Сара Крейвен – Passionate Protectors?: Hot Pursuit / The Bedroom Barter / A Passionate Protector (страница 15)

‘Um—good morning,’ she responded at last, and Matt despised the sudden surge of blood that her husky voice caused to rush to his groin. All of a sudden he was remembering the sexual fantasies he’d been having about her earlier, and even the fact that he now knew she was another man’s wife didn’t make them any the easier to dismiss.

‘Sit here, Daddy.’

Rosie pulled him to the seat beside hers, and Matt strove to act naturally. Hell, he thought, he was behaving as if he’d never been with a woman before. What was there about Victoria Bradbury that struck such a chord in his subconscious? What was there about her wary face that inspired thoughts of naked bodies and sweat-soaked sheets?

‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked at length, realising that, however much he might want to, he couldn’t broach the subject of her identity while Rosie and Mrs Webb were present. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to speak to her at all until Rosie had been delivered to school, and that might prove something of a problem. After all, he’d promised his daughter to discuss the subject of Sara’s employment at breakfast.

‘Very well,’ she replied politely, evidently taking her cue from him, though he doubted she was being entirely honest. Although she’d done her best to disguise them, there were still dark rings around her eyes, and, knowing what he knew now, he wasn’t really surprised. ‘It’s so peaceful here.’

‘Sara likes the seaside, Daddy,’ put in Rosie eagerly, evidently hoping to prompt him into saying something positive, but it was Mrs Webb who spoke next.

‘You’re not from around here, are you, Miss Victor?’ she observed, setting a bowl of cornflakes in front of Rosie. ‘If I’m not mistaken, that’s a southern accent.’

Matt saw the way the younger woman stiffened at these words, but she managed to produce a tight smile. ‘I—yes. You’re right. I’m from London,’ she admitted, with obvious reluctance. Then, changing the subject, ‘Just toast for me, please.’

‘Are you sure?’

Mrs Webb was persistent and, taking pity on his guest, Matt intervened. ‘I think we’re all set here,’ he said, regarding his own plate of bacon and eggs without enthusiasm. ‘If we need anything else I’ll come and find you. Okay?’

‘Well—if you say so.’ Mrs Webb wasn’t giving up without a struggle. ‘Couldn’t I tempt you with an omelette, Miss Victor?’

Matt felt Sara’s eyes dart to his again, and he guessed she was remembering the lunch he had made her the previous day. ‘Toast is fine,’ she insisted, and the housekeeper had to accept defeat.

‘I’ll leave you, then,’ she said, giving Matt a speaking look. ‘Remember, Rosie’s got to leave for school in less than twenty minutes.’

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ said Matt drily. ‘Thank you.’

Mrs Webb pursed her lips and left the room, and as soon as the door had banged behind her Rosie made a face. ‘She’s cross because Daddy didn’t ask her to sit with us and have her coffee,’ she confided, with a giggle. ‘We usually have breakfast in the kitchen, you see.’

‘Oh.’

Sara looked to Matt for confirmation and he sighed. ‘She does like to share all the village gossip,’ he agreed, wishing Rosie wasn’t quite so candid. He pushed the toast rack towards Sara. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Thanks.’

She took a slice of toast and spread it thinly with butter, but once again Matt noticed that she barely touched it. At this rate she’d be just skin and bone in no time, he mused unwillingly. But it wasn’t his concern. If she’d lost her appetite, it was doubtless because she was terrified he was going to find out what a liar she was. But why was she lying? Why had she run away? What the hell was she playing at?

‘You don’t have to leave today, do you, Sara?’ Rosie asked now, nudging her father’s ankle with her foot. And, although he gave her a warning look, she went on bravely, ‘Sara could stay—’ she faltered ‘—stay until tomorrow, couldn’t she?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Sara began, and although Matt was tempted to let her leave and be done with it, he saw his daughter’s face and relented.

‘Yes, stay,’ he said flatly, deciding that she deserved the chance to explain why she’d been lying. And this way he could ensure that she’d still be here when he got back from taking Rosie to school. ‘At least until tomorrow.’

