Читать книгу Mistress To A Millionaire - Helen Brooks - Страница 7

DAISY breathed in and out very slowly to steady her quivering nerves and surreptitiously glanced at her reflection in the shop window. She looked good—she did—and she could do this. She had to do it. This was the start of the rest of her life, and she didn’t intend to begin it hiding in the shadows.

She took one more quick glance at the tall, slender image which—courtesy of a new hairstyle and new wardrobe—still didn’t look like her, and then dived out into the surging mass of humanity that populated the crowded London pavement.

Afterwards she told herself it was because she was concentrating so hard on appearing to be like everyone else—self-assured and poised and quite sure of where they were going—that she stepped straight off the pavement without looking, but that was much later.

For now there was a terrific squeal of brakes which made her lift up her head in horror just in time to see the car almost upon her. And there was nowhere to go. Nowhere. She just had to wait for it to hit her, her head up and her eyes wide with fear and shock. And then there was…nothing.

‘Daisy? Can you hear me, dear? Try and open your eyes, there’s a good girl.’

Daisy could hear the soothing, faintly motherly voice somewhere above her head, but it was remote, unreal, smothered by the enormous lead blanket that was weighing her down and making even opening her eyes impossible.

‘She is beginning to come round but it will be a slow process, you understand? And it’s quite likely she will have no recollection of the accident or even who she is at first. The mind tends to retreat in the aftermath of a nasty accident like this one.’

No recollection of the accident or who she was? Daisy wanted to tell them she remembered everything as a small surge of indignation made her fight against the heaviness in her body, but she was too tired. Much too tired.

‘Have you managed to trace her family yet? Or a friend, anyone? Someone must know her.’

This voice was male, deep and very masculine, with a slight twang of an accent that lifted it out of the norm. She knew she hadn’t heard it before; it was the sort of voice you remembered.

‘The police are working on it, Mr Eastwood, but her handbag contained very little in the way of identification, as you know. We aren’t even sure her name is Daisy; we only have the inscription on her bracelet to go by.’

‘I thought all women carried enough paraphernalia around with them to sink a battleship.’

His voice was slightly irritated now but the woman’s tone was quite unruffled when she said, ‘Well, this one doesn’t. She seems to be the original mystery woman, but I’m sure the police will get to the bottom of it soon.’

‘Your faith in their powers is stronger than mine.’ The last remark was deeply sarcastic, and for some reason she wasn’t quite sure of Daisy felt a surge of dislike well up in her. What business of his was it anyway, what she did or didn’t carry in her bag? she asked herself silently. And then she thought, as she slipped back into unconsciousness, He’s got a cheek, that man, whoever he is…

When Daisy next surfaced out of the thick fog all was quiet, and as before she lay for some time without moving or opening her eyes, wrapped in a feeling of inertia that was paralysing. But then gradually, through the exhaustion, she became aware that she was hurting. In fact it was painful just to breathe.

She opened her eyes slowly, very slowly; the light was bright and seemed to send a hundred little arrows shooting into her brain as her eyelids rose.

She was in hospital? Subconsciously she must have been prepared for it because it wasn’t a surprise to see the nurse sitting by the side of the bed, or to find herself attached to a drip which was positioned just within her eye range.

She moved her head slightly and immediately the action brought a groan from her lips, causing the nurse to raise her head sharply from the papers on her lap which she immediately put to one side as she rose to her feet. ‘You’re awake at last.’ It was the same motherly voice she had heard earlier. ‘How are you feeling, Daisy? It is Daisy, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Her mouth was so dry it was difficult to get the word past her tongue which was sticking to the roof of her mouth. ‘Could…could I have a drink of water, please?’

‘Course you can, dear, but just a little sip at first, all right?’ The nurse helped her sit up in bed and adjusted the pillows behind her back before handing her a tiny glass, barely bigger than a thimble. The cold water tasted like the nectar of the gods and Daisy couldn’t remember tasting anything so heavenly before, but then she had never felt so thirsty before either, she reflected dazedly.

