Save The Date!: The Rebel and the Heiress / Not Just a Convenient Marriage / Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride

He almost laughed. ‘Take advantage of me?’ That’d be the day.

She waved an impatient hand in the air. ‘You know what I mean—seducing you so you’ll fix up my house all spick and span.’ She glared. ‘I can stand on my own two feet.’

He glanced at Candy. ‘I don’t doubt that for a moment.’ Did she ever take a day off?

‘Right.’ She smoothed down her skirt. ‘Good. I had some keys cut for you—the front and back doors and the gate here in the fence.’

There was an awkward moment where she held them out to him and he tried to take them and they danced around each other, trying not to touch. In the end she tossed them in the air and he caught them.

‘Now, if you don’t mind...’ She collected her coffee mug from where she’d set it on the ground. ‘I’m going to go have a much-needed shower.’

‘There’s something else we need to talk about, Princess.’

She turned back.

‘Those jewels can’t stay in the cottage while I’m living there.’

‘But—’

‘I’ve been to prison, Nell, and I’m not going back. If those jewels go missing the finger will be pointed at me.’

‘Not by me!’

She said that now. ‘You need to put them in a safety deposit box, because I’m not risking it.’

* * *

The shadows in Rick’s eyes told Nell exactly what prison had been like. Oh, not in detail, perhaps, but in essence. She suppressed a shiver. ‘I didn’t think of that,’ she finally said.

When really what she wanted to say was kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. Not that kissing would do either one of them any good.

She stroked her fingers down her throat. It might help iron out some kinks...scratch an itch or two.

Oh, stop it! Be sensible.

She cleared her throat. ‘Is it okay if I collect them first thing in the morning? As soon as it opens I’ll take them to the bank for safekeeping.’

For a moment she thought he might insist on her taking them now, but eventually he nodded. ‘First thing.’

With a nod, she backed out of the garage and fled for the house, leaving him to close up, or to drive his car around, or whatever he pleased.

She sat, planted her elbows on the kitchen table and massaged her temples. Dear Lord, she had to fight this attraction to Rick because he was right—kissing would be a bad, bad idea. It’d end in tears—hers. The minute Rick discovered his sibling’s identity he’d be out of town so fast she wouldn’t see him for dust.

As a kid she’d dreamed of Rick riding up and rescuing her—like the prince rescuing Rapunzel from her tower. That had all been immature fantasising mixed up with guilt, yearning and loneliness. It hadn’t been based on any kind of reality.

It hadn’t factored in Rick going to jail.

It hadn’t factored in that she could, in fact, save herself.

She shot to her feet. ‘I am a strong woman who can make her dreams come true.’

She kept repeating that all the way to the shower.

* * *

During the next week Nell marvelled at the progress Rick made on the house. He transformed the parlour from something tired and battered into a room gleaming with promise. He’d done something to the fireplace—blackened it, perhaps—that highlighted the fancy tile-work surrounding it. The mantelpiece shone.

It didn’t mean they became cosy and buddy-buddy, though. They edged around as if the other were some kind of incendiary device that would explode at the slightest provocation.

When Nell returned home in the afternoons she and Rick would chat—carefully, briefly. Rick would either continue with whatever he was doing or retire to the cottage. She’d start watching one of the spy movies she’d borrowed from the video store or would investigate code breaking on the Internet. To no great effect.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! This is a waste of time.’ She slammed down the lid of her laptop. Biting her lip, she reached out to pat it. The last thing she needed was to have to go out and buy a new computer.

‘Not having any luck?’

She glanced up to find Rick in the doorway. Wearing a tool belt. Her knees went a bit wonky. She swallowed first to make sure her voice would work. ‘I’ve trawled every website and watched every darn movie ever made about codes and code breaking and yet I’m still none the wiser.’ She pulled the piece of paper on which she’d scrawled the code towards her.

‘LCL 217, POAL 163, TSATF 8, AMND 64, ARWAV 33, TMOTF 102,’ she read, even though she’d memorised it.

‘I don’t get it, not one little bit, and I’m tired of feeling stupid!’

He didn’t say anything.

She leapt up. It took an effort of will not to kick the table leg. ‘Why on earth did he make it so hard?’

‘Because he doesn’t want me to find the answer.’

‘Why tell you at all then?’

‘To chase away his guilt? To feel as if he were doing the right thing and giving me some sort of chance at figuring it out?’

To chase away his guilt? In the same way he’d chased Rick away? Her stomach churned. And then she frowned. ‘Rick, it’s Saturday.’

‘Yup.’

‘You don’t have to work weekends.’

‘Why not? You do.’

She blinked.

‘I want to attach the new locks I bought for the parlour windows. I’ve been trying to work that code out all morning and now I want to hammer something.’

She blew out a breath. John’s code had evidently left him feeling as frustrated as it had her. ‘You haven’t given me the receipts for those locks yet.’

His gaze slid away. ‘I can’t find where I put them. I’ll hunt them up tonight and give them to you on Monday.’

That was what he’d said on Wednesday.