A Nanny for Christmas (10 page)

Yes, thought Phoebe, reluctantly composing herself for sleep. That's just what I'm afraid of.

And when she slept she found herself tormented by dreams of Dominic's arms holding her, making her safe, keeping her secure. Only, in the way of dreams, that was strangely no longer enough. And, in the darkness, she felt herself reach out, whispering his name.

When she opened her eyes the next morning, she felt totally disorientated. Then, as she remembered the events of the previous evening, she sank back into the bed again with a faint groan. It wasn't just another bad dream. The cottage had burned down, and she was in Dominic Ashton's house, in one of his rooms, wearing his robe.

Nor, she discovered, was she alone. A small, rather battered teddy bear wearing a blue ribbon was sitting beside her pillow.

Phoebe picked it up, a reluctant smile curving her lips. No need to ask who'd left it there, she thought with a faint twist of the heart. As she replaced it she caught sight of the small gilt clock on the night table and froze.

It was nearly eleven o'clock. Morning coffee at the cafe had begun almost an hour ago, and she wasn't there.

It must have been those damned tablets, she thought as she hurriedly threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. But it was the first time she'd ever been late, and Mrs Preston would surely understand.

In the bathroom doorway, she paused with a yelp of dismay. She'd left her uniform on the floor in the bathroom last night, but it wasn't there now. Someone— presumably Carrie—had removed it.

Well, she'd simply have to find Carrie and get her things back, or she wouldn't be at work in time to serve lunches.

Trying not to trip on the hem of the robe, she went out of the room and trod down the stairs. But she could hear no sound, no sign of life, just as if the sleep she'd woken from had been enchanted and the house was still caught in the spell.

Then, 'Good morning.' Dominic Ashton had appeared silently in his study doorway, and was standing, looking up at her, hands on hips.

'Oh.' Phoebe's hand went to her throat, pulling the edges of the robe together. 'I—I was looking for Carrie, actually.'

'She's gone out. I think she planned to be back before you woke.' He gave her a faint smile. 'The robe suits you. And, in case you were wondering, it's new. I've never worn it.'

'Oh,' was all Phoebe could think of to say, aware that she was blushing.

'Did you sleep well?' he asked.

She bit her lip. 'Rather too well,' she answered, constrained. 'I'm late for work.'

'Actually you're not. I telephoned earlier and explained that you wouldn't be in. Mrs Preston was most sympathetic, and said it would give Debbie a chance to get back in harness.'

The colour in her face deepened angrily. 'You had no business saying anything of the kind. I have my living to earn.'

'Not, I suspect, at the Clover Tea Rooms,' he said calmly. 'But we'll discuss that later. In the meantime, Carrie would want me to offer you breakfast.'

'I'm not hungry,' she snapped.

'Truly?' His smile widened. 'You look to me as if you're ready to take a bite out of something.'

'I'm merely looking for my clothes.'

'Carrie washed them. They won't be dry yet.'

'Oh, no,' Phoebe wailed. 'Then what on earth am I supposed to do?'

'Relax and have some breakfast,' he suggested lazily. 'A day off will do you no harm.'

'Not if I'm out of work at the end of it,' she said resentfully.

'Don't be a pessimist. Your prospects are far better than that.' He paused. 'Tara sends her love, by the way, and says she'll see you after school.'

'Unlikely,' Phoebe said curtly. 'As soon as I get my clothes back, I'm out of here.'

There was a silence, then he asked slowly, 'What are you so afraid of?'

She lifted her chin. 'I'm not scared at all. I—I just feel I've trespassed on your hospitality long enough.'

'Don't tell lies, Phoebe,' he said amiably. 'You're bad at it. Now, come along to the kitchen and I'll make you some coffee.'

She longed to tell him to keep his coffee, but just the thought of it made her mouth water, so she trailed after him to the rear of the house.

The kitchen was a big room, its windows overlooking a small orchard, the trees stripped and bare now. But it contrived to be cosy, with a dark green Aga taking pride of place. The big wooden dresser and fitted cupboards had clearly been around for a long time, but the appliances were all up to the minute.

Phoebe sat at a long, scrubbed table and watched him prepare the percolator. He was obviously very much at home, whistling softly under his breath as he worked.