‘You had a little accident; do you remember?’ The nurse was talking as though Daisy were five years old.

‘Yes—yes, I do. It was my fault.’ Daisy winced as she tried to settle herself more comfortably; besides every muscle and bone in her body aching like mad, there seemed to be an army of little men inside her head using her brain as a drum.

‘You were very lucky,’ the nurse said brightly as she busied herself tucking in the bedclothes at the foot of the bed. ‘It could have been a lot worse. As it was you got away with grazed arms and legs, a couple of fractured ribs and concussion. And, of course, cuts and bruises,’ she added as an afterthought.

Funny, but she didn’t feel very lucky. ‘How long have I been here?’ Daisy asked weakly. And where was here?

‘You were brought in yesterday morning, so that’s over twenty-four hours now.’ The nurse had finished with the covers and moved back to stand at the head of the bed, looking down at her with a sympathetic smile for a moment before she said, her tone enquiring, ‘We’ve been trying to trace your family, Daisy.’

‘They live abroad.’ And then, before anything more could be said, Daisy continued quietly, ‘I’ve only just moved to London, actually, so I don’t know anyone here yet. I…I was on my way to a job interview yesterday morning.’

‘Oh, dear.’ The sympathy became tangible. ‘Well, I’m afraid you won’t be able to think of working for two or three weeks, but don’t worry about that for now. You’ve got to concentrate on getting well. And Mr Eastwood is covering any expenses whilst you’re here, incidentally,’ she added briskly.

‘Expenses?’ Daisy wrinkled her brow and then stopped when it hurt too much.

‘This is a private hospital, dear.’

Of course, she should have known. Daisy’s bewildered glance took in the large room, the matching covers and curtains, the television in one corner and the easy chairs and small coffee table in another at the side of an internal door which obviously led to the en suite bathroom. She gulped audibly, and then managed to ask, her voice very small, ‘And Mr Eastwood is…?’

‘The poor guy you gave the fright of his life to when you decided to fling yourself under the wheels of his car.’ The deep, dark voice from the doorway brought the nurse jerking round and Daisy stiffening in the bed. Neither of them had heard the door to the corridor outside open.

‘Falling at my feet is one thing.’ A pair of black glittering eyes held Daisy’s wide, honey-brown gaze with a power that was formidable. ‘I might even have enjoyed that, but as it was…’

‘I…I’m sorry.’ Daisy stared at him, her head swimming, but whether it was weakness due to her condition or the result of being pinned by that piercing gaze she wasn’t sure.

The man in the doorway was tall, very tall, with hair like a raven’s wing and the sort of arrogantly handsome looks that were as disturbing as they were attractive. He radiated power and vitality, but not in a comforting or reassuring way—or at least Daisy didn’t find it such. The chiselled cheekbones in the cruel, aesthetic face, the dark straight brows and finely moulded mouth were quite devastating but altogether overwhelming.

Daisy watched him as he crossed the room and she wasn’t aware she had shrunk back against the pillows, but the night-black eyes holding hers missed nothing, and the lazy smile which had been hovering at the corners of the firm mouth straightened.

‘Slade Eastwood.’

He held out a large hand and in the brief few seconds that his warm, strong fingers enclosed Daisy’s small paw she felt the impact right down to her toes.

‘Daisy Summers,’ she returned shakily.

‘Daisy…’ His lips lingered on her name, and the ebony gaze stroked over the delicate young woman in front of him, her beautiful golden-brown eyes set in a face that was hauntingly lovely and surrounded by a soft cloud of silky silver-blonde hair. ‘An unusual name but most apt,’ he drawled slowly.

‘Apt?’ The dizziness had gone but she was so tired she couldn’t put any strength in her voice, much as she wanted to.

‘Your eyes are the gold at the heart of a daisy and your hair its petals.’ The dark, husky voice caused a shiver to pass over her skin, and then, as she continued to stare at him with huge eyes, his tone changed as he turned to the nurse and said, ‘When did she regain consciousness?’

