Rebecca Winters - The Nanny and the Millionaire - Promoted - Nanny to Wife / The Italian Tycoon and the Nanny / The Millionaire's Nanny Arrangement

‘So who did?’ he asked finally.

‘My father.’ Marissa started to retreat automatically, but found herself adding. ‘He taught Riley lots of things.’

‘He did well. Riley’s a great little guy.’

‘I think so.’

The enchanted indigo-blue night and the brilliance of the stars should have soothed her, but however hard she tried, she had to accept she was succumbing to this man’s black magic. And it was magic. Like so many others before her, she was falling for it.

‘You haven’t asked me anything about my teaching methods?’ she said. ‘Or told me if there’s any subject in particular you want me to work on with Georgy?’

There was a torched pause. ‘Best of all, Ms Devlin, I’d like you to work on her day-to-day behaviour although I have to say whatever system you have in place it’s having great results. You did allow me to see your excellent reference from the worthy Doctor Bell, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, my friend and my mentor. She did everything she could to make life easier. At school at least.’

‘What exactly was wrong with your home life?’

‘Nothing was really wrong. It was just that I was looking for love.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

His answer surprised her. Why? Because he appeared so utterly self-contained? ‘Forgive me if I’m out of line but your divorce must have been very painful. For you and for Georgy.’

He glanced down at her, his tone sardonic. ‘When you say you’re out of line, you are, Ms Devlin.’

‘But you can ask me anything you like?’

‘Now don’t sound miffed. That’s different, isn’t it?’

‘Sorry.’ She forced her breath to stay even. They were moving through an avenue of shrubs freighted with fragrant blossom, but it was darker here, more mysterious, the only light that pouring out of the starry sky.

‘I suppose the best way I could describe my divorce was, a tremendous relief, ‘ he said. ‘The truth, I believe, is always best.’

Was that another dig at her? ‘You’d fallen totally out of love?’ She couldn’t keep a little lick of reproof out of her voice.

‘I think we might start with your big love affair?’ he countered suavely. ‘Unless you prefer not to discuss it?’

‘Do you know I’ve never had a big love affair.’

‘That’s hard to believe,’ he said.

‘Riley is not my child.’

He stopped on the path, and turned her towards him. ‘So you say, but he plays your son to perfection.’

‘Is that so unusual in a little boy who …’

She knew she had a real problem talking about this, even to save herself and her reputation. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her brilliant father’s descent into the hell of alcoholism, plagued as she was by the feeling she might burst into tears. She couldn’t bring herself to speak about the misery of his wasted life; the brief, failed relationship with Riley’s runaway mother. She and Riley were having a bad enough time trying to cope with his death, both of them orphans of the storm.

‘Okay,’ he said gently, registering the tremble that shook her. ‘We’d better walk back.’

She could still feel the imprint of his warm hands on her shoulders, searing the silk. ‘I didn’t lie to you,’ she said after a moment.

‘Just tell me this.’ His voice was filled with real gravity. ‘Are you afraid of someone?’

For one crazy moment she nearly burst out: you! I’m afraid of you and your effect on me. This was a man who literally took her breath away.

To Holt her long pause appeared like a dead give-away.

She managed a low, tremulous, ‘No!’

‘You and Riley are quite safe on Wungalla.’

‘I know that. You’ve been very kind.’

‘And here I was thinking you hadn’t noticed.’ His tone was at its most mocking.

They were walking beneath the canopy of tall trees when suddenly, with a screech as loud as a klaxon, a large bird swooped from its dark green cover appearing to make a dive for them.

Immediately Holt swung up an arm, while with the other he pulled the cowering Marissa to his side where she buried her head. ‘Get! Go on, get!’ he shouted at the bird.

With another screech, the bird was gone, flapping its wings heavily as it flew across the garden.

‘My God, what was it, an eagle?’ Marissa felt safe enough to lift her face.

‘Don’t be silly!’ He laughed, adding insult to injury. ‘An eagle wouldn’t be nesting in those trees. A wedge tailed eagle has a wingspan of over seven feet. An eagle could have picked you up and carried you away to its desert eyrie.’

‘I only meant it was huge!’ she said, defending herself. She was leaning against him and he still had one arm around her.

Holt tried hard to collect his thoughts. They were flowing through him like a stream in flood. The only way he could fight back temptation was to stay perfectly still. He had never in his life met a woman he so wanted to pick up and carry off. For long moments she had been snuggling against him, hiding her silky head against his chest. He wasn’t starving for sex. He knew he could get it whether or not he proposed marriage—but he was starving for sex with the right woman. One that moved him, tore at his heart. One he had wanted on sight. The great irony was he had no option but to restrain all his wild impulses. She and the boy were under his protection.

He released her carelessly. ‘Sorry the bird spooked you, but I think it’s safe to walk you home.’

Some note in his voice created the illusion that was what he meant.

Home.

She didn’t know if she would ever find one but Wungalla was the next best thing.

BY THE end of a week Marissa had established a workable routine. It hadn’t been entirely plain sailing. Georgy still gave in to the odd moment when she had to get a good lusty shout out of her system, but there were no screams, no tantrums. Instead day by day she blossomed into a bright happy co-operative child.

‘It’s your gentle, understanding hand, Marissa, my dear,’ Catherine told her. ‘You must make lessons interesting, too. I always knew Georgy was highly intelligent, but no one could have called her an apt pupil. The last governess was at her wit’s end.’

To Marissa’s mind, Riley pointed out the probable answer. ‘I must be like one of those quiet little ponies trainers use to keep their thoroughbreds calm before the races.’ He gave his infectious laugh, causing Georgy, who was most interested in the theory, to join in.

‘Well, I know about that, but how do you?’ Marissa asked, constantly surprised by Riley’s fund of general knowledge.

Riley’s response was instant. ‘Daddy told me.’ For the first time he didn’t sound distressed when he mentioned their father. ‘He even took me to the country races once. We had a great time. Do they have country races here?’ He turned to Georgy with a look of happy expectancy.

‘We have better!’ she pronounced, jumping up from her desk and waving her arms expansively. ‘We have polo matches. Holt is a beaut player! My mother used to call him The Conqueror. I think that means he used to hit other players on the conk with his mallet, but he didn’t. Last year it was Wungalla’s turn to host the final. We had the Polo Ball in the Great Hall. I didn’t get to go on account of being small, but my aunties came. They’re really nice to me. Aunty Alex was Holt’s hostess seeing I don’t have a mum. She did a great job. Aunty Lois came, as well. She’s head over heels in love with Holt but he won’t commit.’

Marissa stared at the little girl intently. ‘Who did you hear say that, Georgy?’