His Housekeeper Bride

Sylvie wandered through the house, wide-eyed, whispering, ‘Oh,’ every few moments. Built in 1849 by a ship’s captain, right on Sydney Harbour, Mark’s house was a fascinating waterfront blend of colonial, naval and Victorian, with open beams, leadlight windows and wide-planked flooring; the outside was sandstone blocks.

It was a dream come true—the kind of dream she’d have had if she’d known this wonderful, eclectic, homey house existed. It was almost perfect…almost.

She grinned. So he had a date tonight? So what? Because of him, she now had a home, and a job that would pay the bills and allow her to save while she finished college. She was so deeply in his debt she doubted she’d ever be able to climb out—and she’d promised Chloe she’d take care of him. It was time for her to do some giving…and she knew where to start: the Friday night markets at The Rocks.

By running all the way to the ferry stop on the harbour, she just made the next ferry.

CHAPTER TWO

Later that night

MARK had to hold back from slamming the door.

What was wrong with him?

After the Lamaze classes, where he hadn’t missed a single opportunity to get the message across to Bren, he’d dropped her home and taken Toni, a stunning woman, for a late dinner and dancing at the best clubs. And he’d made sure his sister knew where he was going.

He’d fulfilled his part, given Toni the exposure she needed. She was currently between jobs, and being photographed with him would make all the tabloids. It was a guarantee that producers and casting agencies would remember to call her. In return, she’d have been happy to spend the rest of the night with him at a hotel—she didn’t want the intimacy of spending the night at her place or his, either—and yet he’d still said, ‘Another time…’

Toni’s amused acceptance of his being so able to keep his hands off her perfect tanned body hadn’t helped things, either. ‘So, what’s her name?’

He’d had a ridiculous urge to snap back, Shirley Temple.

And it was the truth. Oh, not sexually—it was guilt. After she’d signed the contract, he’d tossed his spare keys at a bemused Sylvie, scrawled the address on a piece of paper for her, and told her the housekeeper’s cottage was out at the back and to move in over the weekend. He’d said he expected breakfast at six twenty-five Monday morning, and he wouldn’t be home tonight.

All she’d said was, ‘Of course. Thank you for everything.’

Her good manners in the face of his rudeness had made him all the more appalled that he’d lost his manners with the wrong person. She’d come to thank him—to answer a job advertisement. He’d taken out his anger with Bren on Sylvie.

He owed her an apology, and he didn’t like its effect on him. She’d stayed on his mind, haunting him with her brave, defiant smile and her acceptance of his bad temper, until he hadn’t even felt Toni when she’d kissed him.

So now he was home alone, thinking of his housekeeper when he could have been naked with a gorgeous blonde, forgetting the past for an hour. And now he probably wouldn’t sleep because he felt totally screwed up, screwed over, angry and ashamed. And Sylvie was bound to be sleeping so he couldn’t offload his conscience until morning—

And then every thought vanished.

He flicked on the lights and stood in the middle of the entryway, breathing. What was that amazing smell? Inhaling again, he felt the turbulence inside his soul vanish, leaving only traces of its memory behind. He felt uplifted, energised, inventive…

The house was different, too—wasn’t it?

He went into one room after another, flicking on lights. He’d never seen that stained-glass sailing ship on the living room wall before, or that chart beside the entry to the ballroom—a print of Captain Cook’s pencilled route to Botany Bay. Funny, he had to look at them twice to notice, but now he looked there seemed to be little changes everywhere.

Even the lights weren’t the same—the lights themselves were softer, lending a gentle night radiance to every room it hadn’t had before.

What had Sylvie done to his house?

Breathing in the amazing scent, he wandered from room to room, seeing the touches so sweet and subtle he still had to look twice to find them. It was as if they’d grown here while he’d been gone. A funny little scarecrow doll sat proudly on his kitchen windowsill, bearing the legend ‘Housework Makes You Ugly’. A plain grey river stone sat on his study desk in front of his monitor, with a single word on it: Believe. Two of his stupid origami pieces sat either side of the stone, as if to say Your creations.

