by Liz Fielding
She could see that he just wasn’t the cringing type. On the contrary, his gaze was wandering appreciatively from her tousled hair, over the loose silk wrap, lingering on pink-painted toenails peeping out from beneath the hem of her nightgown, before returning to her face. Then his face creased in a thoughtful frown. ‘Have we met somewhere before?’
There had been a lot of publicity when she’d returned from the Balkans; total strangers accosting her in the street, wanting to talk to her, newspapers wanting to write about the ‘Sloane’ who had given up the social whirl to drive aid trucks across Europe. If he remembered that he would be sure that he had fallen on his feet, sure that she was a soft touch.
It had been the need to get away from all that which had driven Dora down to the cottage in the first place, so, what with one thing and another, it seemed wiser not to jog his memory about where he might have seen her face before. And she ignored his hand, along with his invitation to introduce herself.
She wasn’t about to exchange civilities with a common criminal, particularly not one who had broken into her sister’s home. Even if he did have a velvet-soft voice, toffee-brown eyes and a deliciously cleft chin. After all the chin hadn’t been shaved in several days. And the toffee eyes were taking rather too much liberty with her under-dressed figure for her liking. With the child in her arms, she was unable to do anything about the wrap, but conscious that his gaze had become riveted to her pink toenails, she shuffled them out of sight.
‘That’s hardly an original pick-up line,’ she replied, with a crispness she was far from feeling.
‘No,’ he agreed, barely able to conceal his amusement, despite his exhaustion. This was one spirited lady. ‘I really must try harder.’
‘Don’t bother.’
‘Breaking and entering isn’t my usual line of business,’ he said, letting his hand fall to his side. He was still regarding her thoughtfully. ‘Who are you?’
Dora firmly resisted the temptation to ask him what his ‘usual line’ was. ‘Does it matter who I am?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose it does. But allow me to say that you’re a considerable improvement on Elizabeth. She would never have wasted time on anything quite so frivolous as painting her toenails.’
The man was outrageous. Not content with breaking into the cottage, he was flirting with her. Yet, despite her better judgement she was beginning to accept his familiarity with her brother-in-law’s personal life.
‘Elizabeth?’ she probed.
‘Elizabeth Marriott. Richard’s wife,’ he obliged. ‘A girl of very little imagination—a lack which was more than made up for by her greed, if the fact that she left him for a banker is anything to judge her by.’
‘A banker?’ He knew that he was being tested, Dora realised, but that didn’t stop her.
‘The kind that owns the bank,’ he obliged. ‘Not the kind who works behind the counter.’ And, having apparently awarded himself a pass grade, he made a broad gesture with the milk. ‘I never thought he’d sell this place, though.’
‘What makes you think he has?’
He looked about him. ‘This kind of thing isn’t his style.’
It was Dora’s turn to smile. ‘Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.’
He gave her another thoughtful look, then shrugged. ‘Shall I heat the milk? Or will you, since everything’s been moved?’ Not that he had any intention of relieving the woman of her burden. While she was holding Sophie, she was vulnerable to persuasion.
‘The kitchen is through there,’ she said.
Gannon looked around. More warm earthy colours and glowing wood. ‘You’ve extended into the barn,’ he said, reaching for a copper pan and setting it on the hob. ‘Is it all like this now?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like something out of a lifestyle magazine.’
‘I don’t read lifestyle magazines, so I really couldn’t say.’ Dora certainly had no intention of getting into a cosy chat about interior decoration with a common burglar. No, she corrected herself, the man was far too at ease with himself and his surroundings to be described as a common burglar. She glared at him, but he wasn’t in the least bit put out. If anything, she was the one hard pressed to keep up the challenge so she shifted her gaze, glancing down at the child. ‘Did you say her name was Sophie?’ she enquired. ‘Is she your daughter?’
‘Yes.’ He turned away from her to open the milk and pour some into the pan. ‘And yes,’ he said.
‘Did you know she has a temperature?’ Dora pressed.
‘You mentioned it.’
