“I’m confident a marriage between us would work.” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN Copyright

“I’m confident a marriage between us would work.”

Adam continued, “Neither of us will be expecting romantic love, just commitment. To our marriage. To Jamie. To each other. And there’ll be no pulling out after I’ve settled your sister’s debts. The marriage will take place a month from now.”

A month from now. Suddenly it seemed alarmingly real. “How—how can you know I’ll make a good wife,” Claire stalled, her voice husky. “You hardly know me!”

“I know you’ll be a good mother to Jamie. You have a natural affinity for children—and Jamie has taken to you already. You never know, we might even want to stay together forever.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

Elizabeth Duke was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children’s novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn’t writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband, John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.

The Marriage Pact
Elizabeth Duke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD been a dream of Claire’s to visit Venice one day. Magical, romantic Venice...the fairy-tale city floating on the sea.

Now she was here, and after only two days of a planned week in Venice, working as a nanny, the dream trip of a lifetime had turned to disaster.

She was broke, she’d lost her job and her employers were sending her back to London in disgrace!

Worse, she’d missed out on a free flight back home to Australia.

It was her own stupid fault for taking on the job in the first place. She’d had reservations from the start about the Danns, her English employers. The husband’s lingering gaze and the wife’s cold-eyed scrutiny should have warned her. But they’d been desperate for a temporary nanny at short notice, and she’d been desperate for her air fare back to Australia—which had been the lure they’d dangled—so she’d agreed.

The two children, three-year-old Holly and four-month-old Edward, had clinched it. Their big blue eyes and adorable smiles would have melted the most steely heart.

Her first two days in Venice had passed without warning of what was to come. Her employers—both London doctors—had attended conference sessions each day at their waterfront hotel overlooking the Venetian Lagoon while she’d cared for their two children.

She’d taken them for leisurely walks along the bustling boat-lined promenade, explored the Grand Canal by water-bus and had wandered round St Mark’s Square, where the impressive arcaded buildings and the Byzantine splendour of the Basilica had taken her breath away. Holly, naturally enough, had been more interested in the pigeons.

They’d even had a short gondola ride with the children’s parents, which she would have enjoyed far more if Hugo Dann hadn’t been surreptitiously eyeing her up and down from his seat opposite.

It had been in St Mark’s Square on her second day, as Holly had been waving her arms around to keep the fluttering pigeons from landing on her head and shoulders, that Claire had first met the other Englishman. The one she’d noticed at breakfast the past two mornings at the hotel, sitting at a table by himself.

On both occasions she’d tried her best not to stare at him, knowing he must be used to women ogling him and was probably conceited enough already. With his dark-eyed good looks, perfect physique and his air of easy self-confidence, he looked just the type who’d expect it.

She’d come to loathe and despise those cool ladykiller types. Nigel had been a man like that, though he’d been fair and blue-eyed—a golden Apollo with dancing eyes and a devastating charm who’d made her feel that she was the only woman in the world. Only she hadn’t been. More fool Claire Malone for falling for his slick English charm in the first place!

As the sexy Englishman had boldly approached her in the square later that second morning, she’d eyed him warily, her body tensing, stiffening in rejection. Or was it self-protection?

It had annoyed her that she had to tilt her head back and look up a considerable way to meet him eye to eye. No doubt he loved that feeling of superiority and raw macho power. She’d drawn herself up to her full height of five feet seven inches. No man, least of all this lethal-eyed English Adonis, was going to make her feel all helpless and feminine!

‘I’ve seen you at breakfast at the hotel,’ he offered as an opening gambit, a far too friendly sparkle in his wide-set dark eyes. From Quadri’s famous café nearby the outdoor orchestra struck up with gusto, the wail of violins swirling round them in the limpid morning air.

‘Oh, really?’ There was no way she was going to admit that she’d noticed him. She didn’t want to notice him now, but she couldn’t very well avoid it. He was wearing the same shirt and jeans he’d been wearing at breakfast, a casual denim shirt that showed off his broad chest and impressive shoulders and thigh-hugging jeans that showed off—

She snapped her gaze away. This man was dynamite! He positively radiated raw sexuality and strength.

She wondered what he was doing alone here in Venice.

Not that she cared. Men were out of her life from now on... Nigel had seen to that.

From the opposite side of the piazza, the orchestra from Florian’s, the equally famous rival café, sprang to life with a rousing tune of its own, flooding the square with sound.

‘You’re here in Venice on your own? Apart from your children, I mean?’ The Englishman’s gaze flicked curiously to the sleeping baby strapped to Claire’s back and to the little girl who was now clinging to her skirt. Was he wondering how she could afford a trip to Venice with two kids? Or...did he have something else in mind?

Her eyes narrowed in quick suspicion. Was he trying to find out if she was available? Available...for what?

Her chin rose a notch, her grey eyes glinting, cooling to silver ice. There was no way she was going to let this man get the idea she was on the loose! Let alone available. Available for sharks like him to pick up.

‘They’re not my children. I’m just looking after them.’ Her tone was crisp. ‘And I’m not here alone—I’m with their parents. You might have seen them back at the hotel.’

Then again maybe he hadn’t. They always came down to breakfast late, with the excuse that they needed to go through their conference notes for the day. But she suspected that they simply wanted to sleep in and have breakfast by themselves later without the distraction and demands of their children. The baby was bottle-fed so didn’t rely on his mother for feeds.

‘Ah. So you’re just helping out with the children...’ Now the stranger’s dark eyes positively gleamed.

She took an instinctive step back, her own eyes glittering with derision. I know what you’re thinking, and you can forget it. Go find some other easy female.

‘I’m their nanny,’ she told him curtly, and began to walk on.

In a neat tigerish stride, he fell into step beside her. ‘Their permanent nanny? Or were you only hired for this Venice trip?’

She paused, frowning. Why would he want to know that? Simply to keep her talking?

‘I’m just filling in for their regular nanny, who has a bad ear infection and wasn’t able to fly.’ Meredith, an old friend from Australia, had recommended her as a fill-in, knowing she’d just thrown in her job. Knowing she’d had to—to get away from Nigel.

‘At the end of this week,’ she swept on, using clipped tones to discourage him, ‘I’ll be flying back to Australia.’ Back to the problems at home.

‘Ah...Australia. So that’s the accent. I was wondering. Um... You intend to look for another nanny job back in Australia?’