‘Just a short while ago, Mr Eastwood.’

He nodded, turning back to Daisy. ‘Then I’ll let you get some rest,’ he said smoothly. ‘It’s still early days.’

‘Oh, please?’ He was already halfway to the door when her voice stopped him, and as he turned to face her again Daisy summoned up all her courage and said tremblingly, ‘I…I can’t stay here any longer, Mr Eastwood; I understand you are paying for me? I…I can’t reimburse you immediately, but of course I will do so when—’

‘Reimburse me? There is no question of that.’

‘Oh, yes, I must, but I can’t afford to stay— I mean I must leave today—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ There wasn’t the slightest touch of a bedside manner as he rapped out the words, and then, as she flinched back against the covers, he said more quietly, ‘It was my car which put you in here so it is only right I take the responsibility for your recovery. Please don’t give the matter another thought. And the name is Slade.’

‘But the accident was my fault; you didn’t have a chance of missing me,’ she stated weakly. And then, as the thought occurred to her, she asked, ‘Did I damage your car?’

He stared at her as though she were mad for a long moment and his voice reflected the expression on his face when he murmured, ‘Did you…? What the hell does the car matter?’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ she whispered miserably.

He wasn’t about to tell her that his severe braking, added to a wild swerve to avoid hitting her head-on, had resulted in the rear of his Aston Martin Volante coming into unfortunate contact with a lamppost, and now he shrugged easily. ‘The car is fine but you are not—end of story. And you will stay in here until the doctors are satisfied you are well enough to leave.’

It was authoritative and cool and acted like a shot of adrenalin straight into Daisy’s wilting frame. She sat up straighter, ignoring the jabs of red-hot pain the mild movement caused, and now her voice was much stronger when she said firmly, ‘I’m sorry but I can’t do that, Mr Eastwood.’

For crying out loud, what was the matter with the woman? Slade Eastwood called on his meagre store of patience and willed the exasperation out of his voice. ‘Yes, you can, Daisy,’ he said with measured stoicism. ‘You gave me the fright of my life yesterday morning—’ his stomach muscles tensed at the memory ‘—followed by a very anxious twenty-four hours. The financial side of things is nothing, nothing, okay? At the risk of sounding crass I can afford for you to live here for ever if necessary, so please, indulge me? You owe me that at least.’

Put like that it completely took the wind out of Daisy’s sails and he sensed it immediately, following up with, ‘I’m sure we’re talking about a few days, a week at the most, and it will mean I sleep easy at night.’

Oh, this was awful, awful; what should she do? Daisy stared at him, her honey-gold eyes enormous in the wan paleness of her face, and then, as he returned her look steadily, his face now betraying nothing but friendly concern, it was all suddenly too much. She felt too ill and too exhausted to argue with him, and all she wanted to do was to sleep.

‘All right.’ She heard the words with a pang of self-disgust at her feebleness. ‘But I insist on paying you back eventually. It just might take a while.’

‘We’ll discuss that when you’re feeling better.’ He glanced at the gold watch on one tanned wrist, and now it struck her that his suit alone must have cost a small fortune. ‘I have an appointment; I must go. Goodbye for now.’

She nodded her farewell, her eyelids already closing, and she was asleep before he had even closed the door behind him.

For the rest of the day Daisy alternately woke for a few minutes and then slept again, but the next morning, after a solid night’s sleep, she awoke properly. The muzziness which had clouded her thinking was gone, her mind was her own again, and she was ravenously hungry even though it still hurt just to breathe.

It appeared Slade Eastwood had called a few times the day before for reports on her progress, but it wasn’t until that evening, and after a delicious dinner of chicken and mushrooms in a white wine sauce with fresh vegetables, that the man himself made an appearance. Daisy had just scraped the last remnants of chocolate mousse from her dish—a process made more difficult by the fact that her right arm was now as stiff as a board and she was using her left hand—and as a sharp knock sounded at the door she knew immediately who it was.

