Passionate Protectors?: Hot Pursuit / The Bedroom Barter / A Passionate Protector. Anne Mather
But this was just a temporary arrangement.’
‘But why?’ Rosie wouldn’t let it go. ‘You like it here. You said so. And I like you. Mrs Webb likes you. Even Daddy likes you.’
Does he?
Sara reserved judgement on that. Since that morning a couple of days ago, when Mrs Webb had gone to the dentist, Matt had barely spoken two words to her, and she was left with the unhappy conclusion that he regretted what had happened.
She regretted it, too, she reflected painfully, but for totally different reasons. Which was quite an admission to make, she conceded with a twinge of shame. Was she wicked for regretting that Matt hadn’t gone on and finished what he’d started? Was it completely unforgivable to wish that for once in her miserable life she might have known the joy of a real man’s love?
Only Matt didn’t love her, she reminded herself swiftly. Once again she was deluding herself about the reason for his actions, just as she had deluded herself that Max had ever really cared about her. She was a pathetic creature, so desperate for affection that she was willing to do almost anything to prove that Max’s estimation of her wasn’t true.
And, until Matt had pushed her away from him and taken refuge in his study, she had believed that she might be happy here. For the first time in years she’d felt secure; wanted; almost content. It was only later that she’d wondered if she hadn’t been deceiving herself all along. It wasn’t the house or the circumstances of her employment that had made her feel secure. It was Matt. Only Matt. And how sad was that?
‘When are you leaving?’
Until Rosie spoke again Sara had been staring blindly out of the window, but now she turned to the child with rueful eyes. And felt even worse when she saw the tragic look on the little girl’s face.
‘Well, not today,’ she said with determined cheerfulness, picking up a velour skirt and jacket that belonged to one of Rosie’s dolls and exhibiting it for her approval. ‘What do you think of this? Smart, or what?’
They were sitting on the floor of the family room, and until Rosie had brought up the subject of Sara’s employment again they’d been sorting through the toy cupboard for things Rosie could donate to the school fair.
Matt had collected his daughter from school a couple of hours ago. Sara had been having a cup of tea with Mrs Webb in the kitchen when they’d got back and Matt had merely deposited the little girl with them before heading back to his study.
‘That man’s overdoing it,’ the housekeeper had remarked sagely as Rosie helped herself to a biscuit from the tin. ‘He’s looking tired, don’t you think? I suppose it’s because he’s trying to get as much done as he can before you have to go back to London. He’s going to miss you and that’s a fact.’
Sara had made some non-committal comment, not wanting to get into a discussion about Matt in front of the child. It was only now she realised that, however distracted she’d seemed at the time, Rosie missed very little.
As if to underline this thought, she scrambled to her feet now and climbed onto the window seat. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’
‘A walk?’ Sara looked up at her. ‘But it will be supper time soon.’ She paused. ‘Besides, I thought you wanted to tidy the toy cupboard.’
‘I can do that any time,’ said Rosie, her small fingers making damp circles on the glass. She glanced back with accusing eyes. ‘When you’re not here.’
Sara sighed. ‘Oh, Rosie—’
‘Well, can we? Go for a walk, I mean? We don’t have to take the dogs. Daddy took them out before I went to school this morning.’
‘Did he?’
Sara hadn’t known that. He must have taken them out incredibly early, she thought. She’d been up herself at seven o’clock.
‘Daddy’s always up early,’ continued Rosie, getting down again and standing with her feet apart and her hands on her hips, staring at Sara. ‘I’m never late for school these days.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ said Sara, getting to her feet and smiling at the little girl. ‘You don’t want to be late, do you?’
‘I don’t care.’ Rosie was deliberately offhand. ‘I’ll be going away to school soon, and then it won’t matter.’
Sara blinked. ‘Going away to school?’ she echoed. ‘Who told you that?’
Rosie shrugged, bundling all the toys and games they’d taken out back into the cupboard and closing the door. ‘Are we going for a walk?’
‘In a minute.’ Sara wanted to know what Rosie had heard. ‘Is that what your daddy says?’
Rosie was still offhand. ‘Maybe.’
‘What do you mean, maybe? Either he did or he didn’t.’
Rosie pursed her lips. ‘I heard him talking to Mrs Armstrong.’
Sara frowned. ‘Mrs Armstrong? Is that your teacher?’
‘No. My teacher’s Mrs Sanders,’ said Rosie scornfully. ‘Mrs Armstrong is Rupert and Nigel’s mother.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Sara assumed they must be children in her class. ‘And—you heard your daddy telling Mrs Armstrong that you’d be going away to school soon? Is that right?’
‘No.’ Rosie started for the door. ‘Can we go?’
Sara heaved a sigh. She had no right to question the child, but she wanted to know what Matt had been saying. It was obvious it was on Rosie’s mind, and perhaps he ought to be told that it wasn’t wise to discuss his daughter’s future with—with whom? Who was this Mrs Armstrong? Apart from being Rupert and Nigel’s mother, of course. Was she another woman, like Emma Proctor, who considered herself more than just a friend?
‘We’ll go when you tell me what you heard,’ she declared firmly, and Rosie sniffed.
‘Does it matter?’
‘I think it might.’
Sara gazed at her solemnly, wishing she didn’t have to be stern with her. Rosie looked so adorable in her white canvas shorts and striped tee shirt, and Sara was tempted to take her in her arms and hug her and tell her that Matt wouldn’t dream of sending her away to school. But until she knew what had been said she had to tamp down her emotions, even if the little girl had found a special place in her heart.
‘Oh—well…’ Rosie was reluctant to go on. ‘It was something Mrs Armstrong said, that’s all.’
‘Which was?’
‘Well, she said Daddy hadn’t been very lucky with nannies,’ mumbled Rosie unwillingly. ‘That when you left he’d likely have to send me away.’
‘She said that!’ Sara was appalled.
‘Not ‘xactly.’
‘Well, what exactly did she say?’ demanded Sara, and then felt her face flood with hot colour when she suddenly realised that Matt was standing in the open doorway.
He must have heard what they were saying, she thought, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Oh, God, he was going to think she’d been pumping the child for information. He might even think she was curious about this Mrs Armstrong, whoever she was. And just because he might be right that was no excuse.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, his gaze moving between them, and Sara and Rosie exchanged an embarrassed look.
The little girl recovered herself first. ‘We were just talking about school, Daddy,’ she said, with remarkable aplomb. ‘Now we’re going for a walk.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Sara thought she should have known that Matt wouldn’t swallow that. ‘I think you should go and check with Mrs Webb first. She may have something