A Seasonal Secret. Diana Hamilton
his eyes…
And, just as dangerous, she heard the squeaky hinges of the boys’ bedroom door, tentative footsteps on the top of the stairs.
Jerking backwards, she uttered thickly, ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, do you? Now, if you’ll excuse me—’ she walked to the door on legs that felt as if they didn’t belong to her and dragged it open ‘—I have a lot to do.’
And she willed him to go, right now, right this minute, before the boys reached the foot of the stairs and he had the time and the leisure to really look at James and begin to wonder…
CHAPTER THREE
‘THERE—that should do it.’ Beth snipped off one final piece of scarlet-berried holly, added it to the unwieldy bunch she’d already collected, and slipped the secateurs back into one of the capacious side pockets of the cosy fleece she was wearing. For the boys’ sake she was doing her level best to be bright and cheerful, to act as if decorating the cottage for Christmas was the only thing on her mind. But inside she was quaking. Did Carl know? Or at the very least strongly suspect that James was his son? Or was her guilty conscience making her imagine things?
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