He opened the refrigerator, sending her a quizzical look. 'Bacon,' he suggested. 'Scrambled eggs—toast?'

For a moment she hesitated, then nodded, with a stilted, 'Thank you.'

The plate he eventually placed in front of her smelled like ambrosia. The bacon was crisp, the eggs creamy and the toast had been cut into fingers. He poured coffee for them both, and sat opposite her.

'You're quite right, of course,' he said, watching her tuck in. 'This is a shameless attempt to curry favour with you.'

Phoebe took an unguarded swallow and nearly choked.

'You really don't play fair, do you?' she said, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robe.

'I tend to apply my own rules.' The grey eyes were intent. 'Think about it, Phoebe. Your home has been destroyed, and your job has probably reached its end. So, where will you go when you leave here? And what are you planning to do?'

'I don't know.' Phoebe finished the last delicious crumb and put down her knife and fork. 'But they're my problems, and I'll manage somehow.'

'And you'd rather rot in hell than accept a helping hand from me.'

She looked down at the table. 'That's not true. You gave me a roof last night. I'm—grateful.'

'Then do something for me in return. My offer still stands- I need you to look after Tara. When she found you'd slept here, she was ecstatic.'

Phoebe bit her lip. 'She left her teddy bear on the bed for me.'

'As a welcome present. She's convinced herself that you're here for the duration. Can you really let that prickly pride of yours get in the way? Cindy let her down badly. Are you going to do the same?'

'That's the worst form of emotional blackmail.'

'Not quite.' The grey eyes were glinting with amusement, and something more disturbing, which made her feel oddly weak. 'I need to keep something in reserve.'

He paused. 'I told Tara that if you came with me to collect her from school this afternoon, it meant you were staying.'

He collected the dirty crockery and loaded it into the dishwasher.

'I have to go out now,' he tossed at her over his shoulder. 'But feel free to wander about—get the feel of the place—and we'll talk later.'

'Mr Ashton,' she began.

'Dominic,' he reminded her, pausing in the doorway. His gaze met hers, held it compellingly.

He said quietly, 'It's about six weeks of your life, Phoebe, for a child who needs you. Would it really cost you so much?'

He went, and a moment later Phoebe heard the front door slam behind him.

He was so sure he'd won, she thought furiously. That he'd offered the only viable solution to their mutual problems.

Oh, if she just had her clothes back, she'd be out of here and on the next train to—anywhere, she thought, grinding her teeth.

Or she would if there wasn't Tara to consider. That was the stumbling block, she realised ruefully. Through no fault of her own she was no longer a totally free agent, and she knew it.

She wandered into the drawing room, and stood staring absently through the window. Clouds scudded across the grey sky, and the trees were bending in the bleak wind. It was a cold world out there, and the house seemed to be wrapping itself round her like a cloak. Offering her a protection that was difficult to reject.

Difficult—but not impossible.

All she had to do was tell him the truth, she thought. Remind him of the naked, drunken girl he'd found on his bed six years before, and he'd be rid of her so fast her feet wouldn't touch the ground.

That was the obvious course to take. If she really wanted to leave...

She stopped right there—aware her breathing had quickened. She found she was remembering suddenly the closeness of his arms around her. The way her skin had seemed to bloom under his touch. The warm and unequivocal eroticism of last night's dreaming.

She moved restlessly, feeling her nipples hardening involuntarily under the tantalising brush of the silk against her naked flesh. Imagining his hands moving on her—not simply with kindness, but with desire.

Her whole body shivered, languidly, expectantly.

She raised suddenly heavy lids and saw herself reflected in the window pane. Saw the drowsy, shadowed eyes, the heated flush along her cheekbones, the soft, vulnerable mouth. The face of a stranger, she thought dazedly. A stranger who'd lost touch with reality.

Six weeks of her life was what he'd asked for, and was all that he wanted. No more, no less.

'Would it really cost you so much?' he'd challenged her.

It Could do, she thought. It could cost altogether more than I can afford to pay.

Because it had suddenly and unwillingly occurred to her that the price of those six weeks could be her heart and soul.

She was still standing like a statue, trying to come to terms with her moment of truth and failing utterly, when Carrie returned.

