The Nanny and the Millionaire: Promoted: Nanny to Wife / The Italian Tycoon and the Nanny / The Millionaire's Nanny Arrangement

The Nanny and the Millionaire: Promoted: Nanny to Wife / The Italian Tycoon and the Nanny / The Millionaire's Nanny Arrangement
Rebecca Winters

Margaret Way

Linda Goodnight

Back by popular demand! These great value titles feature stories from Mills & Boon fans' favourite authors. Promoted: Nanny to WifeMarissa Devlin has vowed to protect her orphaned half-brother – so becomes governess to the daughter of dark, brooding Holt McMaster. Holt’s little girl soon makes her feel like a mother, but the magnificent cattle baron’s guarded heart isn’t so easily won!The Italian Tycoon and the NannyA new daddy to his orphaned nephew, Massimo needs help. Bringing the baby’s beautiful aunt Julie Marchant to Italy as a nanny seems the perfect solution. Julie is a fish out of water in Massimo’s glamorous, wealthy world and she’s trying desperately to ignore her attraction to the brooding tycoon…The Millionaire’s Nanny ArrangementA supersuccessful businessman, the only thing Ryan Storm can’t quite get a handle on is his daughter, Mariah, who just wants a mum. But he can hire the next best thing… Pregnant, widowed Kelsey Mason is little Mariah’s idea of the perfect nanny. Even Ryan starts to fall under Kelsey’s spell as she tempts the workaholic to enjoy his family…

Is the new nanny the perfect wife?

The Nanny and the Millionaire

Three emotional and exciting romances from

three super Mills & Boon authors!

The Nanny and

the Millionaire

PROMOTED: NANNY TO WIFE

MARGARET WAY

THE ITALIAN TYCOON AND THE NANNY

REBECCA WINTERS

THE MILLIONAIRE’S NANNY ARRANGEMENT

LINDA GOODNIGHT

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

PROMOTED: NANNY TO WIFE

MARGARET WAY

About the Author

MARGARET WAY takes great pleasure in her work, and works hard at her pleasure. She enjoys tearing off to the beach with her family at weekends, loves haunting galleries and auctions, and is completely given over to French champagne “for every possible joyous occasion”. She was born and educated in the river city of Brisbane, Australia, and now lives within sight and sound of beautiful Moreton Bay.

This book is dedicated to my friend and much valued editor, Linda Fildew

CHAPTER ONE

THEY had been on the road for what seemed like forever; Marissa Devlin, her seven-year-old half brother, Riley and Riley’s brave and incredibly protective cattle dog, a Queensland Blue Heeler, called Dusty. A number of times on the long trek from Brisbane, the State capital, through the fertile central plains of that vast State, the fiercely loyal Dusty, one of the most intelligent breeds there is, had put himself between his ‘family’ and anyone who looked or acted in the least bit suspicious; indeed anyone who had given the intrepid trio a second or third glance.

Dusty was a splendid guard dog, not to mention the fact he could talk, something that gave Marissa so much comfort she always invited Dusty into the think tank. Her rationale was she needed backup and some reassurance she hadn’t made one huge mistake uprooting them from a fairly ‘normal’ life to hit the wild blue yonder. At least Riley and Dusty were loving it. To them it was all a bit of a game. Neither of them fully comprehended the gamble she had taken.

In another life Dusty had done what cattle dogs do best, working and driving stock on a North Queensland cattle run; these days he was semi-retired, having taken on the responsible job of looking after his ‘family.’ Cattle dogs generally were one-person dogs. Nowadays Dusty answered to her, though he was still officially Riley’s dog. Before that? Marissa’s mind had to shut down on that one. There was simply too much pain to go there. The past had to be shoved away—although wasn’t the past always there inside her, much like her heart and her lungs? But she had to focus on what lay ahead.

What lay ahead, came up on cue; a signpost, so weathered it could have dated back to a prehistoric time, listing destinations she had never heard of, let alone could get her tongue around.

Appilayarowie?Balukyambut? Cocatatocallen? Aboriginal and why not? This was Dreamtime country. From the severe cant on the signpost she didn’t think the directions would be very reliable. It would work just as well to pull a blindfold over Riley’s eyes and ask him to point.

Where’s your sense of adventure, girl?

She was hoping to find it the very next day. At the moment her anxieties were outweighing her positive feelings.

A stand of many trunked gums were coming up on her right. Time for a break. Her arms were quivering from the time she had spent holding the wheel. She drove the utility-fire engine red with a painted black panther at full stretch on the driver’s side—supposedly a bonus according to the car salesman—off the endless Outback highway, and parked it in the shade of the ubiquitous eucalypts. She had read somewhere—she sometimes thought she could win a prize for trivia—that eucalypts, all six hundred recorded species of them, made up the great bulk of the continent’s natural tree-life. Eucalypts were arguably—not in the fire season—one of Australia’s finest gifts to the world.

In the heat, the gums’ narrow blue-grey drooping leaves denser at the bottom than the top, were turned edge on to the sun. Scant shade or not they gave off a wonderful aromatic fragrance. It immediately soothed her much like the hauntingly sweet native boronia oil she used to sprinkle on her pillow at night. The bush had such a marvellous smell. It had always been one of her great pleasures to breathe in the warm gushes of natural perfumes; the lovely lemon-scented gums, the grevilleas and acacias, the tremendous variety of native flowering shrubs and ground covers, the crush of wild flowers underfoot. She had found nothing more entrancing than wandering the rolling hillsides around her Brisbane home, mid-Winter, early Spring, when the hills were alight with golden wattles, mile upon mile. Wattle was the national floral emblem and she adored the fragrance, but it had always given her cousin, Lucy, hay fever. Not that Lucy would have joined her in her wanderings through the splendid isolation anyway.