‘She should see a doctor.’
‘I’ve got some antibiotics for her. All she needs now is good food and plenty of rest.’
‘And this is your idea of giving them to her? The child should be at home with her mother, not being carted about in the middle of the night by an itinerant—’
‘Is that what you think?’ he interrupted, before she could suggest what kind of itinerant he was, his sideways glance suggesting that she didn’t know what she was talking about.
Well, maybe she didn’t. But she knew enough to know that Sophie should be at home in bed. Her gaze was drawn back to the exhausted child. Her almost transparent lids were drooping over her eyes. She’d be asleep in a moment. It would be so easy to simply carry her upstairs and pop her into her own warm bed.
‘How do you know Richard?’ she asked, resisting the temptation to do just that with considerable difficulty.
‘We went to the same school.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Dora wasn’t sure what she had expected. Perhaps that they had met through her brother-in-law’s burgeoning security business, although whether they had been on the same side was a moot point. But school? While she’d recognised his public school accent, it hadn’t occurred to her that he might have shared the same Alma Mater as a future king. A little confused, she said, ‘Surely he’s older than you?’
‘Eight years or thereabouts. He was head boy when I was a very small, very miserable first-year. He rescued me from a bunch of second-year lads who were baiting me because they’d discovered that my mother was unmarried. I don’t suppose it happens so much these days. Marriage seems to be a dirty word now.’
‘Not to me.’ It was difficult to imagine this man ever having being small and vulnerable. ‘Richard took you under his wing?’
‘It’s in his nature to protect the vulnerable.’ He turned back to face her, deeply thoughtful. ‘Richard is a lot older than you,’ he said. ‘What’s he doing for you?’
‘Me?’
‘I can’t see him going to all this trouble,’ he said, glancing around at the expensive rebuilding work, ‘just to let the place out. So, has he taken you under his kindly wing, too—or just his brand new duckdown duvet?’
She was about to explain, somewhat indignantly, that Richard was now married to her sister, her seven-years-older sister, when she was interrupted by a sharp rap on the back door.
CHAPTER TWO
GANNON stiffened, staring towards the back door before turning a fierce, questioning look on her. ‘It must be the police,’ she muttered, surprising herself with a distinct feeling of discomfort at the thought of handing Gannon over to them.
‘The police?’
‘I did warn you.’ She had, but he clearly hadn’t taken her seriously. Then she caught herself. He’d broken in, for heaven’s sake. He deserved to be locked up.
‘There was no alarm,’ he objected.
‘No sound of one, perhaps. Richard doesn’t believe in giving burglars the chance to escape and break in somewhere else. He would rather catch them red-handed. I thought you would have known that—since you’re such a friend.’
An alarm. Gannon could have kicked himself. It had never occurred to him that this place would have an alarm, he hadn’t even bothered to look for one, despite the fancy new lock. He could understand the replacement of a lock that had been lit
tle more than a joke, but who would put an alarm on an almost derelict fishing cottage, for heaven’s sake?
Except it wasn’t a derelict fishing cottage any more. It was a warm and welcoming home, occupied by a girl with a face like an angel and the coolness to keep him talking until reinforcements arrived. And he’d thought he had been manipulating her...
He covered the distance between them before she could move, taking Sophie from her arms. His ribs complained, but he didn’t have time to feel pain. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t stop to chat,’ he said grimly. ‘I assume the front door is still in the same place?’
Dora felt a flutter of anxiety. ‘You can’t take Sophie out there.’ A distant flicker of lightning underscored her words, and the rain began to rattle against the window once more. Anxiety hardened into determination. ‘I absolutely forbid it,’ she said.
‘Oh, really?’ If the situation hadn’t been so desperate he would have laughed. ‘And just how are you going to stop me?’
‘Like this.’ And she planted herself between him and the door.
Gannon applauded her spirit, but he hadn’t got time for games, so he hooked his free arm about her waist and lifted her to one side. Red-hot pain shot through his ribs. He hadn’t time for that either. But he staggered slightly as he put her down.
