Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | The Millionaire′s Baby

The Millionaire's Baby
Diana Hamilton


NANNY WANTED Finn needed a stand-in mommy for his little girl. He got a stand-in nanny! They needed a nanny… When millionaire Finn Helliar walked into her nanny agency looking for help, Caro couldn't believe her luck! This was the man who'd hurt her sister and what better way to make him pay than to accept the position he was offering? … and look what they get!Unfortunately, Caro had reckoned without two things: Sophie, who was adorable, and Finn - who was even more adorable! The more time she spent with them, the more she realized her plan had one fatal flaw… how could she ever leave?







Letter to Reader (#u216c3bbd-ebfe-56b4-91e5-ab4e0fa73f6b)Title Page (#uf59fb11a-e1e5-5b88-b7df-35ee7f0a91ab)CHAPTER ONE (#u6bd44b0e-a610-56f5-9e71-3e1a81f269a5)CHAPTER TWO (#u84edc9bd-7a50-50ec-a187-64b97fc72437)CHAPTER THREE (#ucc916beb-4e31-5ed4-a002-9771101a3b25)CHAPTER FOUR (#u2eb22076-69b0-56d8-bc0f-a8a9d481255b)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)








Dear Reader,

Let’s all join together and send special birthday greetings to Harlequin Presents


—twenty-five years of publishing the very best of romance fiction, enjoyed by millions worldwide, is no small achievement!

For the past ten years, I’ve been proud to be a contributing author to this mega-successful series and, because storytelling is as old as the human race, my books give me the very special feeling that I’m connecting with unknown yet valued friends throughout the world. This is a wonderful bond and I hope you’ll continue to enjoy the Presents


series through the next quarter century!

Diana Hamilton

P.S. The Millionaire’s Baby is part of a compelling new series, NANNY WANTED!, in which some of our most popular authors create nannies whose talents extend way beyond taking care of the kids!


The Millionaire’s Baby

Diana Hamilton






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHAPTER ONE

CAROLINE FARR was afraid she’d made a terrible mistake.

As the taxi wove through the snarl of traffic on Prince Albert Road she was convinced of it. So utterly convinced she had to grit her teeth in order to stop herself from telling the driver to stop and allow her to walk off her agitation in the sun-drenched greenness of London’s Regent’s Park.

It was so, so tempting...Mary Greaves, her business partner, could phone through and apologise, explain to the Helliars that, unfortunately, Ms Farr was unable to attend the interview for the position of nanny to their baby daughter, suggest another applicant, another interview.

But she wasn’t that weak! Mercifully, the unaccustomed feeling of panic began to subside as the taxi made a left turn into one of the leafy Georgian streets that abounded in this area. She wasn’t going to back down at the last moment and prove Mary right It wasn’t in her nature to back away from her own decisions.

Mary had said, ‘Caro! Have you gone mad? You can’t do it! You’re not trained—you know nothing about caring for children! That’s my area of expertise, not yours. Think of the agency’s reputation!’

And for the first time ever she had pulled rank and reminded her partner of just who had built up that enviable reputation, adding, ‘I’ve worked all hours on the administration side for two whole years. Now I fancy some hands-on experience. Humour me, Mary!’ Her smile when she’d wanted to appear relaxed had been big and wide and winning. ‘Looking after a child can’t be all that difficult. Millions of women do it all the time—and if I get out of my depth I promise I’ll let you know. The Grandes Familles Agency is as much my baby as yours; I won’t do a thing to harm our good reputation.’

The bit about fancying some hands-on experience had been a downright lie, plucked out of the air as an excuse for what had to appear as sheer craziness, a totally uncharacteristic deviation from her normal level-headed approach to her work at the agency.

But was it so crazy to want revenge?

She’d been in the main office when Honor, their secretary, had shown Finn Helliar into the room Mary used for client interviews. The band that had tightened around her chest with the painful suddenness of a steel trap had kept her immobile until Honor had teetered back on her very high heels a few moments later, a pussy-cat smile on her pretty, pointed face.

Caroline hadn’t needed to ask who he was. She’d known. She had never met him but she knew all about him, had seen that photograph in the press a couple of years ago. Handsome as he had looked—his smile tender for the lovely new bride on his arm—the camera image hadn’t done him justice. In the flesh his impact was nothing short of stunning.

She’d asked instead, ‘Why is he here?’ and she’d thanked heaven her voice sounded normal, coolly interested and utterly professional.

‘Some hunk, huh?’ Honor had smoothed the fabric of her pale grey skirt over her hips. ‘He phoned first thing this morning before you arrived. It seems they flew in from Canada a couple of days ago and need a temporary nanny until they find a permanent home outside of London. Nice work for some lucky lady!’

It had been then, precisely then, that Caroline knew what she was going to do, and when Honor had mused, ‘I wonder what his wife’s like?’ she’d merely shaken her head and gone into her own office to wait until her partner had finished interviewing Finn Helliar.

She could have told her secretary exactly who his wife was, what she looked like, but had been afraid she wouldn’t be able to hide her anger and outrage if she did.

Now, as the taxi drew up in front of the hotel where the Helliars were staying, Caroline swiftly ran through a mental check-list.

A good nanny was quiet and subdued in her appearance.

Well, she had done her best in that respect.

The mandatory street-wear uniform of the Grandes Families nannies meant her slim body was successfully de-sexed by the severely plain, tailored dark grey linen suit, the desired touch of white at her throat given by the crisply starched cotton shirt she wore beneath it, her jaw-length bob of glossy, dark auburn hair hidden beneath the grey cloche-style hat, her five feet six inches played down by her sensible flat-heeled shoes.

A good nanny had received rigorous training and carried impeccable references. Caroline Farr had the benefit of neither and as soon as that was discovered she would be shown the door.

Which meant she would have to deliver her castigation right there and then. She would prefer more time to plot a more fitting retribution but only by her acceptance as the Helliars’ temporary nanny could she get that.

She would just have to keep her fingers crossed and hope that the gods of retribution were fighting her corner!

After paying off the driver she faced the hotel, straightening. She would have expected Finn Helliar, hot-shot financier, chief executive of an aweinspiringly successful international merchant bank, to choose something ultra-modern, trendily sophisticated. But maybe his wife had insisted on somewhere like this—restrained, comfortable, old-fashioned, even.

Caroline shrugged. It wasn’t important. And the niggle of anxiety she had been trying to suppress bubbled up to the surface of her mind, making her frown and sink her teeth into her full lower lip.

The trouble with knee-jerk reactions, as her impulse to present herself as a temporary nanny had been, was a built-in, fatal lack of forward planning. She was uncomfortable with that.

So far she had planned her life meticulously; she had known where she was going, what she wanted. And if, as was a distinct possibility, she was shown the door as soon as her lack of credentials became known she could only hope that Finn Helliar himself would show her to that door and not leave the chore to his wife.