Her eyelashes flickered under his coolly interested gaze. Did he have a nanny fetish?

‘I doubt it,’ she answered dryly, adding in cutting tones, ‘I’ll be looking for a job as an accountant or auditor, which is what I’m qualified for and the kind of work I was doing until just recently.’

So put that in your pipe and smoke it, buddy, she thought with another upward jerk of her chin. If you imagined I was a brainless, man-crazy bimbo, ready to jump at the chance of a hot little dalliance with the likes of you, think again!

‘Well,’ he returned in a silky drawl, revealing by his next remark that he had been thinking along those lines, ‘Living proof that brains and beauty can on occasion co-exist.’ He quirked an admiring eyebrow at her, his dark eyes dancing.

For heaven’s sake, the man was flirting with her! ‘Can on occasion co-exist,’ indeed! What a disgusting male chauvinist he was!

‘I wonder if the same can be said about you?’ she whipped back in a withering tone, her eyes flashing contempt. ‘Or are you just a pretty face?’

The deep brown eyes flickered. Then he smiled, a sudden stretching of his lips, showing a flash of even white teeth and a burst of crinkles and dimples where there’d only been a tanned smoothness before.

She felt an unexpected jolt. That quick smile had a megawatt impact.

Oh, no, you don’t, she thought, rallying. Your devastating English charm won’t work on this girl, my friend. I’m immune to the flashy charms of gorgeous-looking Englishmen. Give me a rugged, down-to-earth, honest, decent Aussie guy any day.

I should be so lucky, she mused with a grimace, doubting if honest, decent men existed anywhere any more.

‘Why are you here?’ she tossed back at him as she began to walk on, not caring if he answered or not. Not being interested in dancing-eyed charm machines. She just wanted to switch the spotlight off herself. Or, better still, shake him off altogether.

But in a single stride he was at her side.

Holly, mercifully, came to the rescue, piping up before he could speak, ‘I’m hungry.’ She tugged at Claire’s hand. ‘I want an ice cream.’

‘All right, love, we’ll find you an ice cream.’ Claire quickened her pace, expecting the Englishman to take the hint and fade away.

He didn’t. ‘Let me buy you an ice cream at Florian’s,’ he offered, and waved a hand toward the famous café as they passed by, the romantic strains of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ swirling around them.

She didn’t falter, pretending that she hadn’t even heard the offer. There was no way in the world she was going to let this pushy Englishman buy anything for her—let alone try to buy her favours, if that was what he was doing. And Florian’s was way out of her own modest pocket.

‘There’s an ice-cream place at the back of the piazza,’ she said brusquely. Dismissively. ‘Come on, Holly.’ She almost swept the little girl off her feet as she hurried on, dragging the child along with her.

Maddeningly, the Englishman kept pace with them. ‘I’m here on business, unfortunately, not pleasure,’ he said in answer to her question—despite her having made it obvious that she didn’t care if he answered or not. ‘I’m here for a business seminar at the Cipriani...though I chose not to stay there. I prefer a hotel with a quieter, more personal touch—away from all the hype.’

That surprised her. She’d have thought he’d lap up that kind of place. The glitz, the glamour. Maybe, she mused cynically, he just wanted to be free of his fellow delegates so that he could more easily chat up solitary females.

‘You’re playing hookey this morning?’ she asked sweetly, slowing her pace as Holly whined, ‘You’re going too fast!’

‘Not at all.’ He fell into step beside her. ‘Morning off.’

‘Where are all your fellow delegates?’ she asked pointedly, glancing around. Hadn’t he made any friends amongst them? ‘More interested in the Cipriani’s glamorous social whirl, are they, than the cultural delights of Venice?’

‘I doubt that. They’re all at business sessions this morning. I’m not involved in those. I’m here to give a series of lectures on the effect of the Internet on worldwide communications. I’ll be giving my final one this afternoon.’

‘Oh.’ She deliberately looked at him the way he’d looked at her a few moments ago. ‘Well,’ she murmured, unable to resist the temptation, ‘Living proof that good looks and brains can co-exist...on occasion.’

His lips—sensuous, well-shaped lips, she noted reluctantly—stretched again, the outer edges curving upward and deepening the appealing creases in his cheeks.

‘Touché,’ he applauded softly, a gleam of amusement in the dark depths of his eyes.

Much as she wanted to dislike everything about him, Claire had to give him credit for appreciating the way she’d turned his chauvinistic remark back on him. Nigel probably would have taken umbrage and demanded huffily whether she was mocking him, his pale blue eyes wavering with hurt and uncertainty. Nigel had liked to feel in control at all times—on top of every situation.

‘Do your employers give you any time off...by yourself?’ the stranger pursued as they entered the narrow lane behind the piazza and began to weave their way through the throngs of other tourists, past windows with tempting displays of designer fashions, expensive knitwear, fine shoes and eye-catching jewellery. ‘In the evenings, I mean,’ he added smoothly, ‘when the children are asleep and their parents have no commitments themselves?’

In the evenings... I knew it, she thought as she seared a glance round. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said crushingly. Even if they did, her eyes told him, I wouldn’t be spending my precious spare time with you.

‘You’re here in romantic Venice with no time at all to yourself? That’s criminal!’ Obviously he’d failed to read what her eyes were telling him. This man, she thought, has an ego to match his audacity!

‘I’m here to work. To mind children. It’s not a holiday,’ she snapped. ‘It’s not a holiday for my employers either. They’re here for a medical conference.’ She tossed her head, her short bob of silky brown hair swirling round her cheeks. ‘Even so, I’ve managed to see quite a bit of Venice already...’

‘Oh, yes?’ The roguish brown eyes mocked her. ‘What have you seen?’

‘More than you, most likely!’ she retorted. ‘This morning we took a look inside St Mark’s Basilica... we were among the first ones in the queue. We’ve been into the Doge’s Palace. We’ve been up the Grand Canal—more than once. We’ve shopped for souvenirs. We’ve watched the passing cruise ships from our hotel rooftop—where you get a breathtaking view of the Venice skyline at dusk. Last night we saw a magnificent sunset...’ That, she realised immediately, was a mistake.

‘How romantic,’ was his ironic comment. ‘Watching a Venetian sunset with a three-year-old. You should be watching romantic sunsets with a man, not with a child.’

