Passionate Protectors?: Hot Pursuit / The Bedroom Barter / A Passionate Protector

‘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 she wants you to do.’

‘Like what?’

Rosie was indignant, but her father’s expression warned her not to argue. With a hunching of her shoulders she marched out of the door, leaving Sara to face the music alone.

Matt waited until his daughter was out of earshot and then arched an enquiring brow. ‘School?’ he said, without inflection. ‘What have you been telling her?’

‘Me?’ Despite the quickening of her heartbeat, Sara managed to sound reasonably calm. ‘I haven’t been telling her anything. Well, not about school anyway.’

Matt came further into the room. He was wearing shorts today, khaki shorts that exposed his long muscled legs. Like hers, his black tee shirt barely skimmed his waistband, and her eyes were unwillingly drawn to the wedge of brown skin that appeared every time he moved.

Why was it that when she looked at him she was so acutely aware of her own sexuality? she wondered. Why, when for years she’d believed herself immune from any man’s attraction, was she so irresistibly drawn to Matt’s masculine grace? It was pointless, when all was said and done, and foolish. But she couldn’t help herself. And if Max ever found out…

Well, he’d make her suffer for it, she reflected bitterly. But then, he’d make her suffer anyway. And perhaps she deserved his contempt. She was his wife, after all. She shouldn’t be having these kinds of feelings for a man who wasn’t her husband. Yet it was such a long time since Max had engendered anything inside her but fear and revulsion.

Even thinking about what was facing her when she returned to London was terrifying. Max was never going to forgive her for leaving him as she had. She mustn’t forget that he knew that she was to blame for his fall. However accidental it might have been, she would bear the brunt of his wrath.

‘So what were you talking about?’

Matt’s words broke into her pained reverie and she forced herself to meet his dark gaze. Was that an accusation she could see in the depths of his eyes? Or was it just, as Mrs Webb had said, that he did look excessively weary?

She hesitated now, and then, deciding she had nothing to lose, she said quietly, ‘Are you thinking of sending Rosie away to school?’

‘What?’

He looked stunned, and Sara felt somewhat reassured. ‘You’re not?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he demanded, and then, as if noting how his angry words affected her, he calmed down. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

‘Would you believe from Rosie?’ Sara dug her fingers into the back pockets of her jeans, aware that her hands were sweating. She wished she had shorts to wear, she thought ruefully. The jeans were far too warm for the humid weather they were having at present. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. ‘I think she’s worried about what you’re planning to do when I leave.’

‘Rosie?’ Matt shook his head. ‘But I’ve never—’

‘Not even to Mrs Armstrong?’ asked Sara, before she lost her nerve, and Matt’s eyes narrowed.

‘Gloria?’ he said, apparently confirming that he knew the woman far better than Sara could have wished.

‘If that’s her name,’ she agreed, annoyed to hear the note of censure in her voice. ‘I believe you were discussing the problems you were having in keeping a nanny with her.’