If the worst came to the worst and she was asked to leave she would say she needed a few moments alone with him. No way would she say what needed to be said in front of his wife. Fleur Helliar wasn’t the guilty one.

She stiffly approached the revolving doors with their solid mahogany and brass fittings. It would work out. Fate had obligingly delivered the callous brute into her hands—it wouldn’t let her down at this last minute.

The sitting room of the suite she was shown into had all the comfortable, relaxed charm of an English country home and the receptionist she had announced herself to, and who had spoken for a few seconds into the house phone, now said, ‘Make yourself comfortable. Mr Helliar asked me to give you his apologies. He won’t be more than a few minutes.’

It was, however, much less than that. Just a few seconds, but time enough to note two silver-framed photographs of his wife, the French singer who had briefly blazed to stardom before marriage and imminent motherhood had taken her to apparent obscurity.

His sudden, silent emergence into the room was a shock. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. His appearance took her by the throat and shook her, dislodging all her famed composure, depriving her of her wits so that she could only stand and stare at six feet something of honed male power.

His soft dark hair was appealingly rumpled, sticking up in wayward tufts, making him look younger than his thirty-four years. The front of the white shirt he wore above narrow black trousers was decidedly damp, the sleeves rolled up to expose the tanned skin of strong forearms. And his hands, the hands that held the child so gently and held her unwillingly fascinated stare for longer than was sensible, were beautifully made, strong-boned yet sensitive.

‘Please excuse the delay, Miss Farr. Sophie got more lunch outside her than in. She and I both agreed—didn’t we, my pet?—that she’d look more presentable after a bath, though the same can’t be said for me! Won’t you sit down?’

The intent silver-grey, black-fringed eyes were bright with enquiry, yet they held a hint of mischief, too. Caroline didn’t like that because that, and his rumpled appearance, the loving way he held the baby, made him seem human.

Reminding herself that he wasn’t—only a coldhearted, selfish, inhuman brute could have done what he’d done to her young sister, Katie—she sat, feet neatly together, her features carefully blank.

As the interview progressed, Caroline realised he was more interested in what made her tick, as a person, than in references and credentials. He didn’t mention either and she found herself enjoying the experience of re-inventing herself, presenting him with a dedicated lover of children whose hobbies were knitting, making model castles out of matchsticks, collecting wild flowers and recipes for fairy cakes.

The twitching of his mobile, sexy mouth brought her back to reality with a thump. Aborting her flights of fantasy, she asked herself tartly what she thought she was playing at. She should be taking advantage of what fate had handed her and giving him a piece of her mind.

No sign of Fleur, his wife. She wouldn’t be out shopping or lunching with friends while something as important as an interview for a nanny was going on.

So she was probably back in her native France, recording an album, or whatever pop stars did when they wanted to make a come-back. Nothing had been heard of the singer since her short but meteoric rise to fame had been grounded by marriage and motherhood. No doubt she was re-launching her career—hence the need for a nanny.

But something held her back—the memory of what he’d done to poor sweet Katie...

Wait and see. If he offered her the job she’d have more time at her disposal to think up something more fitting than a mere tongue-lashing.

As yet she had no idea of what that something might be. But she’d get there. Hadn’t her formidable old grandmother repeatedly praised her for being strong and resourceful, a chip off the old Farr block?

‘Of course, if you enjoy the situation, if Sophie takes to you, and you don’t object to living out of town, then the situation could be permanent.’

It wasn’t a statement. More like a question, a probing question at that. Caroline shook her head and did her best to look regretful. No way. No way! This was a one-off. She was no nanny, she was simply the business brain behind the agency. She wouldn’t need long to find a way to pay him back and after that he wouldn’t see her for the jet-stream!

‘I’m afraid I only ever take temporary work, Mr Helliar.’ Earnestly said, with a tiny smile.

‘Can you tell me why?’ One sable brow slanted towards his hairline, the slight alteration in expression suddenly reminding her that he wasn’t the pussy-cat his relaxed pose, with the child perched on his knee, suggested. This was a formidable man.

Pulling an answer out of the air, she invented, ‘I get far too fond of my charges if I stay around for longer than a few weeks. It’s easier for all concerned if I take on temporary situations only.’

But he didn’t believe her. She could see he didn’t. The silver eyes had gone hard and flat. She could almost hear the scornful words, calling her a liar, clicking around in his brain.

She knew she’d been telling fibs, but she couldn’t bear that this...this wretch who had hurt and betrayed her sister should know it, too.

He was the one in the wrong, he was the one who had walked away, uncaring of the misery he left in his wake, not giving his broken-hearted victim a second thought. And the way he was looking at her, as if he knew she was telling a pack of lies, put her down on his contemptible level.

She couldn’t bear that, either. It made her feel squirmy inside, nauseous, even, and she was on the point of beating a dignified retreat, forgetting the reason for her being here in the first place, when he unexpectedly and mildly defused the situation.

‘Why don’t you and Sophie get to know each other?’ Gently but firmly, he put the little girl on her bare pink feet. Caroline huffed out her pent-up breath and relaxed her rigid shoulders. She had been on the point of walking out, her pride making her forget why she had come here, forfeiting her opportunity to somehow find a way to make him pay for what he had done.

She would never, ever let him get to her like that again.

‘Yes, why not?’ she concurred, smiling at the child. That was easy. Clad in a miniature pair of white cotton dungarees and an apple-green T-shirt, the round-eyed moppet was adorable. Caroline’s eyes flicked to the silver-framed photographs and back again to the baby.

Even at this tender age the resemblance was startling. The same fine, flaxen wavy hair—although of course the mother’s was much, much longer—and the same piquant features and enormous dark brown eyes. Unusual colouring, bearing no resemblance whatsoever to her father. Caroline’s smile widened as she saw dimples appear on either side of the rosebud mouth and then she sobered, wondering what the heck came next in the game of getting-to-know-you. Did fifteen-month-old babies walk? Did they talk? She had no idea!

Finn Helliar’s eyes were on her, contemplative, knowing, almost as if he was fully aware of the way she was floundering, out of her depth. She looked away quickly, feeling her face go hot. Any minute now she would blow the whole thing.

Trouble was, she had never had anything whatsoever to do with young children. None of her friends were married and producing babies. Should she go and pick the moppet up? Would it scream if she did?

Thankfully, Sophie solved the problem. She launched herself from her father’s steadying hands and toddled precariously across the few yards of carpet that separated them. Amber eyes widening with anxiety, Caroline leant forward and scooped the baby up before she could fall flat on her face. She plopped her down on her knees and, to counteract the feeling of being hot and bothered, said in what she hoped was a kindly yet authoritative nanny voice, ‘Baby’s walking very well for her age,’ and hoped the pronouncement wasn’t completely asinine.

No comment. A slight twitch of the mobile mouth. Caroline cuddled the baby defensively. The little body was warm and solid, a comforting shield against the clever, assessing eyes of the callous father.