‘Come in.’ She was pleased how firm and controlled her voice sounded; she wasn’t feeling a bit like that inside. Melted jelly, more like, she thought irritably as she took as deep a breath as her ribs would allow and pushed the tray aside as the door opened.

‘Hello again.’

This time the lithe, lean body was dressed in black denim jeans and a heavy black leather jacket, and his dark presence seemed to fill the room as he came towards the bed. But Daisy was prepared this time—just—for the impact he had on her.

‘Hello.’ She even managed a relatively normal smile, which faltered slightly as he presented her with a beautiful little posy of pink rosebuds and small perfect daisies enclosed in lace and silk ribbons. ‘Oh…thank you, they’re lovely,’ she said quickly as the delicate perfume of the roses touched her senses.

‘My pleasure.’ It was deep and sardonic and the black eyes swept over her with something in their depths that brought a flush to her cheeks. And then he hooked the upholstered straight-backed chair the nurse had left by the side of the bed with one hand, sitting astride it with his forearms resting on its back as he said, ‘How are you feeling?’

How was she feeling? Up to a minute ago she’d been feeling as though she’d made enormous progress, but now she felt as dazed as when she’d first regained consciousness! But she wasn’t about to betray that to those piercingly astute eyes.

‘Much better, thank you.’ She forced another bright smile. ‘I’m sure I’ll be well enough to leave tomorrow and—’

‘The nurse tells me your immediate family live in the States?’ he interrupted lazily, one dark brow raised enquiringly. ‘So does that mean you’ve got no one to look after you when you leave here?’

Daisy looked at him for a long moment without answering, but her brain was working rapidly. Her nurse had spent almost an hour chatting that afternoon about this and that, and she had felt at the time that some of the questions the woman had asked were inspired by more than casual interest. But the uniformed figure had been persistent, and although she had fielded quite a few of her carefully worded questions by the time the nurse had left Daisy had felt uneasy about how much she had revealed. And she felt doubly uneasy now.

She shrugged lightly. ‘I don’t need anyone to look after me,’ she said evenly. ‘I’m a big girl now.’

‘A big girl who is lucky to be alive and must be feeling as though she has been run over by a steam engine,’ he countered smoothly. ‘And if your family live in the States and you have only just moved down here from Scotland—’ she was right, Daisy thought sharply, the nurse had been gathering information for Slade Eastwood ‘—the city can be a pretty lonely place,’ he finished quietly.

Lonely? Lonely she could take, Daisy told herself silently. In fact in the last hellish sixteen months there had been times she would have welcomed it with open arms. She kept her voice very steady when she said, ‘It’s not a problem; really it isn’t.’

‘Yes, it is.’ It was cool and calm and imperturbable.

The black eyes were holding hers effortlessly and in spite of herself she found it impossible to break the brilliant gaze. She gathered her scattered wits about her and tried for firmness. ‘Please don’t think I’m not grateful for all you’ve done, Mr Eastwood—’

‘Slade. I told you before.’

It was the second time he had interrupted her in as many minutes and it was irritating, especially as the cold, arrogant face was watching her with a faintly patronising expression that caught her on the raw.

Daisy took a long, silent breath and continued tightly, ‘But I am perfectly capable of looking after myself when I leave here.’

‘My car still bears the imprint of you looking after yourself,’ he said with a silkiness that disguised pure steel.

As Daisy’s mouth came open in a little O of surprise and indignation he continued looking at her steadily, and then, as she spluttered a bit and searched frantically for a retort that would be adequately scathing, he smiled, his teeth showing white and strong against the tanned skin of his face.

‘Look, we seem to have got off on the wrong foot again.’

His voice was smooth and assured and she didn’t trust him an inch—which was awful really, she told herself in the next instant, when he had been nothing but kindness itself. Installing her in this fabulous room, offering to pay for her stay, expressing concern for her welfare… Her sense of unease grew and it wasn’t helped by the overwhelming sense of vulnerability she was feeling. He was so big and dark and masculine, and as she was lying here, virtually helpless, his virility and devastating magnetism were more than a little threatening.