‘Oh, good grief, you’re hurt—’
‘Give the lady a coconut,’ he muttered, as he leaned against the wall, waiting for the pain to subside so that he could breathe again.
‘Look, don’t worry. I’ll get rid of them.’
‘Oh, really?’ he asked harshly. ‘And why would you do that?’
‘Heaven knows, but I will. Just stay here and keep quiet.’ He stared at her. She lifted her shoulders. It was something between a shimmy and a shrug. It did something to the way her nightgown clung to her slender body that had much the same effect on his breathing as a couple of cracked ribs. She was right, he wasn’t going anywhere fast enough to make a difference.
‘Whatever you say, lady. Just don’t try and be too clever.’
‘Clever? Me?’ Her mouth suddenly widened in a broad smile. ‘You must be joking. I’m just your average dumb blonde.’
Blonde, certainly. A knock ’em dead and wipe the floor with ’em blonde. Average? Scarcely. Dumb? Never. As she turned, with a little switch of her backside as if to prove her point, there was a second, more urgent knock.
‘Be careful what you say,’ he ordered quietly from the kitchen door, still not sure why he was trusting her.
Dora looked back. Gannon and Sophie were framed in the doorway, and he had his hand stuck in his pocket as if fingering a concealed weapon. Surely not? He was just trying to frighten her... Maybe she should be frightened. A whole lot more frightened than she was.
She swallowed as her nerves caught up with her, then spun round, slipped the chain on the door and opened it a crack.
The young constable waiting on the step was little more than a boy, his face so smooth that he didn’t look old enough to shave. The idea of asking him to collar a man like Gannon and march him off the local police station was plainly ridiculous, she told herself. Just in case she needed convincing. Besides, the wretched man would go as soon as he’d rested. And she was quite sure he’d be only too happy to leave Sophie behind if he thought she was in good hands.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Marriott?’ the young constable asked, assuming that she was Poppy. She considered correcting his mistake, but decided against it. She wanted him to go as quickly as possible, and that would just slow things down.
‘Fine.’ The word came out as little more than a croak. ‘Fine,’ she repeated, more convincingly. ‘Why? What’s up?’
‘Probably nothing, but your security company alerted us that your alarm had been triggered. I’m sorry it took so long to get here, but they’re going off all over the place tonight with this storm.’
She worked very hard at keeping her smile in place, her expression showing nothing more than mild surprise.
‘I’ve looked around, but everything seems secure.’ The constable glanced up. ‘Your security lights don’t seem to be working, though.’
‘No, I turned them off,’ she said, cursing herself for all kinds of a fool. If they’d been on they might have deterred her unwanted visitor. Except where would little Sophie be now? Soaked to the skin beneath some hedge. A prime candidate for pneumonia.
She reached for the switch and the area around the cottage was floodlit for a hundred feet, illuminating a police car parked a few yards away and picking up the rain spots soaking into the policeman’s jacket.
‘They seem to light up every time something bigger than a mouse walks by. It makes me jumpy,’ she told him, and added a suggestion of a giggle at her own foolishness.
She was careful to keep any special emphasis out of her voice, careful not to do or say anything that might cause the man behind her to lose his nerve and bolt with Sophie into the darkness. Not that there appeared to be anything wrong with his nerves. But still, she wasn’t taking any chances.
‘Would you like me to come in and check the cottage for you, just in case?’ the young man offered.
He took a step forward but she didn’t unhook the chain. ‘There’s no need, really.’
‘It wouldn’t be any trouble,--’
‘Pete?’ his partner called from the patrol car. ‘If you’ve finished, we’ve got another call.’
‘I’ll be right with you.’ Pete turned back to her. ‘As I said, it was probably the lightning that set off the alarm, Mrs Marriott.’ He nodded towards the car. ‘I expect this is another one.’
‘How trying for you. I’m terribly sorry that you’ve had a wasted journey.’
‘No problem. Just get the alarm checked out in the morning.’ He glanced up again. ‘And keep the lights on. They do make opportunist thieves think twice.’
