Finally concentrating on his words she looked at the sober man standing in front of her. She raised herself up and prepared to face anything he had in...store for her. Still she could not stop her eyes from wandering hungrily all over his body. ‘About what?’ ‘About us, of course.’ ‘Don’t tell me you want to talk about marriage again,’ she bit him off quickly. ‘It’s a ludicrous idea.’ ‘Is it? So why do you jump into bed with the boss then?’ ‘Definitely not to make you marry me.’ ‘Why not? You’re. Quite well done really, he hadn’t spotted a single error. She’d let the cat out of the bag when at the end of the story she’d written, ‘According to an accountant specialising in farming clients, a top practitioner like Mr Matthews intensely but prudently farming 3800 acres of prime Essex farmland would theoretically be hugely wealthy. Land holdings alone would place him in the multi-millionaire class.’ Well that was okay. Farmers liked to cry poor to fend off angry complaints about them. More

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