‘Of course we haven’t got off on the wrong foot.’ She was lying through her teeth and they both knew it. ‘It’s just that I prefer to be independent and pay my own way—’

‘How do you intend to do that without a job and in your present condition?’ he interjected coolly.

If he did that one more time she would let him know exactly what she thought of his high-handed arrogance, Daisy told herself furiously as she struggled to keep calm and answer him. Not that there was an answer as such…

‘I have a little money put by,’ she said stiffly through clenched teeth, ‘and the doctor has advised me it will only be a matter of a few weeks before I am fit again. Once I get work I shall start reimbursing you,’ she assured him firmly.

‘I understand you work with children?’ In contrast to her taut body and tight voice he was utterly relaxed, his voice soft and low as he watched every expression on her face.

Daisy nodded, her eyes wary. The nurse really had been a little mine of information to her employer! ‘I’m a qualified nursery nurse,’ she affirmed quietly, ‘and I’d been at my last job for two years before the—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Before I decided to leave and come to London,’ she continued quickly.

The dark eyes had narrowed slightly at her hesitation but he made no comment, merely nodding slowly. ‘And of course you have references, certificates, that sort of thing?’ he asked easily.

‘Of course.’ Where was this leading? Daisy had the impression this conversation was more than mere social intercourse and she felt very uneasy now.

‘This is good.’ And he smiled slowly.

For a moment the slight accent she had detected before was more evident, increasing the impression of foreignness his terminology had caused. Daisy didn’t smile back.

‘Is it?’ She stared at him. ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly.

‘I have a problem you might be able to help me with, Daisy,’ he said coolly, ‘and it would be a means of solving the present dilemma in a way that would suit us both. You seem determined to repay me—although it is not at all necessary—is that correct?’ He raised dark eyebrows as he waited for her reply.

‘It certainly is,’ she said firmly. He was the last man in all the world she wanted to feel an obligation to, and this room must be costing a small fortune. The accident had been all her fault, totally, and she wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t caused some damage to his car—although no doubt that would be covered by insurance. Nevertheless, she was deeply in his debt and it made her want to squirm. Oh, boy, didn’t it just!

‘I thought so.’ Black eyes met honey-brown. ‘Then perhaps if I outline the situation as I see it we can go from there?’ He didn’t wait for a response from her before he continued, ‘You are going to be somewhat incapacitated for two or three weeks, and, however large your nest-egg, rent and other living expenses will soon make a hole in your capital. Agreed?’

Capital? She wouldn’t exactly call her four hundred pounds capital, Daisy thought bleakly. She had paid the rent on her minute bedsit three months in advance—thank goodness—but a few weeks with no salary would soon make her destitute.

‘Agreed?’ he persisted smoothly as she stared at him without speaking, her brain trying to assimilate what he was saying.

Daisy nodded stiffly. She had the feeling he had made a pretty good guess as to the state of her bank balance.

‘Which brings us to my problem.’ He settled himself more comfortably on the chair and she tried to ignore what the movement did to her nerve-endings as the dark power of his masculinity became tangible.

‘I have an apartment in London, but my main home is in Italy,’ he continued quietly, ‘and that is where my family live.’

His family? A little dart of something, something she didn’t want to examine, brought Daisy’s eyes wide. She hadn’t had him down as a family man somehow, but the Italian connection explained both the dark good looks and the accent.

‘My mother is Italian but my father was English,’ he continued as though in explanation of her thoughts. ‘I lived in England for the first twenty years of my life but then when my father died and my mother moved back to her own country my life became a little more complicated. I took over my father’s business interests here but spent a good deal of time with my mother’s people; my wife’s family is part of the far-reaching clan.’

He was married. Well, hadn’t she sensed it the moment he had mentioned family? Daisy asked herself silently. And of course a man like him wouldn’t remain single for too long—some enterprising female, more beautiful and tenacious than the rest, would have been sure to have snapped him up. And she was welcome.