‘Maybe I find young children better company than men,’ she bit back, thinking of Nigel. There had been a stunning sunset the night she’d caught him on the balcony of his flat with another woman.

‘You don’t like men? Or... just one man in particular?’ He seemed to find the idea diverting. ‘Bad experience?’ he probed delicately.

The droll note in his voice infuriated her for some reason. He sounded so smug. As if he’d never been on the receiving end of a woman’s scorn in his entire life! Well, here’s one woman who does hold you in contempt! And all good-looking Englishmen.

She was thinking not just of Nigel now, but of her handsome, silver-tongued brother-in-law back in Australia... Ralph Bannister, another Englishman, who’d burst into her sister’s life like a blazing comet and swept poor dazzled Sally off her feet... and who was now making her younger sister’s life pure hell.

She and Sally could sure pick their men!

‘Oh, I like men,’ she said levelly, looking him straight in the eye as she paused outside the ice-cream parlour. ‘It’s just smooth, good-looking Englishmen I don’t much care for. I’ve found them to be insufferably conceited and untrustworthy.’

Just as she was about to swing on her heel and stomp into the gelateria, she found her gaze caught for a fatal second, locked with his.

‘You have the most bewitching eyes,’ he murmured, the wicked glint in his own threatening to bewitch her in that paralysing second. ‘Smoky grey, fringed with black...’ The compelling eyes turned lethal. ‘Bedroom eyes.’

She jerked back to earth. Bedroom eyes! ‘That’s one place you’ll never see,’ she spat back. ‘My bedroom!’

‘How about...mine?’ He gave a wolfish smile.

She caught her breath in a hiss, her eyes shooting silver daggers at him. ‘In your dreams!’

The well-shaped lips twitched appreciatively. ‘Mmm...a woman who can stand up for herself... I like that.’

‘I want an ice cream!’ squawked Holly.

‘Yes, pet...it’s right here.’ With a final glare at the laughing-eyed Englishman, Claire turned her back on him and marched into the gelateria, bundling Holly in ahead of her. The baby, amazingly, was still fast asleep on her back.

Breathing heavily, her heart thudding against her ribs, she fought to compose herself. Oh, boy. She felt her cheeks glowing in swift shame. Outrageous as he’d been, she’d been appallingly rude to him first, calling him conceited and untrustworthy. It was completely unlike her.

The man had touched a raw spot. He was so like Nigel. A charming, good-looking, self-satisfied womaniser. But that didn’t excuse her rudeness. She ought to run after him and apologise.

He can take it, a more realistic voice asserted. It would take more than a few sharp remarks to prick that man’s armour of arrogance and conceit. No, he deserved it. She hadn’t invited him to approach her. He’d chatted her up.

Bedroom eyes, indeed! Men like him needed deflating.

She was stunned when she stepped out of the shop a few moments later and found him still there, lounging outside an exclusive menswear shop. Before she could swing away in the opposite direction he was at her side.

‘You must let me try to redeem the poor reputation we Englishmen seem to have in your eyes,’ he said with a smile that went a good way towards doing just that. Until she hardened her heart.

‘All Englishmen are not the dishonourable, womanising bounders you seem to think us,’ he assured her, ‘despite the way we sometimes carry on.’

His expression was penitent, though she noticed there was still an impish glimmer in his eye. The man was incorrigible!

‘Let me prove it to you.’ His tone was cajoling. ‘Let me buy you a drink tonight after the children are asleep. At the hotel, if you feel you can’t leave the premises...or don’t wish to. In the public bar,’ he added hastily, as if to show that he wasn’t still thinking of bedrooms.

As her lips parted, ready with an excuse—or, if that failed, a tart refusal—he touched her arm. ‘Please... Tonight is my last night here in Venice.’

She jumped in instinctive reaction at his touch, light as it was, the fine hairs on her bare skin bristling like a cat in fright. She’d never been so aware of a man’s touch in her life.

Repulsion, she was quick to label it. Indignation. Distaste. Anything but pleasure.

‘I don’t think so,’ she breathed. Remember Nigel, she thought wildly. Remember how charming and persuasive he was...in the beginning. She heard the baby on her back give a whimper. ‘I have to get back!’ she gasped out. ‘I have to feed the baby. G-goodbye!’

‘I’m heading back to the hotel myself,’ he said easily, obviously not getting the message—or not believing she meant it. He steered her through the crowd with his hand at her elbow, making her acutely—in—furiatingly—aware all over again of the effect of his hand on her bare skin.

‘I have to change and pick up my briefcase,’ he told her. ‘I’m meeting some of the other delegates at the Cipriani for lunch before I give my afternoon lecture.’

Which would be the last she would ever see of him, she thought with what should have been immense satisfaction. And relief. And could have kicked herself in disgust when a tiny quiver ran through her instead.

‘Please don’t let me hold you up,’ she said fractiously. ‘Holly can’t walk very fast.’

‘I’m in no great hurry.’ He altered his stride to match hers. ‘So...’ he quirked a dark eyebrow at her ‘...you fly out to Australia at the end of the week, you said. Direct from here? Or will you be going back to London first?’

‘I have to go back to London to pick up the rest of my things but I’ll be on the first available flight from Heathrow after we get back,’ she said curtly, stifling an exasperated sigh. Was there no shaking him off? Why was he being so persistent? She’d made it clear that she had no intention of seeing him tonight. Why bother chasing a girl who’d made it plain that she wasn’t interested? He was good-looking enough, sexy enough and probably rich enough to have just about any woman he chose.

It must be an ego thing, she decided with a disparaging twist of her lips. He wasn’t used to being brushed off, and was determined to foist his macho charm on her until he won her over. And once he’d succeeded he’d promptly lose interest himself, more likely than not, and back off with his precious ego intact.

Well, try your hardest, mate. Her eyes gleamed in fiery challenge. This girl’s immune to brash, charismatic Englishmen.

‘Won’t you at least tell me your name?’

Glancing up at him with cool disdain, she found herself wavering under the electrifying impact of his dark, sun-sharpened eyes. She swallowed. Well, it could hardly hurt to tell him her name. It would be petulant—impolite—not to. After all, they were guests at the same hotel. And he’d be gone tomorrow.

‘Claire.’ She was annoyed to hear a betraying huskiness in her voice. She cleared her throat, her brow puckering in irritation. ‘Claire Malone.’ She didn’t go as far as to ask him his.