‘There is one thing—’ Finn Helliar had unfolded his long, lean body from the armchair opposite the one she was using, walking with loping grace to lean against the sill of one of the tall windows. ‘I would insist that Sophie’s nanny wears mufti. Something pretty, feminine—’ He gestured with one languid hand. ‘I’m sure you get the picture. For a small child a starchy uniform could be off-putting.’

For a grown man, too, Caroline sniped to herself with a flash of cynicism. A man who could seduce someone as gullible as her sister Katie while getting another pregnant at the same time would want the females around him to look pretty.

And available?

That thought, coming out of nowhere, was repugnant. It was all she could do to keep quiet, to swallow what she wanted to say to him, to bide her time. And bide her time she must, if she were to find the very best way, the perfect way to force him to eat dirt and acknowledge the great, irreparable damage he had done.

‘Well, you’ve done it now!’ Mary Greaves said heavily.

Two years ago, Mary hadn’t been wildly enthusiastic at accepting the then twenty-three-year-old Caro as a partner. But her nanny agency had been going downhill and she’d needed new capital, new ideas.

She’d fully expected her new young partner to be like her mother. She’d been at school with the mother but had lost touch until just recently. Emma Farr was a darling, sweet-natured and gentle, she recalled. But timid. A dreamer, not a doer.

But Caro, the elder of Emma’s two girls, had proved to be just the opposite. Decisive, intelligent, a degree in business studies firmly in her pocket, she had turned the agency around, discarding the old name of Mommy’s Helpers with the tilt of a finely arched brow, the stroke of a pen, re-naming it Grandes Families and making it so, going straight for the wealthy, aristocratic French families because as far as they were concerned a British nanny was de rigueur.

And the partnership had worked; her own child-care experience, her ability to interview clients, discover exactly what they wanted, coupled with Caro’s business brain, was proving a winner.

Now only dedicated, professional nannies were on their books, those with the very highest qualifications, and only those who could afford to pay to acquire the services of the very best approached the agency. It had all happened without her, Mary, having to do anything. Sometimes she felt positively over-awed by the much younger woman’s sharpness of mind, her dedication to her work and breathtaking drive.

But now the high-flyer seemed to have flipped!

‘Mr Helliar phoned through as soon as you left him. You’re hired,’ she stated even more heavily as she watched the lovely face before her turn white, then pink. ‘For eight weeks. Starting tomorrow. He said, and I quote, “Though eight minutes in my daughter’s company would be enough to make anyone love her to bits, so she’s on a loser there.” I can’t imagine what you’ve been saying to him—and for the sake of my blood pressure I’d rather not know.’

‘Not a lot,’ Caroline said truthfully, feeling behind her for her office chair and sinking down on it, feeling as if the stuffing had been knocked out of her.

There was much she could have said to the louse, none of it fit to be voiced in front of his delightful little daughter. So she should be congratulating herself for landing the job, thus giving herself the time she needed to discover the perfect way to pay him back for what he had done to Katie, instead of feeling suddenly way out of her depth.

‘He asked for references but I thought I could stall him on that. Besides, I give you a week before you’re begging me to find a replacement. By then you’ll have had as much hands-on experience as you can take!’ Mary said, perching on the edge of the desk, crossing her arms over her bolster-like bosom. ‘I’ll go through the files and find someone to step in and do a bit of damage limitation when you decide you’ve had enough.’

‘I’m not a quitter; you know I’m not. And I won’t do any damage.’ Or only to his conscience.

She smiled warmly at her mother’s old school-friend. Widowed young, childless, the agency was her raison d’être, and she wouldn’t let her down. She was back firmly in control of herself again and knew she could handle the situation with Finn Helliar and emerge unscathed. The agency’s reputation would be unmarred because the louse wouldn’t dare say a word about having been landed with a nanny who knew nothing about the job, not after being made to understand exactly what a low-life he was.

She could understand Mary’s alarm. Had the situation been reversed she would have strenuously vetoed the idea. ‘Please don’t worry,’ she offered gently.

‘Now why would I do that?’ the older woman countered dryly. ‘But seriously, though, you must understand that the position of a nanny is subservient. You are used to being the boss, or one of them, and for the next two months you will have to do as you are told, spend practically all of your time with a demanding child. I hope, for both our sakes, that you can handle it. And another thing; had I been able to place the nanny of my choice with Mr Helliar, I would have looked for someone far less young and beautiful—someone middle-aged and preferably plain.’

‘Don’t be silly!’ Caroline pulled a sheet of paper towards her and began to make hurried notes of what she wanted Honor to attend to during her absence.

Mary grunted, ‘Don’t pretend to be stupid. Finn Helliar’s a staggeringly attractive man. Living under the same roof, a beautiful young woman in a subservient position to—’

‘I get the picture,’ Caroline inserted tightly. She’d got more than that—the information that Mary had instinctively known that Helliar was the type of man who’d make a play for any presentable woman, the little matter of having a wife no deterrent at all.

Finn settled Sophie down for her afternoon nap, his gaze lingering lovingly on her cherubic face, the huge brown eyes closed in sleep. ‘A nanny to play with tomorrow, my pet,’ he whispered softly, more to himself than to the child. ‘Won’t that be fun?’

He walked quietly from the room, leaving the door ajar so he could hear her when she woke. And fun it would be—intriguing to find out exactly why Caroline Farr had decided to work as a nanny, out of her own agency.

At one point he had considered asking her, had fully intended to. But after she’d given him that spiel about knitting and fairy cakes he’d known he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

It had quickly become obvious that she was unaware that he knew who she was—the go-getting half of the Grandes Families partnership.

Her grandmother, Elinor Farr, had never tired of boasting of her favourite grandchild’s intelligence, determination and spirit. She had even, on one of the rare occasions when he’d visited Farr Place—that almost laughably Gothic pile in one of the most secluded parts of Hertfordshire—brought out the family photograph album and pointed out the woman he was already beginning to regard as a pain in the neck.

‘Caroline’s the only one left fit to carry the Farr name,’ the formidable old matriarch had stated. ‘Her mother’s a simpering fool and as for her sister—well, Katie wouldn’t say boo to a fly—let alone a goose!’

Dragooned into staying on for the old lady’s eightieth birthday party, with which his visit had unfortunately coincided, he had felt sorry for the inhabitants of the lodge—Elinor’s browbeaten daughter-in-law and younger grandchild, Katie. It must be galling to be watched over with such fierce contempt by the old lady who held the purse-strings so tightly in her bony, heavily be-ringed hands, to be compared so unfavourably with the do-no-wrong Caroline. He had been glad that a dose of flu had prevented her turning up.

Sorry, in another kind of way, for Elinor herself. The daughter of a general, she had joined her considerable private fortune to that of Ambrose Farr on their marriage. A marriage which had produced only one child. She must have been devastated when her son was killed on the hunting field when Caroline was a mere five years old, the baby, Katie, not quite one.