He could see her indecision. She was probably weighing the advantages of staying here, where she believed no one knew who she was, against moving on and risking inevitable exposure. He was also aware that his own feelings were just as ambivalent. Dammit, he didn’t owe her a thing, he told himself savagely. Yet he couldn’t deny he felt sorry for her.

And how sensible was that?

Chapter Six

SARA went back to her room after Matt had left to take Rosie to school. She wanted to avoid giving Mrs Webb the chance to ask any more questions. She was unpleasantly surprised to find that the bed she’d slept in had already been made.

Which meant the housekeeper must have accomplished this task while they were downstairs having breakfast. She didn’t for one minute think that Matt would have made her bed, and she wondered uneasily what the woman had thought of the fact that she didn’t have any luggage.

For she had no doubt that Mrs Webb would have noticed. She might not have actually interfered with any of her belongings, but in the course of her work she was bound to have opened the bathroom door and seen that there was no toothbrush on the shelf.

Closing the door behind her, Sara leaned heavily back against the panels. Why had she agreed to stay on for another day? Why, when she’d realised what a gossip Mrs Webb was, hadn’t she made her excuses and left? Because her car was still not fixed, she reminded herself impatiently. Perhaps she should contact the rental agency, which was a countrywide operation after all, and ask them to supply her with a new car?

But, no. That would be foolish, she realised at once. At the moment all anyone knew was that she’d left the apartment. She’d deliberately not taken her own car because registration plates were so easy to trace. In time they might get around to checking with the rental agencies, but by then she intended to have abandoned the car in favour of some other form of transport.

The trouble was, she needed money. She hadn’t thought of that when she’d left London, and although she’d used her credit card to hire the car she hadn’t considered using a cash machine until she’d been forced to stop for petrol. Then she’d realised that to do so would alert the authorities to her current whereabouts and she’d used most of her cash for the fill-up.

Working for Matt Seton would have solved all her problems, she thought regretfully. But she should have known that any legitimate employer would want the kind of personal details that she couldn’t supply. Not to mention references, she remembered wearily. And who could blame him for that?

She knew the most sensible thing would be to leave now, before she said or did something to betray herself. Before she got in too deep, she acknowledged tensely. Last night there’d been times when she’d almost forgotten the events that had brought her here, when she’d begun to relax and enjoy herself. Did that make her a bad person? she wondered. Was the fact that for the first time in years she’d been able to be herself without fear of retribution a cause for self-disgust?

Max would have thought so. Max would have been incensed at her behaviour. He didn’t like children and he’d have accused her of using Rosie to get to Matt. He’d have said that allowing the little girl to paint her nails had just been a way of attracting Matt’s attention. Max had been insanely jealous, as she knew to her cost, and he’d have turned an innocent game into something ugly.

Yet had it been so innocent? she fretted uneasily. Perhaps she was the provocative little tease that Max had always accused her of being. It was certainly true that she’d been acutely aware of Matt Seton ever since he’d emerged from his Range Rover the day before. In spite of her apprehension she’d recognised him at once for what he was: a disturbingly attractive man who she had soon realised was nothing like Max.

Thank God!

She didn’t know how she had been so sure of that. It wasn’t as if she was a terrifically good judge of character. She’d married Max Bradbury, hadn’t she? Her lips twisted. She’d thought he was a good man. Because he was so much older than she was, she’d trusted him. She’d actually believed that his promise to take her away from what he’d convinced her was a boring existence had been inspired by love and not by an unnatural desire for possession. Instead, he’d turned her life into a nightmare, and even now he was still controlling her from the grave.

She shuddered. What was she doing, thinking about Matt Seton when it was because of her that her husband was lying cold on some mortuary slab? She could imagine how Matt would feel about her when he found out who she really was. However reluctant he’d been to offer her his hospitality up to this point would be as nothing compared to his revulsion when he discovered the truth. She was a murderess—well, she’d be convicted of manslaughter at the very least, she amended. He wouldn’t want someone like her associating with his daughter.