He gave it anyway. ‘Adam Tate.’ He paused, then added, ‘I’ll be flying out to Australia myself in a few days. From London.’

‘You will?’ Her heart missed a beat. ‘Holiday?’ The question slipped out. She hadn’t meant to show an interest, to encourage him in any way.

‘Partly work, partly pleasure. I have business interests in Melbourne. And a wedding to attend. I also own a sheep station in the Western District of Victoria, about three hours from Melbourne. I’ll be looking after the property while my manager’s on his honeymoon.’

She had the strangest sinking feeling. A sense of fate, inevitability... almost impending doom. As she gulped, fretfully trying to dismiss it, he asked her, ‘Whereabouts in Australia do you live?’

Heat prickled along her cheeks. ‘Melbourne.’ She grimaced inwardly as she heard the husky tightness in her voice. She’d meant to toss off the answer with a careless air of unconcern, showing him that it was neither here nor there to her that they were both heading in the same direction.

‘Well, what do you know?’ She could feel his eyes boring into her averted profile, feel the wheels turning over in his mind, sense the glow of self-satisfied speculation in his eyes.

She felt an overwhelming urge to cut him off at the knees. If he imagined she was going to give him her address...agree to see him back in Australia...

‘I’m needed back home urgently.’ Her eyes were cool, her tone brusque. ‘I’m going to have my time cut out for me when I get back.’

‘Er...family problems? Illness?’ he ventured.

‘It’s my—’ She broke off with a frown. Her sister wouldn’t relish having her personal affairs discussed with a complete stranger. She’d hate it.

Poor Sally hadn’t even wanted to discuss her marital woes with her—her own sister. For months she’d denied even having any problems, making all the excuses in the world for her husband’s wild, selfish excesses. Until they’d become too difficult to hide or to bear. And by then Claire had been half a world away, working in London, only able to help by sending money—enough to save the power and phone being cut off—and offering support from a distance.

‘Do you mind if we talk about something else?’ Or not talk at all, her eyes told him with a frosty glare.

‘By all means.’ He didn’t even miss a beat. ‘You’ll also be looking for a new job when you get home...you said? An accounting job.’ He paused. ‘You can’t go back to your old firm?’

She drew in a deep, quivering breath. ‘No.’ Nigel had made that impossible. Even though based in London, Nigel, as a partner of the prestigious international firm, would be visiting the Melbourne office from time to time. He could even be transferred there for a spell, as she had been to London. Only she hadn’t lasted in the London office for her planned six months... thanks to Nigel.

‘I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,’ she said rather snappily. It might be hard to find another job with a major accounting firm in Melbourne. Especially if Nigel got nasty and spread the word around that she wasn’t reliable—couldn’t hold down a job. He was capable of it. He saw himself as a suitor scorned. Closing his mind to the fact that he’d been unfaithful to her. ‘The girl didn’t mean a thing to me,’ had been his pathetic defence. It was obvious that neither had his brand-new fiancée.

She was relieved when the hotel came into view at last. Never had the deep pink walls and canvas awnings looked more welcome.

‘Have a good trip back,’ she said carelessly as she bundled Holly through the glass doors, which Adam Tate sprang forward to hold open for her. She didn’t mention his visit to Melbourne, hoping he’d take the hint that she had no wish to see him again.

He was far too full of himself. Far too good-looking. Too sexy. Too charming. Too disgustingly complacent. He was just like Nigel. He thought himself irresistible.

The baby was crying in earnest now. If Adam Tate had an answering comment, she didn’t hear it as she dashed across the hotel lobby and up the stairs, not wanting to wait around for the lift and give him a chance to catch up with her.

She had absolutely no wish in the world to see him ever again.

It was that same night that everything blew up in her face.

After putting Holly and the baby to bed and waiting for a while until both were sleeping peacefully, she seized her chance to slip up to the rooftop garden to breathe in some fresh evening air before returning to her own room next door to theirs.

There was a stunning sunset. The graceful spires and domes of Venice rose in stark black outline against the blood-red sky. It reminded her of what the dark-eyed Englishman, Adam Tate, had said—You should be watching the sunset with a man...

She stirred restlessly. And wished suddenly that she’d never come up here...wished in the next breath that she’d never met him. He was everything she despised in a man. And yet—

She heard a sound behind her. The hairs at her nape lifted. It couldn’t be...him?

‘Claire! I thought I might find you up here.’

A familiar English voice...but not his. She swung round, her lips parting in surprise as she saw a bulky figure take shape in the gathering dusk.

It was Holly’s father, Hugo Dann. Her employer. Still dressed as he’d been when he and his wife had sallied off earlier to a cocktail party and dinner at the Gritti Palace. Except for his jacket, which he’d discarded somewhere on the way up.

She flicked her tongue over her lips. ‘Mr Dann! Did—did you forget something? The children are asleep,’ she added quickly, in case he thought she was neglecting her duties.

‘I know—I just looked in on them.’ He sauntered closer. ‘I decided not to stay for the dinner because I wanted to go through some notes before tomorrow. My wife’s coming back later with friends.’

Her skin prickled. She had the feeling that he was telling her about his wife for a reason. To let her know they weren’t likely to be disturbed? She swallowed. All men are not like Nigel, you fool. But the way he was looking at her...and she could smell whisky on his breath.

‘I’d better get back to my room,’ she said a trifle breathlessly. He’d never try anything there—her room was right next door to the children’s room. And she could lock her door.

‘Wait! Don’t go...’ He caught her arm as she tried to slip past him. ‘Don’t let me frighten you away, Claire. Stay and enjoy this glorious sunset.’

She had a fleeting vision of Adam Tate’s face nodding sagely, his eyes glinting with laughter... mocking her. It piqued her no end.

‘I—I’ve seen it! It—it was much better earlier...’ She looked pointedly down at his hand. Why didn’t he let her go? She tried to pull away. ‘Please, Mr Dann,’ she begged, when his grip tightened. ‘I want to go.’

‘You’re a very sexy woman, Claire.’ His voice, she noted in dismay, had thickened. ‘You shouldn’t tempt a man by being so...alluring.’

She gasped. He was blaming her for his pathetic weakness? How like Nigel he was! ‘I couldn’t help it, Claire. She was such a seductive little witch. Any man would have been tempted. It didn’t mean a thing...honestly. A moment’s stupid weakness, darling. It won’t happen again.’ Until the next time. She hadn’t given him the chance.