The death of Ambrose, her husband, a few months later would have been another shattering blow. But she had recovered, ruled what remained of her family with a rod of iron and, with the advice of his father, then chairman of the family-owned merchant bank, had tied everything up in trust funds.

Since his father’s death he had taken his place as Elinor Farr’s financial advisor, for the sake of the link of friendship between his father and the deceased Ambrose. Not, on the whole, an onerous task, his contact with the old lady being rare, his personal visits rarer.

His London office had dealt with the transfer of monies from one of the funds to provide the capital to buy Caroline Farr into partnership, and the last time he’d spoken to Elinor she’d been full of how well the agency was doing now that Caroline was running the business side of things.

But was it doing well? Or was the agency in trouble? Why else should one of the partners, sketchily trained, or, more likely, not trained at all, leave her executive persona behind, put on a stiff and starchy nanny uniform and sally forth to change other people’s babies’ nappies if the outfit wasn’t desperately in need of the extra funds?

He picked up a pile of glossy estate agents’ brochures and grinned. One way or another, he’d find out why she’d been driven to look for temporary, extracurricular employment. And it would be no hardship, no hardship at all. Even in that smothering grey suit and awful hat she’d been lovely to look at, and he’d glimpsed an impish sense of humour when she’d listed her so-called hobbies.

He could live with that. For a few weeks. He’d given himself three months’ leave to settle permanently back in England, find the sort of home where Sophie could spend a happy childhood, so he’d be on hand at all times to oversee closely the new nanny’s doings.

And there was no danger he’d find himself in the same tricky situation he’d been plunged into with her sister, Katie.

Caroline was different. Older by five years, a mature woman, sophisticated, street-wise. She wouldn’t give him any trouble.

Not that kind of trouble.


CHAPTER TWO

CAROLINE hadn’t been in her new employment for more than five minutes before she was seething. Absolutely seething! The beastly man was at it again!

Quickly, Caroline scooped the baby up into her arms and held her close and felt the little face press into her neck, blowing bubbles. She cradled the back of the golden head with a gentle hand, keeping it safely where it was, regardless of tickling bubbles, blown raspberries and baby-type giggles. She would do anything to prevent the innocent little scrap from seeing her father coming on to a woman who was not her mother!

When she’d arrived at ten that morning Finn had shown her to her quarters, a suite within a suite. A large sunny bedroom holding all the usual furniture, plus a cot complete with teddy bear. En suite bathroom, nicely luxurious, with a baby bath on a stand. Plus a small sitting room, the carpet lavishly littered with toys, comfortable armchairs, TV and writing desk. And Sophie, clad only in a disposable nappy, crawling around the furniture as if going for some kind of land-speed record.

‘I’ll leave you to settle in.’ He’d smiled, his eyes warm with discomfiting male appreciation as they’d languorously swept her slender figure. ‘Like the dress. Pretty. It suits you far better than that dark thing you were wearing yesterday.’

Oh, did it? It was floral cotton, years old, did he but know it. She hadn’t dressed to please him, or only inasmuch as he’d stipulated mufti, so he needn’t think it! Amber scorn had glinted at him between tangled dark lashes but had been rapidly veiled as she’d caught the devilish silver mockery of his eyes.

Her breath had tugged, stuck in her chest and hurt, but he’d turned away, saying to his daughter, ‘Come and say hello to Caro, poppet. It’s time you were dressed.’ And he’d then said, obviously to her—although she hadn’t looked at him, kept her eyes glued to the bottoms of his lightweight fawn trousers where they touched the top of his bare feet. Bare feet?—‘Do say if it goes against all your training, but I thought Caro more infant-friendly than the formal title of Nanny. And Caroline’s a bit of a mouthful.’ And, when she’d failed to answer because she was too busy wondering about the odd inflexion when he’d mentioned ‘all your training’, he’d imparted lightly, ‘She’ll probably need her nappy changing, but leave it. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes and you can let me in on your theories on toilet training later.’

Caroline had gulped. She knew of no theories. She’d have to make them up as she went along. But at least he’d left, walking out of the room into the main living area, although leaving the door to her quarters wide open, she noted now suspiciously.

As if he intended to watch her, check up on what she was doing, even though he’d told her he’d be back in no time.

It simply wasn’t on. Having him watch her fumbling attempts to dress his child was a bad idea. Having him watch her, in any capacity, was a worse one. The very thought of it made her feel overheated.

She walked to the door to close it, the soft skirts of her dress brushing against the long, silky lines of her legs. And stopped in the open doorway, appalled.

Finn had admitted a woman into the main suite. A very polished, beautiful woman. Not his wife. This one had short dark hair, cut in a modern, sophisticated style. Very sharp. Pale skin, scarlet lips, dark blue silk dress with a bloused top and cleavage. And what a cleavage!

The moment he’d pushed the door to behind his guest, Finn slipped an arm around the slender waist, pulling her to him, then bent to drop a kiss on the invitingly upturned, poutily scarlet lips.

It couldn’t have been much of a kiss because none of the red had come off on his mouth, Caro noted, brows beetling as they walked further into the body of the room as if permanently joined at the hip. But even so...

She decided to use her authority as nanny to tell him, at a suitable moment, of course, that she wouldn’t permit such carryings-on in front of her charge. She wouldn’t mention Fleur—naturally she wouldn’t; their marriage wasn’t any of her business. But she could justly claim that the baby was.

Seeing her in the open doorway, the baby held protectively in her arms, Finn grinned broadly. ‘The two of you make a pretty picture. Nice.’ Which probably accounted for the way the newcomer raised perfectly arched brows above the suddenly icy blue eyes that swept dismissively over the softly faded cotton dress to drift up again to meet amber scorn with a chilling sneer.

‘So you found a suitable minder.’ The woman was obviously bored, but sounded far more interested in her next pronouncement. ‘With Mrs Helliar being away you’ve been so tied down. You can get yourself a life now. Have fun.’

‘This is Sandra,’ Finn introduced. ‘My personal secretary from the London office.’ Perhaps something about the unconcealed disapproval in Caroline’s eyes got through to him because he moved sideways, putting a distance of an inch or two between him and the curvy, silk-clad body as he dropped his arm from her waist. ‘I’ve taken a few weeks’ leave to go house-hunting, get settled back in England, but I still like to know what’s going on. Sandra keeps me posted.’

And Sandra had moved back in, close to his big body, joining them at the hip again. Sandra was not willing to be deprived of what she wanted, Caroline noted, her hackles rising when the other woman smiled winningly up into her employer’s face and cooed, ‘Did you get the particulars from the estate agents? I emphasised you needed them at once.’ And, not waiting for an answer, she added, ‘Perhaps thingy—the nanny—could make coffee. We could go through the particulars while we drink it.’

‘That is a job for a secretary, not the nanny,’ ‘thingy’ responded tartly, and closed the door on the pair of them, muttering.