The last thought was unexpected but carried a wealth of bitterness that surprised her in spite of herself. But he was too good-looking, too charismatic, too dynamic to make a comfortable partner to be with, she affirmed to the accusing voice in her head that said she was being unfair. And if anyone should know she should. She’d had enough of good-looking men to last her a lifetime.

‘My wife was reluctant to live in England so we made our home in Italy and I continued to divide my time between the two countries.’ If Slade noticed the shadows in her eyes he made no comment on it, and his voice was cool and matter-of-fact as he said, ‘When my son was born Luisa became even less inclined to travel. In fact she became almost phobic about her home.’

‘You have one child?’ Daisy asked carefully.

He nodded. ‘Francesco is six years of age,’ he said quietly, his voice softening on the name. ‘The accident which took his mother’s life was also the cause of putting him in a wheelchair eighteen months ago.’

Daisy was too shocked to do more than gasp.

‘He is walking again now,’ Slade said quickly, ‘but he is a difficult little boy. I feel this is less to do with his mother’s death than the outrageous spoiling he receives at the hands of his maternal grandparents and aunties and uncles. Of course it is understandable—’ this last was said in a tone which suggested Slade did not understand or accept it at all ‘—but it cannot continue. When Luisa died her mother undertook the task of hiring a nanny and nurse for Francesco when he came out of hospital. I let her do this because she was still devastated by Luisa’s death and needed something to occupy her mind, but it was a mistake. The nurse left once Francesco was walking again, six months later, but Luisa’s mother is at the house most days and the nanny is completely under her influence.’

‘And your mother?’ Daisy asked quietly, totally immersed in the story. ‘Does she live near you?’

‘She married again four years ago and now lives in Madesimo, which is a village high in the Spluga Valley close to the border of Switzerland. It is far enough away from Merano to prevent daily visits,’ he added drily. ‘Now Francesco’s nanny is getting married and leaving my employ it is time for someone to take a firm hand with Francesco when I am not around to do so, and I intend to see that this happens. I also feel it is time for my son to develop his English heritage, and to that end I have had it in mind to advertise for an English nanny. You have saved me the trouble, maybe?’ he added with a wry twist to his lips.

‘Me?’ Daisy squeaked nervously. He had to be joking! It appeared he was not.

‘There is a reason why this would be impossible?’ he asked steadily, the brilliant gaze hard on her flushed face.

Too true, and it was sitting a foot or so away from her, Daisy thought desperately. But she couldn’t very well say so.

‘You have no commitments to keep you in England from what the nurse tells me,’ Slade said calmly, ‘and you have recently come to London to begin afresh.’

Daisy hadn’t told the nurse what she wanted to get away from and Slade Eastwood didn’t enquire either. She wouldn’t have told him anyway, and perhaps he had sensed that? She asked herself.

‘That being the case, one place is as good as another. Francesco’s nanny told me of her impending marriage at the weekend and wishes to leave my employ in three months’ time.’ His mouth tightened. ‘My wife’s mother is not getting involved this time,’ he added grimly. ‘Not in the smallest way.’

‘But…but you don’t know me,’ Daisy murmured helplessly. This was crazy, surreal; it couldn’t be happening.

‘I know your circumstances make it possible for you to get to know Francesco well before Angelica leaves,’ Slade said coolly, ‘and I have learnt more about you than I would glean at an interview. You are not easily intimidated and you are both honest and brave, as your insistence to reimburse me proves,’ he added drily. ‘All those qualities would be essential when dealing with the household in my absence. If your qualifications and references are satisfactory then I think we could look on our meeting as fate?’

Fate her foot! Daisy broke from the power of the dark gaze and lowered her eyes to hide her thoughts. She couldn’t work for this man, see him every day when he was at home, live in his house! She just couldn’t. ‘The thing is, Mr Eastwood, working as a nanny has never appealed,’ she said slowly as she looked at the bright poppies on her bedcover. ‘I’ve always worked in a classroom environment with twenty or so children.’