‘Would you kindly let go of my arm?’ She grated the words, her face twisting in contempt, to show him that she was deadly serious.

‘Just one kiss, Claire, love.’ His whisky-tinged breath assailed her nostrils, causing her to catch her breath in repulsion. ‘It won’t hurt anyone. Venice is the city of romance, remember...and you’re here all alone. It’s not fair. I can’t let you go home without at least a—’

‘No! Please, Mr Dann...’ She was angry—disgusted—rather than scared. She knew that anyone could come up to the rooftop at any moment. And he must know it, too—and wasn’t the least concerned about it. It was only his wife he was concerned about, and she was safely out of the way at the Gritti Palace.

Incredibly—ridiculously—she found herself wishing that Adam Tate would appear. He might not be her ideal knight in shining armour—in fact, he was far more dangerous, as far as she was concerned, than her tipsy, wife-fearing employer—but at least he would save her from Hugo Dann’s clutches, and while he was sorting the drunken sot out she could make her escape from both of them.

‘Gosh, Claire, you’re beautiful! You’re simply irres-irresistible!’ Suddenly he jerked her into his arms—none too gently—and clamped his open mouth down on hers, cutting off her indignant protests.

She tried to struggle free but he had her arms pinned, her lips imprisoned, and he was much stronger than she was. She tried in vain to kick him, squeaking in protest—sickened by the moist heat of his slack lips and the strong smell of alcohol on his breath.

As the clumsy assault continued she went limp in his arms, hoping that if she stopped struggling and became passive the repulsive kisses would end all the sooner. Then she could give him a sharp kick in the shins and make her escape, leaving him to repent at leisure when he sobered up.

He’d probably be begging her forgiveness in the morning, shamed and horrified at what he’d done and petrified that she would walk out on them—or tell his wife.

‘Hugo!’

That one harsh squawk achieved instantly what her struggles had failed to do. His hands dropped away, his head snapping back and spinning round.

‘Sonia...’ After an initial shocked stare he seemed to sober up as if by magic. He pushed Claire away from him, almost stumbling as he stepped back and wheeled round to face his wife. ‘Darling...Thank heaven you came! The little vixen threw herself at me!’

As Claire gasped in disbelief he gabbled on, his face noticeably puce even in the gloom.

‘I came up to see where she was. She didn’t seem to be in her room and I was worried about the children. I found her up here, mooning over the sunset. Lonely, I dare say, poor girl. Missing her boyfriend. When she saw me she fell into my arms...just like that. I’m sure it wasn’t even me she was kissing... more likely her boyfriend back home. We must be cool and calm about this, darling,’ he babbled on, ‘and try to forgive her. Blame Venice. Blame the sunset. Blame the magic of the evening...’

‘Forgive her? Are you crazy? If I can’t trust my babies’ nanny...’ Sonia slewed round to confront Claire, sheer venom in her sharp green eyes. ‘You’ll pack your bags and leave first thing in the morning! And you’ll leave with nothing, you understand? No more money from us, no air fare back to Australia—nothing but your return ticket to London, which you already possess! You can find some other way to get back to Australia... and good riddance!’

‘Darling, you can’t!’ Hugo bleated as Claire’s heart plunged to her toes. ‘We need her.’

‘I’ll pay someone from the hotel to watch over the children for the rest of the week. Or you can stay with them. She goes!’

‘But—but you can’t send her away with nothing. We promised to pay her air fare back to Australia—’

‘Are you taking her side?’ Sonia’s head jerked round, her green eyes stabbing him. ‘Maybe she wasn’t the one who instigated this shoddy little scene after all. Maybe you threw yourself at her.’

‘Sonia, no! I didn’t!’ Hugo spluttered. ‘I wouldn’t!’ The pathetic denial made Claire’s mouth twist in contempt but neither of them noticed or cared about her. Hugo was too intent on trying to save his own neck and Sonia on removing her from their lives.

‘I’ll ring the airport first thing in the morning and change the girl’s flight to the first available one back to London,’ Sonia spat back. ‘I’m not having her flying back with us at the end of the week. She goes tomorrow. And I’m damned if we’re going to finance a water taxi to the airport either. She can catch a waterbus to the railway station and get a train to the airport.’

Hugo’s teeth tugged at his lips. ‘Dear... we can’t let her go without paying her something. How about just her salary for the two days she’s been here in Venice with us...?

‘No! She doesn’t get a penny more than we’ve already given her for the children’s expenses and her food and accommodation. If she kicks up a fuss I’ll cancel her air ticket back to London as well and she can pay her own way back.’ Sonia’s lip curled. ‘She’ll manage. I’m sure she’ll soon find another rich male to latch onto.’

Claire cast her a withering look but it was spoilt when Adam Tate’s laughing dark eyes flashed back into her mind, bringing a swift flush to her cheeks. He was also leaving for London tomorrow. If the Danns found her a seat on the same flight she would have to face him again.

Well, there was no way she was going to latch onto him! Or any other good-looking Englishman. Rich or poor. She’d had it with Englishmen...once and for all!

CHAPTER TWO

CLAIRE came down to breakfast on her own, for the first time without the children. She’d already packed and had been told by a tight-lipped Sonia Dann that she was booked on the one o’clock flight back to London and to leave the hotel immediately after breakfast since it would take some time to get to the airport via waterbus and train.

‘We’ll look after the children this morning, inconvenient as it will be,’ were Sonia’s parting words, and Claire had bitten back the retort on her lips, tempted as she’d been to say a few words about mothers who found it inconvenient to have breakfast with their own children.

Her heart skipped a beat when she walked into the pretty garden courtyard where a selection of breakfast foods and drinks were spread out on tables at one end, and saw Adam Tate, sitting alone at a small table for two. He waved and beckoned.

She hesitated, inwardly cursing the erratic way her heart was leaping around in her chest. There was absolutely no reason for it. None! Should she simply ignore him? Or just wave back and head for a table of her own?

She tightened her lips as he beckoned again, more urgently this time. She would have to go over, for a second at least.

‘You wanted me for something?’ she asked, her tone lukewarm and her grey eyes cool. Cooler than she felt.