He certainly believed in spreading himself around! He didn’t go for a particular type, either. Secretary Sandra could look out for herself, no problem. She would be only too willing to play games in the absence of his wife, and wouldn’t be too demanding, or make a nuisance of herself. A fat bonus in her pay packet would suffice, and she’d be happy to put in a bit of discreet ‘overtime’ when his wife returned.

Katie had been different. Katie had completely broken down after Finn Helliar had seduced her, promised her the earth, then promptly married another woman, the one who was expecting his child.

And he hadn’t married Fleur because he loved her; he wouldn’t have seduced Katie if he had. The brute was obviously incapable of committing himself to one woman. But he’d been caught in the age-old trap and he was clearly not averse to having a child. Much as she disliked admitting it, so far she couldn’t fault the way he was with his baby daughter.

The pregnancy wouldn’t have been deliberate, but Finn had been relaxed enough about the prospect of fatherhood to marry the mother and drop poor bewitched Katie flat. Plus half a dozen others, in all probability.

Was that why Fleur was conspicuous by her absence? Had she discovered, after marriage, that her husband was constitutionally unfitted for monogamy? Was that why she was, presumably, re-launching her career?

She set the now squirming baby down on her feet. ‘Come on, poppet, time to get dressed.’ She looked down into the happy little face and felt a great pang of protectiveness engulf her. It was a similar feeling to the one she had whenever her gran had a go at her mum and Katie.

Poor little scrap. With a father like Finn Helliar she was to be pitied, because unless her mother was remarkably forbearing she’d end up as yet another broken home statistic.

‘Room Service will be delivering lunch in five minutes,’ Finn said. Caroline glared at him, bristling with dislike. He had got rid of Sandra in next to no time, invaded the nanny suite, hovering over her while she’d bathed and dressed his daughter, just as if he didn’t trust her to do anything properly. He was still hovering and, right at this moment, his child was investigating her new nanny’s luggage and trying to strangle herself with one of Caro’s bras—the one with pink rosebuds and lacy bits.

‘Five minutes,’ he reiterated, unwinding the bra from his daughter’s chubby hands and neck, scooping her into the crook of his arm, his obvious but silent amusement alarming as he eyed the scrap of lacy material for a few tense fizzing moments then swept his gaze over her now fluttering bosom for even longer.

This time he closed the door behind him and that gave her a little breathing space, but nowhere near enough.

The dreadful man was getting to her, no doubt about it. The way he’d looked at her had been an insult, making her flesh tingle, and her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would choke her.

His sex appeal was awe-inspiring. And he knew it.

She brushed her hair, transforming the baby-rumpled mess into its usual glossy bob, deliberately not allowing her eyes to wander lower than her neck or higher than her chin. The caressing, lingering stroke of those come-to-bed eyes had done alarming things to her physiognomy.

The first, unguarded glance in the mirror had given her an image of glittering golden eyes and lips that looked softer, fuller than usual, parted in mindless anticipation.

Anticipation, pray, of what? she demanded of herself, hating the way her breasts were pushing at the soft cotton of her dress, refusing to let her eyes wander and witness that piece of humilation.

If his technique was good enough to make level-headed, no one-tangles-with-me Caroline Farr respond to it, albeit unwillingly, what chance had poor Katie had?

No chance at all.

This observation thankfully counteracted the effect of those seemingly endless moments of sizzling sexual appraisal and sent her into the bathroom to run cold water over her wrists. It also enabled her to march sturdily out into the main living area to endure the horror of having to share a meal with him. But the experience wasn’t as distasteful as she’d expected it to be—not to begin with.

For one thing his attention was entirely on his daughter, on the small tasks of fastening her into the high chair, tying her bib, serving her with vegetables, pouring cheese sauce over the small helping of cauliflower and mashing it all together with the back of his fork.

Caro, feeling redundant, said, ‘I’ll take Sophie for a walk in the park this afternoon.’ It would get her out of here for an hour or two. She was beginning to feel decidedly trapped.

‘Sophie has a nap in the afternoons.’

Was there condemnation in the tone, as if he was telling her, in a roundabout way, that she didn’t know anything? Well, he’d be right.

To cover herself, she remarked repressively, ‘Naturally she does, Mr Helliar. I merely decided she would benefit from taking that nap while out in the fresh air of the park.’ She had noted a folding pushchair in the small entrance lobby of the suite and that was what nannies did, wasn’t it—push their charges endlessly round in the fresh air?

She felt, watching him gently wrap Sophie’s small fingers round the full plastic teaspoon, that she had put herself in a position of control. She had ‘decided’, had neatly sidestepped his suspicions about her ability—had he had any—and put herself firmly in charge.

Until he said, ‘Fine; we’ll go together.’

Her stomach lurched. She put the forkful of grilled Dover sole back down on her plate. She had suggested the outing to escape his company, not get more of it!

She needed the time and space; heaven knew she did. So far she had not had a single moment to herself to even begin to work out how to pay him back for what he had done to Katie.

‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Helliar.’ Said sweetly and, she thought, reasonably, but he glanced across the table at her, his silver eyes probing, and not probing gently, either.

‘The name’s Finn. And I decide what’s necessary.’

That figured. She regrouped and began another attack, cloaked in common sense.

‘You employed me to look after Baby, Mr—Finn. Presumably to free you up to do other things.’ Hadn’t the sultry Sandra gloated that at last he could get himself a life? Caro was frankly surprised he wasn’t doing just that right now, given his track record. ‘If you question my ability to look after my charge more than adequately...’

She left the implication hanging in the air, marvelling at her own temerity. He had been standing over her while she’d been dressing Sophie so he had to have noticed the way she’d put the baby’s nappy on. She’d pulled the sticky tape thing too far on one side, leaving the other side barely connected, and the whole bunchy, lopsided bundle was held in place only by the intelligent choice of minute emerald-green shorts for nether-region wear. So he’d know that ‘adequate’ didn’t get a look in when applied to her non-existent child-care abilities.

He didn’t look up from his meal, which he was enjoying with the air of a man completely at ease with himself. Just told her, ‘No one’s questioning anything. I fancy some fresh air and exercise, in the company of my daughter. OK?’

It would have to be, since she wasn’t in a position to forbid him to do anything. She lifted her fork again and began to wonder if by believing she could force him to acknowledge what he’d done to Katie she was making a complete fool of herself. She was sure of it when he added, replying to her earlier statement, ‘I employed a nanny—you, as it happens—so that Sophie could get used to having someone else look after her while I’m still around, before I start nine-to-five-ing again.’

Not one mention of when his wife might return to take his place. Which didn’t augur well for the innocent poppet. Was her mother so disillusioned with her marriage that she intended to devote herself full-time to re-launching her career, making flying visits to her little daughter when and if she could spare the time?

