by Donna Alward
Where she belonged.
CHAPTER THREE
Diego led her back to the nursery, and she was glad of it as she would have taken a few wrong turns otherwise. He knocked on the door next to hers and a maid opened it, stepping aside and smiling. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said respectfully. “And Miss. I’m Ernestina. I’ve been looking after the children since . . .” She halted as her speech stumbled. “For the last few weeks. We’re so glad you’re here.”
“Thank you, Ernestina.” Rose held out her hand. “I’m Rosalie, but you can call me Rose.”
Squeals interrupted what conversation they might have had, and Rose saw Ernestina wince. The maid was easily in her mid-forties, and Rose guessed she’d been nominated as temporary nanny and preferred her household duties to those of child-minder. Diego came around the corner with a small boy tucked under his arm and a little girl only a step behind, looking up at him like he hung the moon.
Oh dear. She really shouldn’t have to remind herself to be professional, but men with kids . . . Not to mention hot men with kids. She was human, after all. And a woman. A woman who cared for children for a living. Knowing that his niece and nephew loved him—and he loved them—said a lot about the kind of man Diego Navarro was. In only a little over an hour, her preconceptions of Diego were melting away one by one. The charm was there, but she hadn’t expected the warmth, or the honesty of his emotions with his family.
Ernestina’s voice interrupted. “The children were just about to have tea. Dinner is promptly at seven. Unless there is a function, the children eat with the family. That’s how their mother preferred it.” Tears glimmered in Ernestina’s eyes. Cecilia had been well loved, by family and by the staff, it seemed.
“I’ll be sure to have them ready,” Rose assured her.
“Senora Romero asked me to tell you to come to the kitchen for your dinner once the children are in the dining room. She’ll give you the household schedule then. I’ve written the children’s schedule out for you as well.” She went to a small desk and picked up a Moleskine book.
Ernestina then turned around and faced Diego and the children. “Emilia, Max, this is your new nanny, Miss Walters.”
The room went quiet. Emilia looked away from Diego and stared at Rose, as Max, who Rose understood to be four, popped his thumb in his mouth. A telling reaction for a boy his age. She’d have to tread gently.
“Hello,” she said softly, offering a smile meant to reassure.
Emilia’s dark eyes hardened with resentment. “I want Mama Mariana. Not you.”
Diego was the one to issue a reprimand. “Emilia. Manners,” he said sharply.
At the sound of Diego’s snappish voice, Max started to cry, little heartbreaking sobs shaking his body.
“It’s all right,” Rose assured Diego, andstepped forward toward the children. She knelt down a little and looked Emilia in the eyes.
“I am so very sorry about your mama and also Mariana. Of course you wish they were here instead of me. I wish they were too, Emilia.”
Emilia appeared very astute for a six-year-old. “If they were here you wouldn’t have a job.”
“Emilia!” This from Diego again, but Rose held up her hand.
“I would have a job somewhere else, that’s all,” she replied. “But as unhappy and sad as you are, Emilia, that was a bit rude. And I don’t think you are generally a rude little girl.”
Emilia looked away, a determined set to her jaw, but she looked chagrined, too. Lord, the poor things were too young to know how to deal with grief. Most adults didn’t know either, but for children . . .
Max was still whimpering, held against Diego’s shoulder now. Rose let him stay there; he was comfortable and being comforted. “Hello, Max,” she said to him as she stood. She put a gentle hand on his warm little back. “My name is Rosalie. And I’m here to look after you and your sister. Is that okay with you?”
Huge brown eyes glimmered at her and he nodded a little, taking his thumb out of his mouth.
“You like your Tio Diego, don’t you?” She used the Spanish term, thinking Max might find it a bit comforting, hoping her limited Spanish would be sufficient over the coming weeks.
He nodded and clung tighter to Diego’s neck. Her heart was a big old pile of goo now, seeing both the tenderness in their relationship and also how sad and upset the children were.
“Do you want to stay for tea?” she asked Diego quietly, thinking that having someone familiar they cared about nearby might ease the way a bit.
Diego’s gaze touched hers. His eyes weren’t like Max’s, or even Raoul’s, she realized. They were more of a hazel shot with gold flecks. He had a way of looking into her eyes as if no one else existed. That day years ago on the train platform, she’d been too shocked and starstruck to really notice. But he’d been with her all afternoon today, and they’d worked as a team. They’d also looked into each other’s eyes more than was prudent, she realized.
“I did promise some football in the garden,” he said quietly. “One more cup of tea won’t kill me. I hope.”
Rose turned to find Ernestina laying out the light meal. “Thank you, Ernestina. For everything. May I come to you if I have any questions?”
The maid looked rather pleased Rose had asked, which had been Rose’s intention all along. “Of course, Miss. Senora Romero will know where to find me if you need anything.”
Ernestina then took her leave, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her.
“Well,” Rose said, putting her hands together and smiling. “Let’s see what there is to eat, and you can tell me all about yourselves.”
* * *
Diego tipped his head back and looked up at the stars. Thousands of them were out tonight, pinpoints of silvery light in the inky blackness. There wasn’t much in the way of light pollution on the castle grounds, and lots of evenings he found his way to the upper balcony, away from the constraints of his title. Up here he could just be.