He was wearing a smart cream shirt this morning with a trendy stand-up collar, unbuttoned at the top to reveal a tantalising glimpse of brown skin. And I bet he knows how sexy he is, she thought sourly, schooling her expression to show no reaction.

‘Where are the children this morning?’

“They’ll be coming down with their parents. Later.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m leaving Venice this morning. As soon as I’ve had breakfast.’

‘Leaving? I thought you were here for the whole week. You’re all leaving?’

‘No. Just me.’ She pursed her lips. He might as well know. He was bound to hear it from someone on the staff. Sonia Dann would make sure everyone knew: ‘I’ve been relieved of my duties,’ she said shortly.

‘Oh? Making a pass at the husband, were we?’ he quipped. ‘Only joking,’ he said hastily as she speared him with a malignant glare. His dark eyes probed hers as she stood stiffly, anxious to make her escape. ‘Jealous wife syndrome would be closer to the mark, would it?’ he asked slowly, a knowing look in his eye.

She let her gaze flicker away. ‘Do you mind if I go and get myself some breakfast? I have to leave shortly.’

‘Sorry. Why don’t you grab some cereal and orange juice and join me? Silly to both take up tables when we’re here alone. Besides, I want to talk to you.’

Well, I don’t want to talk to you, her eyes told him. But politeness held the words back and returned her to his table a few moments later. Besides, it would be petty to sit at a table all by herself now that they knew each other.

‘You wanted to talk to me about something?’ she asked, her expression and body language anything but encouraging. Without waiting for an answer, she dug her spoon into her bowl of muesli—her eyes fixed to the spoon in her hand.

‘I’m leaving Venice today myself,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ll be on the BA flight at one p.m. What flight are you on?’

‘The same,’ she mumbled, without looking up. Was there no getting away from him?

‘Ah...good. You haven’t already booked a water taxi, have you?’

‘I won’t be taking a water taxi. I’ll be going by waterbus and train.’

‘No need for that. I’ve a water taxi arriving at the hotel at eleven-thirty. We can share it.’

Her heart jumped. ‘Thanks, but...I’d prefer to go my own way.’ Even a half-share in a water taxi was beyond her means now that she’d been dismissed from her job with nothing to show for it. She’d have to watch every dollar from now on. And start saving madly the moment she found another job back in London.

‘You’d prefer to struggle onto a crowded waterbus with all your luggage and then put up with a long tedious train ride to the airport when I’m offering you a free ride in a water taxi that will be empty, apart from myself, and will take less than half an hour? You’re being ridiculous.’

She bristled, but realised at the same time that it would be ridiculous to refuse. Especially if he was paying.

‘Oh, all right. Thanks,’ she said, trying not to sound ungracious. It would also give her a couple of extra hours here in Venice. Time to dash out on her own and see a few things she hadn’t been able to see with the children, knowing they’d be bored. Like the magnificent paintings at the Accademia, or the breathtaking views from the top of the Campanile in St Mark’s Square.

‘Well...’ Adam leaned back in his chair, nursing his coffee cup in his strong, long-fingered hands. ‘I guess you’re happy that now you’ll be able to go back to Australia a few days earlier than planned?’

The question was like a dousing of cold water.

‘I won’t be going back to Australia. At least not for a while.’ Not now, she brooded. Thanks to Hugo Dann. She thought of her sister, pregnant and sick and miserably in debt, and silently cursed all roving-eyed Englishmen.

‘Oh? Why the change of mind?’

‘I haven’t changed my mind. I...can’t afford it. Not now, anyway.’ She glowered at him from under her thick lashes. He wouldn’t understand what it was like not to be able to afford things. The man reeked of success and affluence.

‘You’re saying your employers let you go without paying you? And now you won’t have enough money to afford your air fare back to Australia?’ He looked as affronted as she felt.

She shrugged. ‘Something like that.’ No need to tell him that they’d originally promised to pay her entire air fare home, and now she was broke—or close to it.

She’d used up most of what she’d managed to save in London from her job with Nigel to pay off some pressing bills of her sister’s, debts that Sally’s useless husband, as usual, hadn’t been able to meet.

Poor Sally had been frantic with worry, knowing that the phone and power were about to be cut off and having no hope of earning the money herself. She’d been too ill with morning sickness to keep up her work as a model, which was just about all that had been keeping them afloat since their marriage last year. Sally had actually rung Claire and begged her for help, which she’d always refused to accept before.

And now—the last straw for poor Sally—her brute of a husband was urging her to terminate the pregnancy!

Claire pushed her bowl aside and reached for her coffee. Sally needed her. She’d even admitted it, which was so different from six months ago when she’d all but told her big sister to butt out of her life.

And now, thanks to Hugo Dann, she couldn’t fly home to offer Sally the sisterly support she needed. Not until she’d saved up enough for her air fare back to Australia. And once she did get back to Melbourne she’d have to find another job—a permanent job. She wouldn’t be able to help Sally in any material way until she started earning a salary. A good salary at that.

Damn Ralph Bannister, she cursed silently. Damn the lying, gambling, heartless good-for-nothing! Sally deserved better. And if she wasn’t. so besotted—still—she would see it.

‘Look, I have a proposition,’ Adam Tate said.

Claire jolted back to earth. A proposition? Her eyes flared in suspicion. I’ll just bet you have, she thought nastily, her mind still on Ralph Bannister and how he’d propositioned her sister a year ago with extravagant promises, gifts and lies about his family and past. Not that Sally knew about the lies...yet. Claire had discovered the truth while she was in London and hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell her sister... at least not from so far away.

‘Forget it,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m not interested.’

‘You wrong me, Claire.’ The handsome mouth curved. ‘I’m offering you a job.’ He paused. ‘Another child-minding job.’

‘Child-minding?’ She stared at him. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

‘That’s right. My two-year-old son.’

‘You have a son?’ Her eyes widened. Somehow she’d imagined him to be fancy-free and without ties or responsibilities. And then she remembered Hugo Dann, father of those two little angels. This man could be another Hugo. Having a child didn’t make him safe.

Who else did he have tucked away at home? A wife? A jealous wife?

‘His name is Jamie. He’s in London with my mother at present. His last nanny...well, let’s just say she proved unsatisfactory.’

Unsatisfactory? She stabbed him with a piercing look. That was what Hugo Dann would say about her. That she had proved unsatisfactory. The slimy wolf.

Were all Englishmen the same?