She wasn’t going to ask, wasn’t going to involve herself in their domestic troubles, because she had enough on her mind without adding to her burdens, and she put the blame for everything firmly at Finn’s feet.

They ended up in the Rose Garden, the beautiful blooms making the warm July afternoon heavy with perfume. Finn noted the rapt expression on Caro’s s face. She had lost that prim and starchy look and it was a revelation. She was beautiful.

The snapshots Elinor Farr had paraded for his inspection had depicted serious, symmetrical features and wide, impatient eyes. He had barely glanced at them, already dismissing the absent, favourite grandchild as a prig, too good to be true, tired of hearing how all-fired wonderful she was in comparison with her mother and sister, both of whom he had felt immediately and instinctively sorry for.

But reality, as she bent to cup a bloom and inhale its heady fragrance, was a softly sensual smile and a gentle curve of glossy hair the colour of burnished chestnuts which fell forward to caress creamy, apricot-tinted skin and reveal the elegant, delicate length and slenderness of her neck above the graceful curve of a body at once fragile yet utterly, gloriously feminine.

Something jerked inside his chest. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, if her business was going downhill, if she was in danger of losing her capital. To tell her right now that he knew who she was and she could trust him. He wanted to help.

He wanted, quite suddenly, to touch, to take her delicate hands in his, to end the subterfuge and offer his considerable financial expertise, quite freely. If she was in some kind of a mess then he could help her get out of it.

But for some reason he couldn’t formulate the words. There was a tightness in the muscles of his throat, a strange constriction. And then it all became academic because Sophie was waking, babbling baby talk and wriggling in her pushchair, wanting out.

So they would go to the boating lake to look at the ducks, and tonight, over dinner, when his daughter was tucked up and asleep, he’d speak to Caro, discover the truth, he promised himself.

It was important that there should be no equivocation between them. Just how important he was yet to realise.


CHAPTER THREE

‘JUST one more spoonful, there’s a good girl!’ Caro registered the pleading whine in her voice and was horrified. Where had her Nanny-knows-best-and-won’ t-be-thwarted voice disappeared to? But Finn had opted for a quick shower and she’d so wanted to give the baby her supper and prove to him that she could do something right.

‘Lovely onion soup!’ she cried more bracingly, remembering how she had doted on the stuff as a child. But she must have had depraved taste buds, she decided glumly as Sophie blew a monster raspberry and showered her with the despised offering.

‘Having trouble?’ Finn, tucking the tails of a crisp white shirt into the waistband of narrow-fitting slate-grey trousers, walked into the sitting room of her suite, eyeing the cross red face of his infant daughter.

Sophie’s mouth went square as soon as she saw her father, and Finn plucked her out of the high chair to take her mind off onion soup and nip the wailing session in the bud. ‘She usually has a boiled egg followed by fruit for her supper.’ He looked unbearably smug, as if he’d given her a test, knowing she’d fail, and felt superior because he’d proved himself right.

Caro wanted to hit him for walking in and discovering her ineptness—for walking in at all when she’d imagined she’d seen the last of him for the evening after their return from the park—quality time, he’d called it. Before disappearing he’d told her, ‘Sophie has supper around now. Ring Room Service. You’ll find the kitchen staff very accommodating.’

At a huge disadvantage, covered in onion soup as she was, Caro tried to salvage something and managed to find some dignity as she told him, ‘Onions cleanse the blood.’ Everyone knew that, didn’t they? And she watched him tuck the baby more securely into the crook of his arm as he went to the phone in the main living room, and wondered whether the snort he gave denoted scorn or amusement at her expense.

Deciding she didn’t give a damn either way, she began to tidy away the mess Sophie had made, making herself stay calm because in the not too distant future he would be the one who was cringing.

He’d showered and changed so he’d be going out for the evening, which was lovely. She’d bath the baby and put her to bed and spend her own evening plotting the best way to hurt his conscience.

But she immediately felt mortified when the waiter carried through the revised supper on a tray. A boiled egg in a cup decorated with rabbits wearing blue bonnets, a similarly decorated bowl of diced fresh fruit and a plate of thinly sliced bread and butter.

It was worse still when Finn followed through with Sophie. She was wearing a fresh bib and her sunniest smile and Caro, feeling ridiculous, just standing there clutching the toast soldiers she’d gathered up from the floor where the baby had flung them, realised that Mary had been right when she’d said she was crazy.

She should never have got herself in so deep. More at home with balance sheets, with interviewing nannies who were anxious to be adopted by the now prestigious Grandes Familles Agency or wealthy parents from the UK and America, as well as France, who wanted only the very best for their offspring, than dealing with offspring, she felt like an idiot.

For the first time in her life she felt like giving up on a project. She could contact Mary and ask her to send that replacement, the one who was probably already on the starting-block. And bow out.

She couldn’t alter the way he was. Nothing she could say to him, no matter how stinging, would make a scrap of difference. He would go on using women all through his life, never giving them a second thought once he had tired of them, never looking back or wondering what had happened to them. How could she hurt his conscience if he didn’t have one?

‘Why don’t you go and freshen up? I can feed this little monster,’ Finn suggested lightly, smiling to show he wasn’t about to put on his outraged employer’s hat.

She looked vulnerable, beaten, her soft mouth drooping, the eyes that had swept momentarily to his as he’d spoken spangled with tears. He found he couldn’t bear that. He hated it. Deeply.

Something was wrong and he wanted to help put it right and he couldn’t do that unless she opened up and talked to him, told him what the problem was. Whatever her grandmother’s opinion, she wasn’t Wonderwoman. His shoulders were broad enough to carry the burden that was so clearly dragging her down. And with a woman as lovely as Caroline Farr that would be no problem. In fact, he decided suddenly, it would be a pleasure.

With Sophie secured in her high chair and munching on bread and butter he moved quickly to the forlorn yet graceful figure in her soup-spattered cotton dress. She was no more a nanny than he was, knew much less about child care—and he was no expert. He just muddled along as best he could, taking his daughter’s happiness as the yardstick and to hell with timetables and theories.

‘Give yourself a break.’ The gruffness of his voice surprised him. So far she hadn’t moved. This close, he could smell the fresh floral fragrance of her—the perfume she used, he supposed. Or was it the essence of the woman herself?

He cleared his throat. ‘Give me that.’ He meant the discarded pieces of toast she held in her hands. His fingers brushed the slender length of hers and something happened. Something wild and sweet and unrestrained.

She felt it, too. He saw the shaft of surprise in the golden gleam between tangled dark lashes and heard the harsh sound of her swiftly sucking in her breath. And then her chin came up, her head turning sharply on the graceful line of her neck and shoulders, small hands decisive as they snatched away from his.

Unrestraint was ruled out of play. Which was probably just as well, he thought, watching the sway of her hips as she went to dispose of the mangled toast in the waste bin. He needed to uncover the truth, find out why she was here, doing a job she was patently untrained for, before—

Before? That implied that something would come after. And that, surely, was nonsense.