Today was the first day he’d felt truly useful in quite some time. He’d offered, yet again, to help his brother, but he’d been brushed aside with a quick “I’m fine.” Well, if Raoul wouldn’t accept his help in running the country, the least Diego could do is help with the family. And it hadn’t been a hardship spending time with the new nanny, Rosalie.
He let out a long breath and rested his hands on the stone balustrade. “Rose,” he remembered her saying to Ernestina. Miss Walters was proper and she’d made sure he knew it. She was quite prim in some ways, but strangely relaxed, too. And gentle, which he appreciated. Her admonishment to Emilia, though, had been bang-on. Rose wouldn’t tolerate rudeness. All in all, he suspected she was just what the duo needed right now. Routine, rules, leavened with a lot of kindness. It didn’t hurt that she was beautiful either. All in all it had been an enjoyable afternoon.
“Tea” in the nursery had consisted of milk, bread, and slices of salami, followed by little almond cookies. She had sat with the children and nibbled on a cookie, but mostly she got them talking about themselves. Max loved football, so she told him stories about watching matches in England and then listened intently as he explained, in his halting four-year-old way, how he’d scored a goal against Tio Diego. And Emilia enjoyed dance, so when Rose spoke of taking ballet lessons when she was a child, Diego could picture it in his mind. She would have been adorable—all arms and legs in her leotard, her blond ponytail swinging as she danced. Within fifteen minutes both children had relaxed and were utterly engaged.
Diego had then made good his promise to kick the ball around with Max, and Rose had asked Emilia to give her a tour of the garden.
Maybe that was what struck him so profoundly. Rose didn’t patronize the children, even though they were so small. She made them feel valued. Just a small gesture like asking for a tour of the garden had changed Emilia’s attitude completely, and Diego guessed it was because it made his niece feel like she had something to offer rather than simply being told what to do or being d
ismissed as unimportant and in the way.
It was a sad statement that he, at thirty, could understand exactly how that felt.
There was a movement below, and he squinted to make out the form walking in the shadows along the path among the shrubbery. A woman, he realized. Not just any woman, but her. Miss Walters. Except he found it impossible to think of her that way. She still wore the black trousers and white shirt of what he supposed was her “uniform.” He hoped she wore other outfits as well. The black and white was somewhat . . . boring. Despite all that, there was something about her that was beautifully simple. “Rose” suited her perfectly.
He watched as she ambled through the winding paths, finally stopping by a fountain that spilled its water with a steady burble. The moonlight shone off her light hair, no longer twisted up in a bun but flowing loosely around her shoulders. Rose reached into her pocket and took something out. He watched as she flicked her thumb and a tiny splash bubbled into the pool. Diego smiled then, loving that she had a little bit of whimsy about her. Had she made a wish before tossing the coin? And what would a woman like Rose wish for?
He shouldn’t go down there. He should just leave the balcony and head to his apartment and pretend he hadn’t seen her. But when did he ever do what he should? He went inside, along the silent corridor, and down the stairs, his shoes tapping on the stone steps as he let himself out onto the grounds at the back of the palace. The least he could do is thank her for today and see how the evening had gone with the children.
She didn’t hear him until he was nearly upon her. When she turned her head and saw him standing there, she jumped a little and put her hand to her chest. He grinned. “The sound of the water, I guess.” At her puzzled expression, he elaborated. “The reason you didn’t hear me.”
“Ah.” She frowned a little. “Are you sure it’s wise for you to be out here, sir?”
That “sir” business again. He shrugged easily. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m pretty sure it’s safe enough.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She bit down on her lip, and he watched as her teeth changed the shape of the soft, pink flesh. Awareness flickered between them, and he knew what she’d implied even without her having to explain.
“Is it wise for you to be out here, Rose?”
Her eyes widened at his use of her first name.
“I’m sorry. I should go in. It’s late and tomorrow’s a busy day . . .”
She jumped up from the stone ledge of the fountain, but he reached out and grabbed her arm to keep her from running away.
Damn. She lurched to a halt and looked up at him, and his lungs felt as if they were squeezing together. Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths, and he could see the same uncertainty in her eyes as he was feeling inside. It was the damnedest thing. Maybe it was her position within the household. She wasn’t a girl at a club or some aristocrat’s daughter. He knew how to deal with those kinds of women. Rose was different somehow. Diego was used to games that he was certain she didn’t know how to play.
“Not to be impertinent, sir,” she said breathlessly, “but you’ve kept rather close all day. And it’s probably not appropriate for either of us. I’m the nanny. You’re a prince. I’m the help, Dieg—Sir.”
But he caught the slip. “You were going to call me by my name.”
“Yes, I was. And that would be really inappropriate. I appreciate all your help today, I do. But it’s . . . it’s not right that you’re so . . . so . . .”
She was stuttering. And it wasn’t because she was cold in the balmy night air, and it wasn’t because she was afraid. It was because she was mere inches away. So close it would take hardly anything for him to pull her against him. He was no stranger to instant attraction, but this threw him for a bit of a loop.