‘Then working with one would be easy,’ he countered swiftly. ‘And how do you know you wouldn’t like it until you have tried? We could make the position temporary—say, a trial period of three months at first, to make sure both parties feel it is successful. I am prepared to pay you a retainer for the next few weeks while you recover from your injuries and settle your affairs in England—’ he mentioned a sum that made Daisy’s mouth fall open for a second ‘—and then, once you are fit again, you could fly out to Italy and have the latter half of Angelica’s notice with her and my son. It would work very well all round.’

She lifted her gaze now and the piercing black eyes were waiting for her, their power immediately mesmerising.

‘My son has a private tutor at home so you would not be required to undertake his schooling beyond encouraging him at his lessons of course; your contribution would be in the capacity of a mother figure providing discipline, control and restraint.’

Discipline, control and restraint? Daisy thought bemusedly. It sounded to her as if he was looking more for an army corporal than a nanny. This just had to be a total non-starter.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Eastwood,’ she began politely, wondering if it was she who was crazy or he, ‘but I’m sure when you’ve had time to consider this properly you will see that it just wouldn’t work. Of course I am very grateful for all your kindness—’

‘Prove it.’ It was straight for the jugular and totally unexpected. ‘And I would just make the point that you would have your own suite and the door has a bolt,’ he added pointedly, ‘and my housekeeper and her husband live on the premises.’

She stared at him as a flood of scarlet stained her skin. She hadn’t thought he was suggesting anything improper! Not for a second! How dared he assume that? Her voice was very tight when she said, ‘I didn’t think for a moment that this was anything other than a job offer, Mr Eastwood.’

‘No?’ It was lazy and slightly amused.

‘No!’ she snapped back hotly.

‘This is good.’

No, this was bad. Very bad! In fact this was the last thing in the world that she needed after the horrendous agony of the last year or so, Daisy thought desperately. She had come to London to bury herself in the uncaring pace of the big city, where no one cared very much about anyone else. She could lick her wounds in comfort here, without well-meaning friends dropping by to ‘cheer her up’.

If she had got the job she was going for on the morning of the accident it would have been perfect. A straightforward nine-to-five existence, then home to her tiny bedsit where she could please herself. If she hadn’t wanted to see another soul out of work hours she wouldn’t have had to. But this… This was impossible. She didn’t want to be a mother figure to anyone—in fact she didn’t want to get close to anyone ever again.

‘Look, I really don’t want this kind of job.’ She tried again.

‘Think about it.’ It was an order but spoken in a silky tone that made it difficult to fire back as she would have liked to. ‘This way all your debt is wiped out, you get the chance to see new horizons whilst earning an excellent salary and it won’t look bad on your CV either.’

‘But I don’t understand. Why me?’ she asked helplessly, her huge honey-brown eyes with their thick brown lashes open wide and her silver-blonde hair falling about her shoulders in gleaming waves.

Slade Eastwood looked at the slender young woman in the bed. If he answered that truthfully he had about as much chance of persuading her to take the job as making snowballs in hell, he thought ruefully, and how could he explain what he didn’t understand himself anyway? He just knew he couldn’t let her walk out of his life, not yet. That was all.

‘Why you?’ He smiled coolly, his thoughts hidden. ‘Why not? You were in the right place at the right time, perhaps?’

‘Hardly.’ Daisy thought of her sore arms and legs and her ribs throbbed their protest at his statement.

‘Like I said, think about it.’ He rose, and she felt the movement in every fibre of her being. She didn’t like the effect this man had on her; he was hypnotising.

‘My son is very important to me, Daisy.’ He was halfway to the door when he turned to face her again, and now the brilliant eyes were very black and very steady. ‘I want the best for him, as does every father for his son, and I won’t let anything or anyone stand in the way of that.’

Daisy just looked at him—she couldn’t think of a thing to say and she wasn’t at all sure exactly what he was getting at.