Or was it? .

Caro closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against it, mourning the lack of a lock. She needed a shower. She felt hot and bothered, sticky all over.

The thought of him walking in on her was terrifying. He was potent stuff and if she’d learned anything in the few hours she’d been here it was that she was no more immune to him than the rest of womankind.

She remembered the way she’d felt when he’d touched her hands, standing so close she would have melted into him had she swayed on her feet by the smallest fraction. The brush of his skin against hers had made her want to do just that, as if something deep inside her was answering a call as old as time.

But—and it was a very big but—she knew exactly what an unprincipled womaniser he was. She wasn’t about to walk into the jaws of a smiling tiger. She might be as crazy as Mary had said, but she wasn’t that crazy!

And he wouldn’t walk in on her while she was in the shower, she rationalised. It would be classified as sexual harassment and she could get him blacklisted by all the agencies around.

Heartened by the resurgence of her fighting spirit, she stripped off and turned on the shower head. It wasn’t like her to throw in the towel.

When she recalled how her eyes had filled with stupid tears because of the kindness of his smile, the gentle warmth of the suggestion that she go and freshen up while he saw to Sophie, along with her own unusual and abhorrent feelings of ineptitude, she could scarcely believe she was capable of such weakness. How could she have been such a wimp?

No, the plan was still on, all systems go. She’d muddle through as best she could until she decided what form her retribution would take, or her name wasn’t Caroline Farr!

Twenty minutes later, dressed now in a white T-shirt and black cotton trousers, her hair freshly blow-dried, she walked out of the bathroom, feeling brisk.

He could accuse her of not knowing much but he couldn’t prove she wasn’t a bona fide nanny.

She found Finn in the main sitting room, sprawled out on one of the sofas watching the news on TV, his mother-naked baby sitting right beside him, all big brown eyes, bouncy curls and seraphic smile.

‘We used my bathroom for her ablutions.’ His drawl was laid-back, lazy. ‘It’s bedtime, but we didn’t want to invade your privacy.’

She supposed she should be a good little hireling and thank him nicely for his thoughtfulness. But didn’t. And couldn’t help noting the way he and his daughter were always a definite ‘we’, as if the baby had as much say in what went on as he did.

Before that could soften the way she regarded him, she responded coolly, ‘Very well, Mr Helliar. I’ll get her ready.’ She scooped the baby up and hoped to heaven the child wouldn’t volubly object because she wouldn’t know what to do if she did.

Panic subsided as a chubby pair of arms went around her neck, the baby’s head snuggling comfortably beneath her chin. Caro walked to the set of rooms she shared with Sophie, her back straight and her head held high with the pride of achievement, as if she’d worked a minor miracle, no problem.

Further miracles became manifest. One, she managed to put the nappy on properly. Two, she also slid the seemingly boneless little body snugly into the cotton sleeper she’d found stashed in one of the drawers without any hassle worth the name. And three, the baby’s eyes were already drooping as she laid her in her cot.

Such was the power of positive thinking, she told herself. Then peace blew up in her face as Finn murmured from behind her, ‘Shall I sing her to sleep, or would you rather do it?’

Her breath froze in her lungs with shock. Why did he have to creep up on her like that, making her jump out of her skin? He seemed to find it impossible to leave her alone with his daughter for more than a few minutes at a time. Tension bunched up her shoulder muscles until they hurt. And why did he have to stand so close?

‘She’ll want her daddy.’ She had her voice back, but only just. ‘I’m still a virtual stranger.’ She walked out of the room then, quickly, softly, and stood in front of the now blank TV screen, staring at it, wondering how Fleur could leave her gorgeous little daughter for as much as a minute.

‘She went out like a light.’

He was doing it again, creeping up behind her, his voice too darn soft, too warm and honeyed.

‘Good.’ What else could she say? She moved a few paces away from him and her heartbeats slowed a little. Then everything inside her dropped—heart, lungs, lights and liver—right down to the soles of her feet; it was a miracle that she stayed upright at all, she marvelled as she wallowed in the agitated aftermath of his simple words:

‘We’ll eat dinner here. Room Service will deliver any time now.’

‘You’re going out,’ she managed at last. She wanted him out. She needed time on her own to plot and scheme, didn’t she? She couldn’t think straight when he was around. He muddled her and she was totally unused to being muddled. She couldn’t bear it!

‘News to me.’ He flipped through the television listings then tossed the magazine back on a low coffee table. He didn’t look like a man who would contentedly spend a night in flicking through the channels to find something he wanted to watch then going to bed early with a good book when he couldn’t.

From what she’d heard of him he would want to be out and about, seeing friends. Female friends. Hadn’t Sandra opined that he could now get himself a life? And the way she’d looked at him when she’d said it meant she would willingly be in on the action.

So why wasn’t he taking the opportunity? Because he wasn’t as black as her second-hand knowledge had painted him or because—and this seemed far more likely—he didn’t want to leave her alone with his baby daughter?

That was logical. She was comfortable with logic. For all he was a callous, heartless brute where women were concerned, no one could deny he adored his child. And the new nanny had been here for less than twenty-four hours and had shown herself to be largely incompetent.

She gave him a good attempt at a reassuring smile and said calmly, ‘Sophie will be fine with me, if that’s what’s troubling you. I’m perfectly capable of attending to her should she wake. Didn’t your secretary—’ she invested that word with heavy emphasis, quite deliberately ‘—say you could now get yourself a life? So why don’t you? I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you get back in the swing of things.’

Gross impertinence, given her subordinate position; she knew that and didn’t give a fig. She wanted to draw him out, hear him add to the list of his sins with his own far too sexy mouth.

And he did. In a way he did. He said, looking at her with enigmatic silver eyes, ‘Oh, yes, I’m quite sure she would. But not tonight.’

Tonight he had plans. Tonight he meant to delve and dig and discover why she was here. He found he had a sudden urgency to get to know her a great deal better, find out what made this woman tick. This oddly prickly, supremely lovely, breath-catchingly graceful woman.

Then, as a discreet tap on the door heralded the arrival of the room-service waiter with his trolley, he added, ‘Neither am I troubled. Once she’s asleep Sophie never wakes. But as we’re going to be practically living in each other’s pockets for the next few months I thought we should spend an hour or so getting to know each other better. Hitting the town can wait.’

Caro, watching the waiter set out the covers on the table in the window, felt her stomach lurch, twist and contract. He meant to quiz her about her credentials; a little late in the day of course, but doubtless brought on by her obvious and total lack of experience.

She’d fudge her way through that somehow; she could have done without it but the prospect didn’t bother her too much. What was really churning her up was the way he’d as good as admitted he had something going with that secretary of his.

‘Not tonight’, he’d said, implying that there were plenty of other nights when he’d take the opportunity to play away from home. What kind of normal married man would have made such an admission to the newly hired nanny?