'I've brought you some things, my dear.' Carrie dumped the chainstore bags she was carrying onto one of the sofas. 'I don't suppose they're your taste, but they'll tide you over until you can choose for yourself.'

Peeping into the bags, Phoebe found an assortment of underwear, two pairs of black leggings and a couple of sweaters patterned in jewel colours to wear with them. There was also a swirl of a skirt, checked in grey and pink, and a pink woollen blouse. Another bag revealed socks, tights and some neat black ankle boots. And Carrie had bought basic toiletries too, including a brush and comb.

'But I didn't expect all this!' Phoebe exclaimed almost in dismay.

'Well, you can't drip around in that robe any longer. It doesn't look right.' Carrie loaded the bags into her arms and gave her a gentle push. 'Go and get dressed, and I'll start showing you where everything is.'

'But I'm not staying,' Phoebe said quickly, and then, when she saw the look of open disappointment on the older woman's face, she amended quickly, 'At least—I haven't decided yet—but I don't think...'

'Sometimes,' Carrie said severely, 'people think so much they end up in total confusion.' She paused. 'But if you want to know what I think, then you're just what Miss Tara needs.' She gave Phoebe's strained face a long look. 'And maybe she's what you need, too. It hasn't been all fun just recently for you—admit it.'

No, Phoebe thought as she went upstairs. But that doesn't justify a thing.

She dressed swiftly in leggings and a sweater, combing her hair so that it curved round her face.

She was embarrassed by the care the other woman had clearly taken to choose clothing that would suit her. It had been a long time since she'd possessed anything half as attractive. But how was she going to pay for it? she wondered, biting her lip.

She received an approving nod when she returned downstairs, and was then swept inexorably into a detailed tour of the house.

Phoebe found she was becoming interested, more or less in spite of herself. Apart from the drawing room, which had been crammed with people, she hadn't seen a great deal of the house on her first visit. But, to her relief, Carrie drew the line at showing her the master bedroom, merely pointing out its closed door in passing.

Up in the nursery area, Phoebe was instructed about the care of Tara's clothes and toys, and shown where everything was kept.

'You won't have to do any actual cleaning. Mrs Watson from the village comes three times a week for that. But you'll be expected to keep these rooms tidy,' Carrie told her. 'Miss Tara's not a great one for putting things away, so you'll have to be firm.'

It doesn't matter, Phoebe wanted to yell, because I'm not staying. I've decided, once and for all, that I don't dare. Because, heaven help me, I can't trust myself.

In reality, she said nothing. Just smiled rather wanly and nodded.

Lunch was home-made broth with crusty bread, and fresh fruit to follow. In spite of her emotional turmoil, Phoebe ate everything that was put before her.

She was shown how to operate the dishwasher and the washing machine. Then, under Carrie's critical eye, she dealt with a basket of ironing deftly and neatly, and replaced a missing button on a small dress.

'My, the days are drawing in.' Carrie shook her head as she .looked out of the window. 'It'll be quite dark soon, and I've left a few things on the line in the orchard. Bring them in for me, there's a good girl.'

The strong wind had twisted most of the garments round the washing line, and it nipped at Phoebe as she struggled to free them.

Above its shrill whine, she heard Dominic quietly say, 'Phoebe.'

She dropped the final pair of Tara's woollen tights into the clothes basket and turned slowly to face him. She hadn't heard his approach over the damp grass, but, even before he'd spoken, she'd felt a sharp ripple of awareness—was conscious that her mouth had already begun to curve into a smile, which she had to hastily wipe away.

He was standing a few yards away from her. Even in the fading light, she could see that the dark face looked strained. That his tall figure was tensed—against what? The possibility of rejection?

But that was ridiculous, she thought. He was still the arrogant Dominic Ashton. Still the Dark Lord of a dream that could so easily develop into yet another nightmare.

A man to avoid. To evade. And soon.

He said simply, 'I'm going to collect Tara from school. Will you come with me?'

And against every instinct, against all reason, Phoebe heard herself say, 'Yes.'

D
OMINIC
didn't speak. But for a moment Phoebe thought he was going to step forward—reach for her in some way—and every nerve in her body was suddenly tense and tingling.