His Little Girl. Liz Fielding
is your idea of giving them to her? The child should be at home with her mother, not being carted about in the middle of the night by an itinerant—’
‘Is that what you think?’ he interrupted, before she could suggest what kind of itinerant he was, his sideways glance suggesting that she didn’t know what she was talking about.
Well, maybe she didn’t. But she knew enough to know that Sophie should be at home in bed. Her gaze was drawn back to the exhausted child. Her almost transparent lids were drooping over her eyes. She’d be asleep in a moment. It would be so easy to simply carry her upstairs and pop her into her own warm bed.
‘How do you know Richard?’ she asked, resisting the temptation to do just that with considerable difficulty.
‘We went to the same school.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Dora wasn’t sure what she had expected. Perhaps that they had met through her brother-in-law’s burgeoning security business, although whether they had been on the same side was a moot point. But school? While she’d recognised his public school accent, it hadn’t occurred to her that he might have shared the same Alma Mater as a future king. A little confused, she said, ‘Surely he’s older than you?’
‘Eight years or thereabouts. He was head boy when I was a very small, very miserable first-year. He rescued me from a bunch of second-year lads who were baiting me because they’d discovered that my mother was unmarried. I don’t suppose it happens so much these days. Marriage seems to be a dirty word now.’
‘Not to me.’ It was difficult to imagine this man ever having being small and vulnerable. ‘Richard took you under his wing?’
‘It’s in his nature to protect the vulnerable.’ He turned back to face her, deeply thoughtful. ‘Richard is a lot older than you,’ he said. ‘What’s he doing for you?’
‘Me?’
‘I can’t see him going to all this trouble,’ he said, glancing around at the expensive rebuilding work, ‘just to let the place out. So, has he taken you under his kindly wing, too—or just his brand new duckdown duvet?’
She was about to explain, somewhat indignantly, that Richard was now married to her sister, her seven-years-older sister, when she was interrupted by a sharp rap on the back door.
CHAPTER TWO
GANNON stiffened, staring towards the back door before turning a fierce, questioning look on her. ‘It must be the police,’ she muttered, surprising herself with a distinct feeling of discomfort at the thought of handing Gannon over to them.
‘The police?’
‘I did warn you.’ She had, but he clearly hadn’t taken her seriously. Then she caught herself. He’d broken in, for heaven’s sake. He deserved to be locked up.
‘There was no alarm,’ he objected.
‘No sound of one, perhaps. Richard doesn’t believe in giving burglars the chance to escape and break in somewhere else. He would rather catch them red-handed. I thought you would have known that—since you’re such a friend.’
An alarm. Gannon could have kicked himself. It had never occurred to him that this place would have an alarm, he hadn’t even bothered to look for one, despite the fancy new lock. He could understand the replacement of a lock that had been little more than a joke, but who would put an alarm on an almost derelict fishing cottage, for heaven’s sake?
Except it wasn’t a derelict fishing cottage any more. It was a warm and welcoming home, occupied by a girl with a face like an angel and the coolness to keep him talking until reinforcements arrived. And he’d thought he had been manipulating her...
He covered the distance between them before she could move, taking Sophie from her arms. His ribs complained, but he didn’t have time to feel pain. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t stop to chat,’ he said grimly. ‘I assume the front door is still in the same place?’
Dora felt a flutter of anxiety. ‘You can’t take Sophie out there.’ A distant flicker of lightning underscored her words, and the rain began to rattle against the window once more. Anxiety hardened into determination. ‘I absolutely forbid it,’ she said.
‘Oh, really?’ If the situation hadn’t been so desperate he would have laughed. ‘And just how are you going to stop me?’
‘Like this.’ And she planted herself between him and the door.
Gannon applauded her spirit, but he hadn’t got time for games, so he hooked his free arm about her waist and lifted her to one side. Red-hot pain shot through his ribs. He hadn’t time for that either. But he staggered slightly as he put her down.
‘Oh, good grief, you’re hurt—’
‘Give the lady a coconut,’ he muttered, as he leaned against the wall, waiting for the pain to subside so that he could breathe again.
‘Look, don’t worry. I’ll get rid of them.’
‘Oh, really?’ he asked harshly. ‘And why would you do that?’
‘Heaven knows, but I will. Just stay here and keep quiet.’ He stared at her. She lifted her shoulders. It was something between a shimmy and a shrug. It did something to the way her nightgown clung to her slender body that had much the same effect on his breathing as a couple of cracked ribs. She was right, he wasn’t going anywhere fast enough to make a difference.
‘Whatever you say, lady. Just don’t try and be too clever.’
‘Clever? Me?’ Her mouth suddenly widened in a broad smile. ‘You must be joking. I’m just your average dumb blonde.’
Blonde, certainly. A knock ’em dead and wipe the floor with ’em blonde. Average? Scarcely. Dumb? Never. As she turned, with a little switch of her backside as if to prove her point, there was a second, more urgent knock.
‘Be careful what you say,’ he ordered quietly from the kitchen door, still not sure why he was trusting her.
Dora looked back. Gannon and Sophie were framed in the doorway, and he had his hand stuck in his pocket as if fingering a concealed weapon. Surely not? He was just trying to frighten her... Maybe she should be frightened. A whole lot more frightened than she was.
She swallowed as her nerves caught up with her, then spun round, slipped the chain on the door and opened it a crack.
The young constable waiting on the step was little more than a boy, his face so smooth that he didn’t look old enough to shave. The idea of asking him to collar a man like Gannon and march him off the local police station was plainly ridiculous, she told herself. Just in case she needed convincing. Besides, the wretched man would go as soon as he’d rested. And she was quite sure he’d be only too happy to leave Sophie behind if he thought she was in good hands.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Marriott?’ the young constable asked, assuming that she was Poppy. She considered correcting his mistake, but decided against it. She wanted him to go as quickly as possible, and that would just slow things down.
‘Fine.’ The word came out as little more than a croak. ‘Fine,’ she repeated, more convincingly. ‘Why? What’s up?’
‘Probably nothing, but your security company alerted us that your alarm had been triggered. I’m sorry it took so long to get here, but they’re going off all over the place tonight with this storm.’
She worked very hard at keeping her smile in place, her expression showing nothing more than mild surprise.
‘I’ve looked around, but everything seems secure.’ The constable glanced up. ‘Your security lights don’t seem to be working, though.’
‘No, I turned them off,’ she said, cursing herself for all kinds of a fool. If they’d been