Too late for that. ‘I’ll do that,’ she assured him. ‘And thank you for coming to check up on me.’
‘It’s what we’re here for. Goodnight, ma’am.’
She could scarcely believe that she was letting him walk away. What on earth was she thinking of? She ought to call him back—
‘Shut the door, Mrs Marriott. Now.’ Gannon’s voice was barely audible from the other side of the door. Too late. She pushed it shut and turned to lean against it as her legs buckled a little at her own stupidity. ‘I can’t believe I just did that.’
‘Don’t worry. You played the dumb blonde so well that the poor kid will break his neck to get back and check up on you the minute that lightning and burglar alarms permit. I’ll just have to rely on the fact that you’re a respectable married lady who will swiftly send him about his business.’
Married? For a moment Dora couldn’t think what John Gannon was talking about, then she realised he had picked up on the young policeman’s mistake. She glared at him. It was what any respectable married lady would do under the circumstances, wasn’t it?
Who was she kidding? Under the circumstances any respectable married lady would have screamed the place down, not offered a burglar the comfort of her home.
‘We’ll see. If you’re really such a good friend of Richard’s, I’ve got nothing to fear.’ She stared pointedly at his hand, still in his pocket. ‘Have I?’
‘No, Mrs Marriott,’ he said, taking his hand carefully from his jacket pocket and pulling the lining out with it, to show her that it was quite empty. ‘Nothing at all.’ The truth of the matter was that Gannon, his ribs giving him hell, his shoulder protesting at the weight of Sophie as she slumped against him, felt incapable of raising a sweat on a nervous fly. And he had no wish to frighten her; what he wanted was her help. ‘Besides, if I hurt you, Richard would probably hunt me down and kill me with his bare hands.’
Dora didn’t anticipate raising that kind of passion in Richard for herself, but she had a pretty good idea of what he would do to anyone who even considered hurting her sister. And, because her intruder had picked up the poli
ceman’s mistake, he was now under the impression that she was Richard’s wife. Well, if that impression was going to keep her safe, she wasn’t about to disabuse him.
‘Only probably, you think?’
He met her gaze head on, for a moment meeting her challenge. Then there was the tiniest contraction of lines fanning out from his eyes, softening his face in an oddly seductive smile that made her catch at her breath. ‘No, not probably, Mrs Marriott. Without question.’ And his voice, back to silken velvet, did nothing to help.
She swallowed hard. ‘I’m glad you realise that,’ she said, with commendable briskness under the circumstances. ‘Now, if you’re staying, hadn’t you better give Sophie her milk?’ He glanced down at Sophie, but she had finally fallen asleep across his shoulder and Dora’s heart went out to the little girl. ‘Poor soul. Look, why don’t you take her upstairs and tuck her up in my bed? I’ll bring up the milk. In case she wakes,’ she added.
His smile deepened slightly. ‘Whilst I admire your initiative and appreciate your kindness, I think we’ll revert to me giving the orders and you carrying them out. I feel safer that way.’ He eased Sophie gently away from his shoulder, his expression tender as he placed the child into Dora’s arms, brushed a strand of hair back from her face. She didn’t stir. Then he looked up and caught Dora’s thoughtful expression. ‘You might have sent the police about their business, but I’m sure you must have plans to call for reinforcements of some kind. Plans that involve using a telephone?’
Dora hadn’t given the telephone a thought—not that she’d had an opportunity to use it even if she had. Well, he might have wildly overestimated her ability to think on her feet, but it wasn’t too late to start doing just that. Richard’s sister lived a couple of miles away with her husband. They would know exactly what to do in a situation like this. ‘Perhaps I have,’ she said, rewarding him with a smile for such cleverness. ‘I suppose you’ll want to disconnect it?’
He considered the matter. He would need a telephone if he was going to sort out Sophie’s papers, make things right with the authorities, but he couldn’t do that tonight, and this woman was too much of an unknown quantity to risk leaving it connected. ‘I suppose I will.’
