His Little Girl

by Liz Fielding

  ‘It’s in the living room,’ she informed him, as he poured the warm milk into a mug. ‘Please try not to make a mess of the wall when you yank it out. It’s only just been decorated.’

  The last thing he wanted to do was yank it out of the wall. ‘Find me a screwdriver and I’ll reconnect it before I leave,’ he promised. ‘Are there any extensions upstairs?’

  ‘None. Although I’m sure you’ll insist on checking for yourself.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ll check.’ Gannon’s grin was unexpected, deepening the lines carved into his cheeks, sparking his warm brown eyes with golden flecks of light, lifting one corner of his mouth as if self-mockery was second nature to him. ‘Although I can understand Richard’s unwillingness to install a telephone in the bedroom. If you were my wife I wouldn’t have a telephone within twenty miles of the place.’

  Dora, usually capable of putting down a flirtatious male at thirty paces, with one hand tied behind her back, for a moment floundered helplessly while her brain scrambled to formulate an appropriate response. But nothing had prepared her for an encounter with a man like Gannon. There was a predatory edge to him that stirred the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck, warning her that he would do anything to get what he wanted. And a little part of her that thought she might rather like it

  ‘How fortunate that I’m not,’ she replied, as coldly as she could. Somehow it didn’t sound cold, just a little breathless. Not very convincing. She tried again. ‘Just think how inconvenient it would be not to have a telephone.’

  ‘I’d consider it worth any amount of inconvenience to have you all to myself, Mrs Marriott. Without interruption.’

  Now that was convincing. The man could give lessons in the subject. It was a long time since anyone had managed to bring Dora to blushing point, but the heat tingling along her cheekbones was unmistakable. John Gannon might not have shaved for two days, but somehow, when he smiled, it was very easy to forget that fact.

  She was sure now that he had no intention of hurting her. But he was still a dangerous man.

  And every time he called her Mrs Marriott, and she accepted the name, she was taking a convenient misunderstanding and turning it into a lie. ‘Please don’t call me that,’ she instructed.

  His brows rose slightly at her abruptness. ‘Why not? If it’s your name?’

  She neither confirmed nor denied it. ‘Such formality seems a little out of place, don’t you think? My name is Pandora. Most people just call me Dora.’

  ‘I’m not most people.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Most people don’t break in in the middle of the night and frighten innocent women out of their wits.’

  ‘I’d say that it was debatable who frightened who the most. But perhaps, under the circumstances, we should compromise on Pandora. It wouldn’t do to get too familiar.’

  ‘Under what circumstances?’

  ‘Under the circumstances that you’re married to my very good friend Richard Marriott,’ he said. ‘Although for some reason you don’t appear to be wearing a wedding ring.’

  Definitely dangerous. ‘Contrary to popular belief, it’s not compulsory,’ she said. She knew that wouldn’t satisfy him, but she didn’t give him a chance to say so. ‘I don’t remember seeing you at the wedding?’ Because he hadn’t been there. While she and Poppy bore a strong family resemblance, her sister oozed glamour and poise from every pore. He would never have confused the two of them. ‘Oh, no, of course you couldn’t have been there. You didn’t know Richard had remarried.’

  ‘Big do, was it?’

  ‘Pretty big.’ It had been enormous. Richard’s status as minor aristocracy guaranteed media interest, and as for Poppy... Well anything that Poppy did made the news. But despite the crush she knew that Gannon hadn’t been part of it. She wouldn’t have forgotten anything as dangerous on two legs as John Gannon. She half turned. ‘Why didn’t he invite you?’

  ‘I’ve been abroad for quite a while. Out of touch. When, exactly, was the happy event?’

  ‘At Christmas.’

  ‘At Christmas? Richard must have been seriously good all year if he found you beneath his tree. I really must try a lot harder.’

  ‘Richard doesn’t have to try, Mr Gannon. It comes naturally to him.’

  Mouth, mouth, mouth. It would get her into trouble if she didn’t watch out.

