Cara Colter - His to Command - the Nanny - A Nanny for Keeps

‘Shall I take that?’

She looked down at the ice-pack, which was beginning to melt into her lap. ‘None of this is necessary,’ she protested. ‘I should be—’

‘What?’

Looking for her phone. Chasing Vickie to find out what was happening. But then, as Harry had pointed out, Maisie was happy enough. This was what she’d wanted. So why was she getting her knickers in a twist, instead of doing as she was told, lying back and letting everything work itself out?

‘Nothing,’ she said.

‘Right answer.’

And this time the crease at the corner of his mouth was deep enough to qualify as a smile. Lopsided maybe. A trifle wry, even. But a heart-stopping improvement on the alternative.

She could live with ‘wry’.

‘Now all you have to do is put your feet up and I’ll go and get some aspirin.’

And to prevent any further argument, he bent, picked her feet up in one hand, pulled off her shoes and placed them on the sofa.

WHEN Harry returned a couple of minutes later with aspirin and a blanket, Jacqui was asleep. He watched her for a while. Her colour had returned and her breathing was good, but there were dark smudges beneath her eyes that had nothing to do with the crack on the head.

He’d noticed them last night when she’d come down—minus the make-up she’d used to conceal them—to make herself a drink. Jacqui Moore, he suspected, hadn’t been sleeping properly for some time. Something he knew all about.

No doubt there was a man at the bottom of it. Why else would she be going on holiday on her own?

He left the painkillers on the sofa table and, as gently as he could, covered her with the blanket.

‘How is she?’

He turned as Susan came in with tea.

‘She’s dropped off. Best thing for her.’

‘She shouldn’t be left. My sister’s boy fell out of a tree—’

‘Yes, thank you, Susan. I’ll stay and keep an eye on her. Just leave the tray.’

‘Right. Well, I’m off upstairs to do the bedrooms if you want me.’

‘Take Maisie with you. I don’t want her coming in here disturbing Jacqui.’

Susan made a sound that only women beyond a certain age could manage. She ‘humphed’. It said more clearly than words that she knew exactly what he didn’t want. Maisie disturbing him . Then she said, ‘She should be at school, playing with children her own age.’

‘Save the lecture for Sally when she turns up.’

‘I won’t hold my breath.’ Then, ‘I’m sure Mrs Jackson, the head teacher, would be happy to take her until the end of term.’

‘No doubt, but she’s not staying.’ He gave the final three words equal weight, hoping that someone would finally get the message.

‘If you say so.’ She put down the tray. ‘Well, I can’t stand about here gossiping. If you need anything you know where I am.’

‘Will you keep an eye out for Jacqui’s cellphone? It wasn’t in the office so she must have dropped it upstairs somewhere.’

‘I’ll do that.’

As she turned to leave they both saw Maisie, half-hidden by the open door, apparently afraid to venture closer.

‘Is she dead?’ she whispered. ‘Did I kill her?’

‘You?’ Susan exclaimed. ‘Why on earth would you think something—?’

He crossed swiftly to the door, bundling them both out. ‘She bumped her head on the desk, Maisie. It had nothing to do with you,’ he said, putting a stop to the discussion.

‘But she was looking—’

‘She’ll be fine. She just needs peace and quiet for an hour, that’s all. Go along with Susan, now.’

‘I’d rather go to school.’

Thank you, Susan ′

‘Can I? In the village? Now? Pleeease…’

She was unusually twittery. He might even have said anxious…

‘I don’t think so. Maybe,’ he added, cruelly, ‘if your mother had packed something sensible for you to wear—’

‘Don’t blame her! It wasn’t her fault! I did it. I just wanted to look pretty so you’d like me!’

Then, as if horrified by what she had said, she turned and ran off.

Susan just looked at him. ‘You know, Mr Harry, it’s not my place to say so, but in my opinion that child needs a little order in her life.’

‘You’re right, Susan,’ he said. ‘It isn’t your place to say so.’

She sniffed, leaving him in no doubt what she was thinking, and went after Maisie.

The hound had taken advantage of Susan’s arrival to slip into the library and was lying as flat as possible in front of the fire, hoping not to be noticed.

He added another log and then turned to make sure Jacqui hadn’t been disturbed. She was curled up on her side, her cheek resting on her hands, a strand of silky hair slipping across her forehead.

He eased a finger beneath it, lifting it carefully out of her face. And that was when he noticed the silver chain about her wrist. Really noticed it.

He’d been aware of a bracelet sliding down her arm when she was holding the ice-pack.

What he saw now was the single charm, a silver heart. It was engraved with a message, tiny words that he knew were none of his business, but as he moved back the angle of the light changed and the words seemed to leap out at him—‘…forget and smile…’

He knew it from somewhere and he searched the shelves for a dictionary of quotations, finally found the couplet.

And he felt…something.

He’d shut out every emotion, every feeling for so long that he couldn’t say what it was. Only that it hurt. That if he didn’t blot it out the pain would become unbearable.

But then he’d recognised the danger the moment she’d jammed her foot in his door and refused to be shut out. He’d tried, but unlike most people, she seemed immune to his rudeness. It was almost, he thought, as if she understood what he was doing.

Ridiculous, of course. She didn’t know him or anything about him.

Yet she’d found a way into his house, into his life and he was afraid that she wouldn’t be content until she’d prised open the armour plating he’d donned to keep out the prurient, the intrusive, those seekers after the second-hand shiver of horror who’d demand every last detail if he weakened, let down the barrier…

Right now that seemed the least of his worries. The outside world he could keep at bay. It was what was locked up inside him that he couldn’t face.

Reeling away from the sofa, he took a biography from the shelves and settled into an armchair. Reading, watching. Watching…

Jacqui stirred. Winced as her forehead came in contact with the side of the sofa. Remembered. And risked opening her eyes.

The logs had burned down to a hot, almost translucent glow. The shaggy hound, who she was sure had no business in the library, was stretched out in blissful slumber in front of it. She gingerly felt for the damage to her scalp. It was tender, although the prophesied lump was barely noticeable, and, having decided that she’d survive, she eased herself carefully upright, taking care not to make any sudden moves. And that was when she saw that it was not just the dog who’d kept her company.

Harry Talbot was sitting in a high-backed armchair set to one side of the hearth. He’d been reading, but the book had fallen to the floor and he was fast asleep.

Most people—and she included herself in that ‘most’—looked slightly undefined in sleep; the curve of cheek and chin sagging a little as flesh succumbed to gravity. But there was no softness in Harry’s pared-to-the-bone features.

The difference was not in the letting go of muscle tone, but the absence of tension.

The strain had gone from his face and the change was such that she finally understood that it wasn’t her, or Maisie, he was battling to keep out with his rudeness. It was the entire world.