Dried herbs hung from the edges of curtains. There was a bright flowered tablecloth on his grandma’s dining table, a vase filled with purple flowers from his garden. Tiny pictures hung on the kitchen walls, old soap and butterscotch ads in wooden frames. A distressed wooden hanging was on the dining room wall, proudly bearing a kookaburra in military get-up, proclaiming the efficacy of Diggaburra Tea. Another faced it, this time a teddy bear saluting him, telling him to drink Teddy Beer.

Everything was scrupulously clean, polished, but it looked…He didn’t know—but after his fury of a minute before, now all he wanted was to smile. The glowing floors, the scent, the additions to his furniture made him want to laugh. Stupid clutter to him—he’d never have bought it himself—yet somehow it announced her presence in his life. I’m here, Mark.

She knew how to make an impact.

It was just so—so Sylvie, he thought grimly, trying to muster up some negative emotion and failing. Confused by all the foreign emotion churning in him—he was feeling happy when he should be mad—he stalked to the back door, jerked it open and shouted in the general direction of the cottage, ‘Sylvie!’

He refused to repeat himself. He’d yelled loud enough the first time.

Moments later a light came on in the cottage, then the door opened and a sleepy voice said softly, ‘I think knocking would be kinder to the neighbours at this time of night.’

He cursed beneath his breath. ‘Could you come inside, please?’ he asked, in as reasonable a manner as possible.

‘Answering to the boss at 2:47 a.m. wasn’t in the contract…sir.’

She was right. He was caught in the wrong again—and the fact only made him want to fight more. ‘Tomorrow at six.’

‘Technically, it’s today, sir—and it’s a Saturday. Do I have weekends off?’

The word sir got him all fidgety. It wasn’t right coming from her, after their shared past, and he suspected she only did it now to make a point. ‘Just come inside now!’

He heard a distinct sigh, but a figure emerged from the warm darkness.

Mark caught his breath. Tumbled curls, mussed with sleep, fell around her shoulders, catching the light until they looked like dark fire. Her face was rosy, her eyes big, cloudy—and she was wearing a slip nightie in a soft clear blue that showcased her pale skin like pearls in shimmering water.

She stood outside the door, dropped some slippers to the mat, and shoved her feet into them. She sent him an enquiring glance. ‘You did want me to come in now?’she asked, nodding at the door he still held.

‘What? Oh, yes.’ He moved back and she walked into the kitchen, throwing a cotton robe over her nightie.

He nearly growled in protest. She’d looked so sweet and silky, so touchable with her bare feet, and her body—the curves were small, but in the iridescent half-light she’d looked like a creature of magic and moonlight.

She rubbed her eyes and blinked. ‘Is this kind of awakening going to be a regular occurrence, sir? If so, I’ll have to go to bed earlier.’

‘Stop calling me sir,’ he snapped.

Sylvie sighed again. ‘Mr Hannaford is such a mouthful…but whatever you wish.’

‘I’ve already warned you about impertinence. I won’t tolerate it.’

She frowned and tilted her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not at my best this time of night. Are you saying that calling you Mr Hannaford is impertinent?’

‘I’m saying—’ He shook his head. How had they descended to this level so fast? And how could he have fallen in lust so fast with someone he’d thought of as Shirley Temple? Until he’d seen her like this, as if she’d come fresh from a lover’s bed. ‘I don’t argue with employees.’

She smiled at him, a sleepy thing of flushed beauty that made him catch his breath and his body harden with an urgency all Toni’s kisses hadn’t been able to rouse. ‘You can’t imagine how glad I am to hear that—given our…um…conversation of the past few minutes. So, to sort matters, what would you like me to call you?’

Locked into the unexpected desire that had hit him with the force of a ten-pound grenade, he said huskily, ‘Mark will do.’

The way that single crinkle between her brows grew told him what she thought of that. ‘I thought you wanted some professional distance between us?’

He shrugged, trying not to laugh. Oh, she knew how to call him on his pronouncements, and she wasn’t a bit intimidated by anything he did or said. ‘Distance seems fairly silly at the moment, given where we are and what you’re wearing—and our shared past.’