His lips stretched wider as understanding flashed in his eyes.

‘Relax...I didn’t come on to her, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was nothing like that. She simply couldn’t cope with an over-active two-year-old. My mother’s been interviewing nannies for the past week but I’m to have the final say when I get back.’

Still been no mention of his wife. Were they separated? Divorced? Or was his wife a full-time career woman...like Sonia Dann?

She frowned across the table at him. ‘You’re leaving your son at home with a nanny when you go to Australia? A brand-new nanny?’ Her teeth tugged at her lip. ‘Your mother can’t look after him?’ Or your wife?

He murmured approval. ‘I can see you care about my son already. I could see yesterday that you care for children and know how to handle them.’

Had he been thinking of offering her a job when they’d met yesterday? Was that why he’d approached her? Not simply to chat her up because she was a reasonable-looking female who just might be willing to give him a good time? Had he known all along that she was the children’s nanny, not their mother? He could have easily found out from the hotel staff.

‘No. I won’t be leaving my son at home with a nanny or with my mother or with anyone else.’ His answer came easily. ‘I’ll be taking him with me to Australia. Assuming I can find someone to help me look after him for the next three months... possibly longer.’

‘Oh.’ She let that sink in, conscious that her heart was pounding like a wild jungle drum in her chest. If he meant what she thought he meant...

‘Your mother can’t fly to Australia with you?’ Find out all you can about him before you start even thinking about what he might be proposing.

‘Unfortunately not. She hates flying. Refuses to fly. And, anyway, she’ll have the farm to look after. She’s anxious to get back there.’

‘The farm? You mean...she doesn’t live in London?’

‘No. She’s only staying at my London apartment this week while she’s interviewing nannies and preparing Jamie for his trip to Australia. Normally she lives at our family farm in the Cotswolds. She’s helped me look after Jamie since...my wife died. With the help of various nannies.’

Claire inhaled slowly and deeply. So...he was a widower. Her heart softened a trifle. ‘You’re saying that Jamie has been living on a farm in the Cotswolds with your mother while you live and work in London?’ She couldn’t keep a note of censure from her voice.

‘I try to divide my time between both places. Jamie is a very active child and is happier living on the farm than in town. I spend as much of my time there as I can.’

But he wasn’t there all the time. Poor Jamie. No mother...and only a part-time father. But at least Adam intended taking his son to Australia with him. He must have some parental feeling.

‘Just what exactly do you want from me?’ she asked bluntly.

He put down his cup and smiled. Rather too complacently for her liking.

‘It seems we each have something to offer the other. I’m offering you a free flight back to Australia—hopefully within the next couple of days—and an extremely well-paid job within easy reach of Melbourne for the next three months or so. I’ll pay part of your salary up front to establish my bona fides. In return you’ll help me look after Jamie during the flight and afterwards at my sheep property in Victoria’s Western District.

‘And, since I know you’re a qualified accountant and that you wish to keep your hand in, I’ll ask you to do the farm accounts for me and possibly some auditing, for which I’ll pay you accordingly. Well?’

She flicked her tongue over her lips. ‘There’s just one thing...’ She hesitated. There were lots of things, actually, but one thing was uppermost in her mind right now.

‘And that is?’

‘The reason I’m so anxious to get back to Melbourne...’ She swallowed, sure that he’d withdraw his offer the moment he heard it.

‘You have...an attachment back in Melbourne?’ he assisted delicately. ‘A lover waiting for you?’

She recoiled. ‘I certainly do not!’ A spark of contempt turned the grey of her eyes to pure silver. ‘I have no...attachments, as you call them.’ Her tone was icy. ‘And I don’t intend to.’ She drew in a breath. ‘Ever again.’

Rather than looking shocked or surprised—or uttering the usual platitudes about possibly meeting someone else one day and changing her mind—his mouth twisted, almost in approval. Or...empathy? ‘You’re through with love and all that stuff, are you?’ he asked, looking more curious than concerned.

Her gaze fluttered away. ‘I can live without another man in my life... yes.’

Nigel’s betrayal, and the misery Ralph Bannister was putting her sister through, had been more than enough to make her vow never to get emotionally involved with any man ever again. Least of all with an Englishman. Love left you weak and vulnerable—at the mercy of your emotions. She never intended to lose control of her life and emotions the way poor Sally had lost control of hers. She’d come close to it with Nigel, and she didn’t intend to come close ever again.

He didn’t press her. ‘So if it’s not a man, why are you so anxious to get home?’

She sighed. ‘It’s...my sister.’

‘Your sister?’ Now he did look surprised.

‘My sister isn’t well. She’s pregnant. She’s been so sick she’s had to give up her work...as a model. And—and her husband isn’t any help. Financially or in any other way.’

Now that she’d started, the rest tumbled out. ‘Ralph—her husband—has no job. He gets involved in wild schemes that come to nothing. When he does make some money—usually with a win at the casino, or the races—he gambles it away again so they’re always struggling to pay off their debts. And—and now he’s actually urging her to get rid of the baby! It—it’s so unfair. All Sally’s ever wanted is a normal, happy home life. A husband, a home and babies. The poor thing’s at her wit’s end.’

She flushed as she stopped for breath, sure he must be regretting now that he’d ever offered her a job.

‘And you feel responsible for her?’ Rather than trying to back off, he actually leaned forward. ‘What about the rest of your family? Your parents? Other members of the family?’

‘There’s only Sally and me.’ She gulped, finding the dark, quizzical gaze disconcerting. To avoid it she concentrated on his mouth instead, her eyes tracing the firm sensual outline of his lips. Another mistake!

She let her gaze veer away altogether and reached for her coffee—even though the cup was already empty.

‘No one else?’ he pressed.

She snatched in a quick breath. ‘No. Our mother died when Sally was only three—I was eight—and our grandmother helped Dad bring us up. But Gran died before Sally was ten, and our father died while Sally was in her last year at school...I was at university. So I’ve really been a mother to Sally for most of her life—and I’ve had sole responsibility for her since Dad died.’

‘And you still feel responsible for her, even now that she’s married?’

She heaved a deep quivering sigh. ‘I’ve tried not to interfere but it’s been hard not to when I’ve seen what her husband’s been doing to her. He swept into her life like some shining knight and offered to lay the world at her feet. He had money then—a big win at the casino, I suppose—but. in fact—’

She stopped, sucking in a fraught breath. What was she doing, pouring out her troubles—worse, her sister’s private problems—to a man who for all she knew might be no better than Ralph or Nigel?