‘I want Francesco to grow up with certain standards, principles, and he needs to imbibe those at an early age. At the moment he is vulnerable, he is getting a great deal of sentimental, indulgent love which is without solid foundation and this will not do. I cannot be with him every minute of every day and due to the influences I have mentioned when I am with him there is inevitable confrontation. This must stop.’

Daisy nodded but still didn’t speak. If he thought this was persuading her to take the position as nanny he couldn’t be more wrong, she thought weakly. He was positively terrifying, and all her sympathy was with his son and his mother-in-law!

‘I will return tomorrow evening when you have had time to give the proposal further thought, and in the meantime I will arrange to have a contract delivered for your perusal, stating the terms of employment and your salary and so on should you decide to accept the post.’

This was ridiculous. She had to tell him right now that there was no way she would consider working for him. ‘Mr Eastwood, I really don’t think there is any likelihood of my leaving England and working in Italy,’ Daisy said as firmly as she could considering the dark gaze was burning her face.

‘No? I disagree.’ His tone had altered and it brought her chin up in unconscious preparation for battle. ‘By your own decision, when you leave this establishment you will be some thousands of pounds in my debt,’ he said coolly. ‘It will clearly take you months, maybe much longer, to pay that back, even supposing you are fortunate enough to step into employment immediately you are well. Unless you are prepared to reconsider and allow me to cancel the debt?’ he added softly.

‘There is no question of that,’ she bit back quickly.

He shrugged slowly. ‘Then my offer seems a very sensible solution,’ he suggested sardonically. ‘Added to that, you are free from all ties now, and Italy is even better than London for forgetting the past and forging a new life.’

‘What?’ She stared at him, too shocked to say any more.

‘I told you, I love my son, Daisy.’ It was cold and clipped. ‘You do not think I would make you the sort of offer I have suggested without making sure you are a suitable companion for him?’

‘You’ve had me checked out?’ If she had ever been this mad before she couldn’t remember it.

‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘You are twenty-four years of age, born and raised in England, and you have two younger sisters. When your family moved to the States four years ago you stayed behind and married a Ronald McTavish a year or so later. Your divorce became final two weeks ago, at which point you moved to London. Correct?’ The dark eyes narrowed questioningly.

‘Correct.’ He could just say ‘correct’ like that, when her life had been wrecked and devastated and she still didn’t know how she was ever going to make anything concrete out of the debris. Her chin rose higher. She would not, she would not betray anything of what she was feeling to this cruel, unfeeling monster.

She nodded tightly. ‘You have been busy.’

‘I am a businessman in a cut-throat world,’ he said calmly. ‘It is often necessary to make sure I am fully acquainted with all relevant data and to know from whom I can obtain it.’

‘You mean you have contacts you pay for information,’ Daisy stated icily. ‘People who poke and pry to get you what you want.’

‘And you disapprove of this?’

‘When it affects me, yes.’ She was glaring at him now. ‘What else did your spies unearth?’ she bit out testily.

‘What else should they have discovered, Daisy?’ he asked easily, his cool, implacable expression giving nothing away.

She was aware he had purposely thrown the ball back in her court and that she was dealing with a master of manipulation and it checked the angry retort she was about to make. She wouldn’t gain anything by losing her temper, she warned herself silently. Not with this man. She forced herself to shrug casually and not wince when the movement twanged sore muscles and aching ribs. ‘I think you’ve covered the basics,’ she said in as bored a tone as she could manage.

He’d give her ten out of ten for sheer guts. Slade stared across at the ethereal girl in the bed as his mind raced behind its cold façade. Whatever had put that haunted look in her eyes had been bad, very bad, he thought grimly, and the marriage had clearly been anything but a bed of roses. As she’d said, his data was pretty basic—too basic, he decided suddenly. He had ascertained she was damn good with children and that there was no mud clinging to her name, although his informant had indicated that the husband had played around a bit, and that had seemed enough initially.

But he wanted to know more now. In fact he wanted to know everything there was to know about Daisy Summers. He smiled once, nodded, and left the room.