  But John Gannon didn’t appear to take offence, although it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. That kind of smile could hide a lot. ‘You can drop the mister, Pandora. Since we’re on first-name terms.’

  Dora glared at him. She was damned if she was going to call him John. ‘Thank you. Gannon.’

  There was an infinitesimal pause. ‘Any time.’

  ‘And I really would prefer it if you called me Dora.’

  ‘I’ll try and remember that.’

  ‘Did you say you’ve been abroad?’

  ‘I did,’ he confirmed, but didn’t elaborate.

  ‘I see.’ And as she lay Sophie down in the warm nest of the bed she had so recently vacated, tucked the cover up beneath her chin, Dora quite suddenly thought that maybe she did see. The little girl was dark-haired. Well, so was Gannon—but Sophie’s skin had that olive, Mediterranean look about it. She turned to him. ‘Have you snatched her?’ He stared at her. ‘From her mother? This is one of those terrible tug-of-love cases, isn’t it?’

  She had half expected him to explode at her accusation. He didn’t, but appeared interested in her reasoning. ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, it’s perfectly obvious you’re not a run-of-the-mill house-breaker, Gannon. You were just look ing for somewhere to lie low and you remembered this place, assumed it would be empty.’

  ‘My mistake,’ he agreed. ‘But Richard would have helped me if he’d been here. When will he be back?’

  ‘You don’t know him that well if you believe he’d consider helping you take a child away from her mother,’ Dora declared, shocked by the very idea.

  ‘This is not a tug-of-love case, Dora. Richard will help—when he knows the facts.’

  ‘I’m here. Tell me the facts, Gannon.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Richard?’ She hesitated. She had been planning to tell him that her brother-in-law was due back at any moment, and that he would do well to make himself scarce before he arrived. But it seemed that Gannon would actually welcome his arrival; if she told him Richard was due back, there was no way he would leave.

  She would have to tell him the truth. But not the whole truth—that Poppy had gone to the States where she had just landed a contract as the new face of a huge cosmetics company, and that Richard wasn’t ready to let his new wife out of his sight.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gannon, but Richard is in the States on business. He won’t be back for at least a week,’ she compromised. ‘You will understand if I don’t ask you to stay and wait for him?’

  His face tightened. ‘I understand perfectly, Dora. But if you don’t want me hanging around you’re going to have to stand in for him. I need money and I need transport.’

  ‘Transport?’ She frowned. She knew something had been bothering her. The policeman hadn’t mentioned any suspicious-looking vehicle parked in the lane. ‘How did you get here without a car?’

  ‘I walked.’ .

  ‘Walked! From where?’ The nearest major road was miles away. He didn’t answer. ‘Well, I suppose you can take my car.’ He would undoubtedly take it anyway, so she might as well make a virtue of a necessity.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Dora stared down at the sleeping child, who hadn’t even stirred as she’d been laid in the bed. ‘And I can let you have a little cash.’ She gave him a sideways glance. ‘Or quite a lot, if you’ll let me go to the bank.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t think you’d do that. I suppose I could let you have my cash card.’

  ‘And I suppose you’d tell me the correct number?’

  ‘I would,’ she promised. ‘I wouldn’t want you
coming back.’ She mentally corrected herself. She wouldn’t want him coming back angry. There was another reason for convincing him that she was telling the truth. ‘But you’ll have to leave Sophie with me. She shouldn’t be going through all this.’ He gave an odd little sigh and she turned to him, sure that she could make him see sense. He was staring down at the sleeping child, his face creased in concern. Then, as if sensing her gaze, he turned to meet it, challenge it. ‘I’d look after her, Gannon,’ she said, with sudden compassion for the man.

  ‘Would you? For how long?’

  It was an odd question. ‘Until she can be returned to her mother of course. I’ll take her myself, if you like...’ She was sure he was wavering. ‘I won’t say anything to the police.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because there’s nothing to be gained from it.’ He was regarding her intently. ‘Because you’re Richard’s friend.’ She knew she was being silly, but right at that moment the child was more important than any amount of common sense. ‘Does it matter?’