But—her chin came up—there was one big difference. This man was offering her the chance to get back to Australia within the next couple of days, and he was offering her a well-paid job once she was back in Victoria for at least three months. She’d be crazy to throw an offer like that back in his face.

‘I...I’ll need a couple of days in Melbourne first with my sister,’ she told him, wanting to be honest with him, even if it meant waving goodbye to a free flight home. ‘I want to make sure she’s all right...and do what I can to help her get back on her feet.’ She looked up at him expectantly. Hopefully.

‘Not a problem. I’ll be spending two or three days in Melbourne myself before this wedding I have to go to. I want to check up on the information technology centre I set up in Melbourne last year. It’s being run by Australians—very successfully. I’m in electronics,’ he explained, ‘with my brother, Luke, who’s based in London. Our business has been profitable enough to help finance our farming interests. So, Claire...’

His eyes were darkly persuasive as they caught and pinned hers. ‘Would three days in Melbourne be sufficient for you to sort things out with your sister? And remember, this property you’ll be going to—Yangalla—will only be a phone call away from her and less than three hours away from Melbourne by car. It’s not as if you’ll be going to the remote Outback.’

She drew in a deep, lung-filling breath. Was she crazy to be even considering working for this man? This dangerously sexy, cocksure, breathtakingly persistent Englishman? And how would his ‘over-active’ son take to her? Or she to him?

There was only one way to find out.

“I’m sure three days would give me ample time with my sister,’ she said primly. Sally might even tell her to go off and mind her own business after the very first day. She’d done it before.

Or Ralph might. He must have a fair idea of what she thought of him—she’d hardly been able to hide it.

‘So...you’ll take the job?’ Adam asked before she could spell out her rules and conditions. He was already sitting back—oh, so sure of himself—with his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his hip-hugging jeans, his long legs sprawled loosely in front of him under the table and his great feet almost tangling with her own.

She made him wait a full three seconds. ‘I’m prepared to meet your son,’ she said cautiously. ‘And your mother.’ To make sure they actually exist, her eyes told him. ‘I’ll give you my final answer then.’

‘Fair enough.’ He flashed his megawatt smile. ‘Great.’

CHAPTER THREE

ENCHANTING as Venice was, Claire wasn’t disappointed to see it receding into the misty distance as the water taxi sped away across the lagoon towards the airport. Venice was for lovers, for romance, for people with leisure time... none of which had a place in Claire Malone’s life any more.

She flew back to London in unexpected comfort. Adam Tate had managed somehow to have her upgraded to Club Class—into the seat beside his. With his confident bearing and dark good looks—and with money and power no doubt playing a part—he would get his way in most things, she suspected.

He’d managed to talk her into working for him, hadn’t he? With the offer of a free flight home and a job for three months if she agreed...

She thought of Hugo Dann, who’d offered her a similar deal—a temporary job and a free flight home, which had come to nothing—and her eyes clouded. I won’t believe it until I’m actually on a plane back to Australia.

They took a taxi from the airport to Adam’s town house in Mayfair, stopping briefly on the way to pick up her few remaining belongings which she’d stored at a youth hostel in Earl’s Court. She’d already told him that she’d given up her lodgings in London, and he’d invited her to stay at his house, assuring her that there was plenty of room and that it would give her a better chance to get to know his mother and Jamie.

She hadn’t actually committed herself to staying the night. Or even to staying more than five minutes. She wasn’t sure what she was afraid of exactly. That she would find, once inside his front door, that his mother and son were sheer fabrications? That he had bars on all the windows and locks on all the doors?

She stifled a nervous giggle.

‘You said something?’ Adam turned to her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, sobering in an instant. Glancing round, she became aware—acutely aware—that he’d shifted closer and that his thigh was now brushing against hers.

‘No.’ She gulped, her entire body going rigid. ‘I was just... thinking.’

‘I know. You’ve been so deep in thought I didn’t want to disturb you. Is it the thought of being with your sister again? Or the thought of taking on a strange little boy whom I’ve already admitted is a handful... and having to live on a sheep farm for the next few months?’

She swallowed again, not wanting to admit that she’d been thinking of him—that her thoughts over the past few minutes hadn’t even touched on his son or her sister or what lay ahead back in Australia.

‘A bit of both,’ she lied. And shot a question back at him. ‘You’re looking forward to seeing your son again?’

‘Naturally. Very much.’ He answered without hesitation, and yet...his face, his eyes, lacked the tender, loving spark—the proud glow—she would have expected from a doting father. Was he just clever at hiding his feelings... or had he no deep feelings for his son?

She heard herself asking curiously, ‘Did Jamie go with you to Australia last year when you bought your sheep station and set up your business in Melbourne?’

He gave a curt shake of his head. ‘He stayed with my mother. It was best. I was on the go the whole time. And he was barely eighteen months old at the time.’ There was something in his tone now, a guardedness in his eyes, that warned her not to pursue the subject.

But if she were to take care of Jamie she would have to know more about both child and father, and particularly about Adam’s relationship with his son. She moistened her lips, and forced out another question.

‘How old was your son when...his mother died?’

It was a long charged moment before he answered. ‘Eleven months old,’ he said at length, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him. ‘My wife was diagnosed as having cancer a month after Jamie was born.’ His voice was toneless—devoid of all feeling, all warmth, all sentiment—and there was a chilly remoteness in his usually expressive brown eyes.

She sensed that sympathy was the last thing he’d want. ‘How—how did you and your wife manage... with a new baby?’

‘My mother took care of Jamie at our family farm in the Cotswolds, while my wife had regular treatment in London. It went on for several weeks, and left her very weak and... failed to help her. She spent her last months on the farm. She was happiest there in the peace and tranquillity of the countryside.’ He turned away to look out of the window. Hoping that would be the end of her interrogation?

But now that he’d opened up, even a little, she couldn’t leave it there. Once she accepted the job he might clam up altogether. ‘Were you able to be there with her?’ she asked tentatively.

A muscle twitched at his jaw, his only sign of emotion. ‘I was with her the whole time...all through her treatment and afterwards at the farm. My brother looked after our business until... it was over.’ He answered in a flat voice, without turning back to face her.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.