They were well into the great South West of the State, the real Outback. It was almost like driving onto a new planet. One to replace poor old downgraded Pluto. No wattles here, but a burnished yellow ocean of Spinifex that went a long way towards concealing the parched reality of the landscape. The tall seed stalks glinted silver in the brilliant, dancing light. More than once she had felt glad she hadn’t ventured into this endless expanse alone. No wonder they called it the Never Never. She wasn’t entirely sure the spirits of the place welcomed them. Instinct told her they were watching. As a consequence, primal little fears had begun gnawing at her mind. They hadn’t passed a single vehicle for days to break the eerie notion they had entered not only another world, but also a different dimension.

City born and bred she was gripped by the extraordinary mystique of this vast, arid region. The very air was saturated with it, but she recognised the mood of the Guardian Spirits mightn’t always be pleasant. She suspected, too, the magnetic pull would get stronger and stronger the closer one came to the Wild Heart, the dead centre of the ancient continent and who knows, maybe the heart of the world? Every day they were travelling deeper into the riverine desert known as the Channel Country, the home of the cattle kings, bordering the great Simpson Desert.

That was the reason she was out here: to land a job as a governess on one of the Channel Country stations so she could keep Riley with her until she felt he was old enough and secure enough in himself to go off to boarding school. That would take pretty much all of what remained of the nest egg her maternal grandmother had left her, but she didn’t take her responsibilities lightly. Besides she was grateful to the great force called Destiny that had brought Riley into her life.

She was certainly qualified to teach. Overqualified perhaps for young children, though teaching the very young was an important job. She had a Bachelor of Arts diploma, plus Bachelor of Education and had begun studying part-time for her Master’s. The advent of Riley into her life had put that ambition on hold, at least for now. Saint Catherine’s, her alma mater, where she had taught History and Economics to Classes 10 and 12 had been sorry to let her go.

You’ll always have a place here, Marissa, if you need it. We won’t say goodbye, my dear. It’s good luck! And make sure I hear from you.

Marissa had every intention of keeping her promise to her long-time mentor, Dr Eleanor Bell, headmistress of Saint Catherine’s who had always tried to make life easier for her, bless her! The atmosphere at school had always been much warmer than that at home. No, not home. Sadly never that! It was merely the house where she had lived with her uncle, aunt and cousin Lucy after her mother had died until her first year at University when she had moved into a women’s college on campus; liberation and a whole lot of problems solved in one swoop; until she became aware of Riley’s existence. That had changed her course irrevocably.

Marissa shook herself out of her preoccupations and stood out of the ute, stretching her arms above her head, generally limbering up. Dusty bounded down from the back of the vehicle and took off for the wide-open spaces, startling a great flock of white cockatoos, their cheeky yellow crests raised in a broad crown as they rose into the air, filling it with their harsh protests.

‘Go for it, boy!’ Riley’s voice was slightly croaky as he called after him. Dusty cooped up for so long tore around the vast empty tract, full of joy at being able to exercise his well-muscled, sturdy body.

‘Get out and stretch your legs, as well, Riley.’ Marissa bent into the vehicle to pull a road map out of the glove box, taking a good look at Riley while she was at it. Riley was an asthmatic. That meant as his surrogate mother she suffered, as well. She always kept her eye on him without making it too obvious, watching out for the signs. The specialist she had taken him to after that last bad bout told her he would probably grow out of it around thirteen or fourteen. She prayed the doctor was right. She had his medication. They could never be without his puffer but so far so good. She was hoping the dry Outback air would be beneficial to his condition. There were many claims this was so. She wasn’t in the least surprised. The air seemed cleaner, brighter, more translucent than any she had ever breathed.

Riley obeyed her instantly. He was no trouble at all, no behavioural problems. Her father had brought him up well.

‘You okay?’ she asked lightly, gently squeezing his shoulder. He was small for his age, all fragile bones. Riley had lived a stressful life. She suspected there were many dark moments he hadn’t told her about, but somehow he had built up an inner strength and courage by the age of seven that often brought the smart of tears to her eyes. Her little brother—she had stopped thinking of him as her half brother—had made his way into her heart.

‘Sure.’ Riley smiled up at her with his radiant blue eyes. They were densely fringed by black lashes, increasing the impact.

‘You sound a little bit croaky?’ She knew how fast Riley’s condition could deteriorate.

‘Dry,’ he explained, touching his throat. ‘Don’t you worry about me, Ma. I’m fine. I’ll tell you when my chest gets tight. Can I have a drink?’

‘Of course you can. There’s cold bottled water in the cooler. I’ll join you. Better give Dusty a drink when he comes back.’

‘If he comes back,’ Riley hooted, running off to the back of the ute. He reappeared a minute later with two small bottles of water. He passed one to Marissa before pointing to the signpost. ‘Aboriginal names,’ he commented. Riley knew a good deal more about aboriginal names and people than the city-born Marissa. ‘Which way Wungalla do you suppose?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ Marissa’s tone was laconic. She downed the cold bottle of water like it was the nectar of the gods. ‘From the lean on that post it could be back where we came from or a thousand miles down the track.’

‘This is a big country,’ Riley said proudly. ‘You’ll get used to it, Ma.’