  Gannon stared at her strangely familiar face. He’d been running for days, ever since he had grabbed Sophie from the refugee camp. He was hurt, hungry, exhausted, and he’d broken into Richard’s cottage in a desperate need for somewhere to hide, somewhere to keep Sophie safe while he recouped his strength, sorted things out. And this woman was offering to help, although she didn’t know the first thing about him. More than that, she was looking at him as if her heart would break. Of course it mattered. It shouldn’t, but it did.

  Or maybe he was so tired that he was just hearing and seeing what he longed for most. Trusting her just because she looked like the angel he needed right now would almost certainly be a mistake. ‘I won’t be taking her anywhere tonight,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll see how she is in the morning and then I’ll decide what to do next.’

  ‘She needs time, Gannon. A chance to recover.’

  ‘And these.’ He produced a small bottle of pills from his pocket.

  ‘What are they?’ Dora asked suspiciously.

  ‘Just antibiotics.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, coaxed the child half awake and persuaded her to swallow a capsule with a little of the milk. She was asleep again before her head hit the pillow. Then he turned and looked up at the girl standing beside him. ‘Will you help us, Pandora? Give us a little of your hope?’

  The thing that most people remembered about the legend of Pandora was that her curiosity had let loose all the troubles of the world. He remembered that she had- given the world hope, too. How could she possibly turn him down?

  Dora gave a little gasp, scarcely able to believe how easy it was to be suborned by a pair of warm eyes, by a smile that could break a girl’s heart without really trying.

  ‘You ask as if I have a choice,’ she replied, cross at such weakness. Yet she’d already sent the police away. She was already his accomplice, whether she was prepared to admit it or not. Then her glance flickered over the dishevelled appearance of her unwanted guest, the sunken cheeks in his exhausted face, and something inside her softened. She didn’t entirely believe him when he said this was not a tug-of-love case, but he must love his daughter, miss her desperately, to have been driven to such lengths.

  ‘You look as if you could do with a drink yourself,’ she said. ‘Something rather stronger than milk.’

  He dragged his hand over his face in an unconscious gesture of weariness. ‘You’re right; it’s been one hell of a day. Thanks.’

  ‘It isn’t over yet.’ And she’d didn’t want his thanks. She just wanted him to do what was right. She crossed to the door, but for a moment John Gannon stayed where he was, a dark, slightly stooped presence, as he leaned over the bed to lift the quilt up over the little girl’s shoulders. It was an oddly touching scene, and Dora didn’t doubt that he loved the little girl. But she was even more certain that he wasn’t telling her the entire truth.

  ‘Shall we go downstairs, where we won’t disturb Sophie?’ Dora prompted. ‘Then you can tell me exactly what is going on.’

  John Gannon watched the tall, fair-haired girl as she poured a large measure of brandy into a crystal glass. She was heart-stoppingly lovely. When she had stormed into the kitchen with Sophie in her arms, his heart had momentarily stopped. And it hadn’t just been because she’d startled him. He’d have felt the same jolt of excitement if he’d seen her from the far side of a crowded room, felt the same heat flooding through his veins. And it made him angry. He had been in too many tight corners to be distracted by a woman, no matter how lovely, when he needed all his wits about him.

  But Gannon was angry with Richard, too. Good God, how could he? He liked the man, admired him, but at a guess Dora was scarcely into her twenties a new-born lamb to Richard’s wolf. The man who had once been his champion had become a cynical, hard-bitten misogynist, with one broken marriage behind him and no right...no right...

  He almost laughed out loud at his own self righteous indignation. He wasn’t angry with Richard. He was just plain, old-fashioned jealous. His body was clamouring to take this girl and they were in the classic setting for seduction—alone in a cottage, deep in the most beautiful countryside. And honour dictated that he couldn’t make a move on her.

  It was probably just as well, under the circumstances. He didn’t have the time for dalliance. Or the strength to spare. But it was a pity. This girl had far more than beauty to commend her. She had courage.