But he wasn’t a normal married man. He’d made his wedding vows but he didn’t mean to keep them. The type of man who could treat Katie the way he had was capable of anything.

‘Shall we eat?’ His warm, dark voice made her spine prickle in none too subtle warning. Inadvertently, she glanced up and met his eyes. If his mouth was sexy, his eyes were more so. They pulled her into the softly gleaming silver depths with an invitation that was hard to resist.

‘I’m not really hungry.’ She found her voice; it was strangely husky. That intimate, come-to-bed look was carefully cultivated, part of his stock-in-trade, guaranteed to set female hearts fluttering.

But not this female’s heart. Sweet, naive Katie with her fragile self-esteem had been a pushover. Two years ago, at barely eighteen, her little sister had met this man and been blown away like a leaf in a hurricane, had believed every rotten lie he’d told her and suffered the shattering consequences.

‘It’s the heat,’ he sympathised. ‘But you must try to eat something.’

His words penetrated the dark fog of her rage, pushed her into getting a grip on herself.

‘I’ll do my best.’ Her voice was empty, her movements brisk and businesslike as she walked to the table, seated herself and glanced at what was on offer.

Cold poached salmon, slices of chicken breast in a lemon sauce, a multiplicity of salads. She barely listened to his idle comments about the heatwave, the noise and air pollution of the never-sleeping capital, the undesirability of bringing up a child in a city. She kept her eyes on her plate or on the tree-lined street beyond the window, the dusty leaves at eye-level.

Only when he put in, ‘How’s the agency doing? From what I was told, Grandes Families was an overnight success,’ did she allow herself to look at him.

There was a subtle challenge there somewhere. He didn’t strike her as the type of man who would be interested in idle gossip and she knew that his father had helped her gran set up those convoluted trust funds after her grandpa had died.

Would he be aware that capital from one of the funds had been used by the agency? Hardly likely. Such small beer would be beneath the notice of the powerful chief executive; the release would have been dealt with at a much lower level.

And he wouldn’t connect her surname with the name of the barely ex-schoolgirl he had seduced and abandoned two years ago. Farr was a fairly common name. He probably couldn’t remember Katie’s name in any case.

In any case, had he leaped to the conclusion that because her surname was Farr she had to be connected to Katie, then surely he would have mentioned it by now? She was, she assured herself staunchly, getting away with it!

So it was just idle conversation and her cover wasn’t blown. She picked up her as yet untouched glass of wine and twirled it slowly round by the stern.

‘How should I know? It gets a good press. I only signed on with them recently.’ It was a blessing she wasn’t Pinocchio or by now her nose would have reached right over the table, probably poking holes in the crisp white shirt that covered those mightily impressive shoulders.

‘I see. How long have you been working as a nanny?’ Finn leant back in his chair, watching the film of colour rise beneath her skin. He didn’t need that, or the way she suddenly buried her nose in her wine glass, to tell him she was hiding something. Telling lies to cover the truth.

Which was? His narrowed eyes lingered on the attenuated line of her throat as she tipped her glass, drinking deeply. That she had no idea he knew who she was and had already guessed she’d turned her hand to nannying to bring in desperately needed extra funds.

She and her partner, the pleasant, capable-seeming middle-aged woman who’d interviewed him initially, wouldn’t want it known that their high-flying agency had taken a nose-dive.

‘Not long.’ She answered his question when her glass was empty and she could no longer find an excuse to keep silent. But at least it was the truth. Less than twenty-four hours, in fact. A sudden urge to giggle had her wondering if swallowing that wine had been one of the best ideas she’d ever had.

So she wasn’t going to come clean. He could wait. Finn refilled her glass from the bottle of Moselle he’d ordered. She barely knew him, after all. She would hardly take him into her confidence so soon, and he was reluctant to force it out of her by telling her he knew she was the other half—the driving half—of the partnership.

He wanted her to trust him enough to share her problems with him, and so allow him to help her get to grips with them. He wanted those problems, and the subterfuge, out of the way. And he knew the perfect way to hasten that happy event. He had already made up his mind. To gain her trust he needed a more intimate atmosphere than an impersonal hotel suite could provide.

‘I’d like you to pack for you and Sophie first thing in the morning.’ Her attention was back on him again, her eyes wide and golden, completely without artifice, mildly questioning. Beautiful. He held them, his voice soft as he told her, ‘We’re moving to the country. A cottage just big enough for the three of us. Secluded, peaceful, a good place to draw breath.’ His eyes were drawn without his say-so to her mouth. A soft mouth, the colour of crushed strawberries and probably just as sweet.

Or sweeter. And open now. The parted, berry-sweet lips held him fascinated as he said in a voice he barely recognised as his own, ‘You’d like that?’


CHAPTER FOUR

‘NOT a lot!’ The words were snapped out before Caro could stop them.

A secluded country cottage, just the three of them—and a fifteen-month-old toddler hardly counted as a chaperon—sounded definitely something to avoid, given his despicable womanising inclinations.

It wasn’t what he had actually said but the way he had said it that had set alarm bells ringing. But to keep the nanny pretence up and running she should have acceded to whatever her employer had suggested with a calm ‘Of course, whatever you say, sir’.

Too late now, though. She presented him with a face as blank as she could possibly make it while she waited to discover what he’d make of this further insubordination and noted that, impossibly, he appeared to be smothering laughter.

‘So you’re a city girl.’ He noticed her taut features. In all probability that was a natural reaction to a childhood spent in rural Hertfordshire, physically isolated by the vastness of the family estate, mentally dominated by that scratchy old matriarch, Elinor Farr. It made sense, and at least she’d been up front about that. It was a start.

‘Come with me.’ He left the table and her eyes raked suspiciously over the lean length of him. He looked great. Nature had given him the perfect male physique, added a few barrowloads of laid-back charm and topped off the recipe with more simmering sex appeal than was good for him or womankind.

Swallowing some sort of obstruction that was annoyingly clogging her throat, Caro reluctantly followed him to the sofa and sank down on the empty space beside him which he was patting invitingly.

Evening sunlight was streaming through the windows, touching his skin with gold, glancing off the coppery highlights in his thick dark hair. Caro swallowed another lump and forced her eyes away, fastening them on the sheaf of estate agents particulars he was extracting from a glossy folder.

She didn’t want to find anything about him appealing; it would be a type of betrayal, both to herself and her darling little sister. She would remind herself of that every time she found herself watching him, inadvertently admiring the way he looked.

‘I’m house-hunting, as you know, and I’ve got the details of three properties in Bedfordshire here, any one of which could fit the bill, but obviously I need to view.’ Long, blunt-ended fingers flicked through the glossy pages. ‘A friend of mine has a weekend cottage in the area as it happens. He offered me the use of it while he and his family are holidaying abroad, and I think we could find ways to make good use of it, don’t you?’




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/diana-hamilton/the-millionaire-s-baby/) 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.