times without connecting the entrance to the hotel with the home of Miss Heywood: The Farrow House, Foxcovet Lane. So much for satellite navigation systems.
Finally, in frustration he had entered the hotel and booked a room for the night; it looked as if he was going to need one if he did not find the elusive Miss Heywood soon. Then with a few casual questions he had discovered where the house was and why it had taken him so damn long to find it. A light shone from a downstairs window, hardly surprising given the gloominess of the day, and hopefully an indication Helen Heywood was at home. He had considered ringing her, but he did not want to warn her.
The element of surprise was the best weapon in any battle, and this was a conflict he was determined to win. A predatory gleam lightened his dark eyes as he opened the car door and stepped out onto the gravelled drive slamming the door behind him.
Unless she had already received the letter from Mr Smyth, which was highly unlikely if the British postal service was anything like the Greek, the lady was in for one hell of a shock.
Squaring his broad shoulders, he approached the front door with decisive steps and rang the bell. No signal again. Helen slowly replaced the telephone on the hall table, a frown pleating her smooth brow. Her best friend Delia Aristides led a hectic lifestyle but she usually called every week and visited at least once a month.
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