  Faced with an intruder, anyone might have thrown hysterics, but she’d just been angry with him. Not for breaking in, for heaven’s sake, but for taking Sophie out on a wet night. As if he had had any choice.

  He could use that kind of courage right now. But so far he hadn’t done a very good job of convincing her that he was the kind of man she would want to help. And Richard would never forgive him for involving his pretty new wife in something messy. Not that he was about to underestimate her. He thought Dora might just be the girl to give his kind of problems a run for their money.

  Nevertheless, given half a chance to summon assistance, she would undoubtedly take it. And, with that thought uppermost in his mind, he walked across to the telephone and hunkered down to examine the socket. ‘How about that screwdriver?’ he asked, turning to her.

  She was watching him, slate-dark eyes solemn. Then, without a word, she crossed the carpet on those pretty bare feet, the soft silk of the wrap, now tightly fastened about her, clinging to her legs as she walked. ‘It’s brandy,’ she said, as she handed him a glass.

  He raised the glass, and raised his brows at the quantity of liquor. ‘Enough to lay me low for week,’ he said, finding it suddenly a great deal easier to concentrate on the pale amber liquid pooled in the bottom of the glass than meet her silent disapproval.

  ‘Then don’t drink it. I can assure you the last thing I want is for you to be here for an entire week.’ She looked at the socket. ‘Do you have to do that? I’m hardly likely to dial 999, am I? After all, I’ve already sent the police away.’

  ‘The police, yes. But I’m sure there’s someone else you’d like to call. I’ll reconnect it before I leave, I promise.’ Sooner. But she stood her ground. ‘It would be a lot easier just to pull it out of the wall, Dora. You decide.’

  Having made her point that the telephone was important, she capitulated. ‘There’s a screwdriver in the kitchen.’

  ‘Then I suggest you fetch it.’ Quickly, before his ribs made the decision for them.

  She turned abruptly, her robe stirring the air against his cheek as it swirled round, returning a moment later with a small screwdriver. Then she retreated to the fireplace, kneeling down in front of it so that her hair fell forward over her shoulder, a skein of honeyed silk in the light of a tall lamp that stood on the sideboard beside the drinks tray.

  Damn, damn, damn. She was a complication he hadn’t bargained on. His life was already loaded with complications, and Richard’s empty cottage had seemed the perfect place to hole up while he sorted them out.

  As
he watched her, she reached for the poker. It was halfway out of the stand when his fingers tightened around her wrist. Startled, she turned to look up at him. ‘I’m going to make up the fire,’ she protested.

  ‘Are you?’ For a moment their eyes clashed, hers stormy grey and about as welcoming as the scudding thunderclouds that had blacked out the moon as he’d crossed the fields with Sophie whimpering in his arms.

  ‘What else? Laying you out with a poker isn’t going to improve things, is it?’ she said.

  ‘It would give you time to get help.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she said, looking pointedly at the telephone. ‘And how do you suggest I do that? By telepathy?’

  ‘No. You would get in your car and drive away. You did say you had a car, didn’t you?’ Her wrist was slender, ridiculously slender, the bones delicate, fragile beneath his fingers, stirring the kind of longings that were madness even to contemplate. It had been a long time since he had been this close to a sweet-smelling woman.

  He wanted to lower his mouth to the pulse he could feel racketing under the pale skin, taste it, press her palm against his cheek and pull her tight against him to ease the sudden, unexpected ache of longing.

  Madness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MADNESS. Even if she hadn’t been Richard Marriott’s wife.

  As mad as believing that she could wield that great long poker in cold blood and strike him with it. Yet he still relieved her of it with his free hand, before releasing her wrist. Delicate it might be, but he’d been in too many tight spots to take the risk. That was how he’d survived for so long in a dangerous world.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  Dora didn’t bother to answer his question. Instead she rubbed at her wrist, as if to rid herself of his touch, and, thoroughly disgusted with himself and his thoughts, Gannon turned away from her dark, accusing eyes.

  ‘I’ll see to the fire,’ he said, stirring the ashes with the point of the poker so that the embers pulsed redly.