“If I let you go, do you promise not to run away?”
Her gaze blazed into his. “Don’t you understand? All it takes is for you to order me to stay.”
He released her arm, hating that she’d played the power card. He would never use his rank in that way. “I’m not ordering. I wouldn’t do that. I’m asking.”
She remained where she was, but he knew that she could be gone in a flash. He knew that she should be, for that matter.
And yet she stayed.
“Tell me about yourself,” he suggested.
She tilted her head to the side, just a bit. It was amazing how she could point out their difference in circumstance in one breath and challenge him in the next, without even trying.
“You read my CV. And I’m sure you spoke to the agency about me. You already know the facts.”
He was equally amused and frustrated. “They told me about Miss Rosalie Walters, Nanny,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I want to know about Rose, the person.”
“Why? Begging your pardon, sir.” He saw her swallow and a flash of uncertainty flitted across her face. “What does my personal life have to do with my job?”
She was utterly right. What difference did it make who she was other than the nanny? It wasn’t like he got up close and personal with any of the other staff. There were boundaries. Boundaries he hadn’t crossed since he’d been . . . oh, about nineteen, if memory served.
He looked at her for a long moment. She met his eyes directly, but not with any antagonism. She was, he realized, the most serene woman he’d ever encountered. She didn’t shy away from tough topics and she’d had an answer for every question and a solution for every problem today. Unflappable, that’s what she was. And he liked it. So much of the household had been in chaos for the last month. Unflappable was hugely appreciated.
But there was something else, too. Something he’d felt for a long time but hadn’t admitted to anyone else. He was lonely, and in one afternoon Rose Walters had made him feel like a human being and not just a title or a news item. Of course he’d want to know more about her.
“Maybe,” he said quietly, “because I could use a friend.”
She laughed. Not really at him, but more an elegant outburst of incredulity. “You? Come on. You’re Diego Navarro. Social butterfly. Charming as the devil himself, by all accounts.”
“Including yours?”
“I’ve only just met you.”
He smiled, just a little. “First impressions?”
She frowned. “Okay, yes. Charming.”
Something inside him was pleased she thought so. But there was more to him than some . . . playboy. He guarded that inner part of himself fairly closely, because in his position the truth made a person vulnerable. That she’d seen it and somehow tapped into it today made her very different from anyone he’d ever met, except for maybe Ryan.
“Do you have family, Rose?”
She didn’t correct him on the use of her first name. Instead she turned from the fountain and began walking along the path, slowly, her shoes making little shushing noises against the finely crushed rock. “I do, yes,” she answered. “My parents are both living, and I have a brother and a sister and . . . several cousins.”
He smiled. Did she realize there was a warmth to her voice when she spoke of them? “That sounds very nice,” he replied, falling into step beside her.
“My brother’s a vicar,” she said, and chuckled. “Which came as a big surprise as he was always getting into trouble when we were kids. And my sister lives in London and works in insurance.” She angled a look in his direction. “We’re very firmly middle class.”
There she went, using labels again, pointing out how different they were. It was getting quite annoying, really. “And what do they think of your line of work?”
She shrugged, then tossed her head a little, her hair flipping over her shoulder and out of her way. “My brother teases me because I work for posh families. My sister thinks I’m crazy to want to be around children all the time, and my mother fears I’ll raise everyone else’s kids and never have any of my own, though she also thinks it’s lovely that I get to travel now and then.”
It
sounded so refreshingly normal. So many times over the years he’d longed for that kind of family. Not that his wasn’t great—they were. But there was a whole different expectation and a whole different way of living when you were under a microscope. Every transgression, every mistake was documented and publicized.
“Do you? Want some of your own?”
She hesitated and looked over at him. “I suppose I do. I’m twenty-six. Nothing’s ticking loudly yet, and I haven’t met the right man, so I don’t worry too much about it.”
She looked away, but something was off. A little twist of her lips, perhaps, or the way her gaze shifted downward. There was something to that story, but he wasn’t going to press. He knew that they had to have some boundaries.
They started walking again, beneath an arbor of wisteria that surrounded them in sweet scent.
“This garden is beautiful. Emilia showed me a lot of the flowers today. She’s very quick and has a good memory.”
“Cecilia was very hands on with them. Even though Mariana was always here, Ceci was a wonderful mother. I think that was one of the reasons Raoul loved her so much.” He paused, then figured he might as well say what was on his mind. “Mariana brought us up too, after our mother died. It’s not a huge stretch to understand why Raoul was attracted to someone with a soft and nurturing heart.”
She nodded, then grinned at him. “That’s not your type, though, is it?”
She was referring to the tabloid stories, he supposed. “I believe the correct term is ‘arm candy,’” he said. “I don’t even know if I have a type. Perhaps the uncomplicated type, if any.”
“I think you want me to feel sorry for you. It’s kind of difficult, considering where we are.”
She was so blunt. He liked that about her. Liked even more that she had a little half-grin on her lips. She was teasing, he realized.
“Not working, then. Damn.”
She laughed, a warm, sultry sound that was unexpected. It hit him square in the gut and he reminded himself that she was off-limits.
