Читать книгу His Little Girl - Liz Fielding - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

GANNON stiffened, staring towards the back door before turning a fierce, questioning look on her. ‘It must be the police,’ she muttered, surprising herself with a distinct feeling of discomfort at the thought of handing Gannon over to them.

‘The police?’

‘I did warn you.’ She had, but he clearly hadn’t taken her seriously. Then she caught herself. He’d broken in, for heaven’s sake. He deserved to be locked up.

‘There was no alarm,’ he objected.

‘No sound of one, perhaps. Richard doesn’t believe in giving burglars the chance to escape and break in somewhere else. He would rather catch them red-handed. I thought you would have known that—since you’re such a friend.’

An alarm. Gannon could have kicked himself. It had never occurred to him that this place would have an alarm, he hadn’t even bothered to look for one, despite the fancy new lock. He could understand the replacement of a lock that had been little more than a joke, but who would put an alarm on an almost derelict fishing cottage, for heaven’s sake?

Except it wasn’t a derelict fishing cottage any more. It was a warm and welcoming home, occupied by a girl with a face like an angel and the coolness to keep him talking until reinforcements arrived. And he’d thought he had been manipulating her...

He covered the distance between them before she could move, taking Sophie from her arms. His ribs complained, but he didn’t have time to feel pain. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t stop to chat,’ he said grimly. ‘I assume the front door is still in the same place?’

Dora felt a flutter of anxiety. ‘You can’t take Sophie out there.’ A distant flicker of lightning underscored her words, and the rain began to rattle against the window once more. Anxiety hardened into determination. ‘I absolutely forbid it,’ she said.

‘Oh, really?’ If the situation hadn’t been so desperate he would have laughed. ‘And just how are you going to stop me?’

‘Like this.’ And she planted herself between him and the door.

Gannon applauded her spirit, but he hadn’t got time for games, so he hooked his free arm about her waist and lifted her to one side. Red-hot pain shot through his ribs. He hadn’t time for that either. But he staggered slightly as he put her down.

‘Oh, good grief, you’re hurt—’

‘Give the lady a coconut,’ he muttered, as he leaned against the wall, waiting for the pain to subside so that he could breathe again.

‘Look, don’t worry. I’ll get rid of them.’

‘Oh, really?’ he asked harshly. ‘And why would you do that?’

‘Heaven knows, but I will. Just stay here and keep quiet.’ He stared at her. She lifted her shoulders. It was something between a shimmy and a shrug. It did something to the way her nightgown clung to her slender body that had much the same effect on his breathing as a couple of cracked ribs. She was right, he wasn’t going anywhere fast enough to make a difference.

‘Whatever you say, lady. Just don’t try and be too clever.’

‘Clever? Me?’ Her mouth suddenly widened in a broad smile. ‘You must be joking. I’m just your average dumb blonde.’

Blonde, certainly. A knock ’em dead and wipe the floor with ’em blonde. Average? Scarcely. Dumb? Never. As she turned, with a little switch of her backside as if to prove her point, there was a second, more urgent knock.

‘Be careful what you say,’ he ordered quietly from the kitchen door, still not sure why he was trusting her.

Dora looked back. Gannon and Sophie were framed in the doorway, and he had his hand stuck in his pocket as if fingering a concealed weapon. Surely not? He was just trying to frighten her... Maybe she should be frightened. A whole lot more frightened than she was.

She swallowed as her nerves caught up with her, then spun round, slipped the chain on the door and opened it a crack.

The young constable waiting on the step was little more than a boy, his face so smooth that he didn’t look old enough to shave. The idea of asking him to collar a man like Gannon and march him off the local police station was plainly ridiculous, she told herself. Just in case she needed convincing. Besides, the wretched man would go as soon as he’d rested. And she was quite sure he’d be only too happy to leave Sophie behind if he thought she was in good hands.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Marriott?’ the young constable asked, assuming that she was Poppy. She considered correcting his mistake, but decided against it. She wanted him to go as quickly as possible, and that would just slow things down.

‘Fine.’ The word came out as little more than a croak. ‘Fine,’ she repeated, more convincingly. ‘Why? What’s up?’

‘Probably nothing, but your security company alerted us that your alarm had been triggered. I’m sorry it took so long to get here, but they’re going off all over the place tonight with this storm.’

She worked very hard at keeping her smile in place, her expression showing nothing more than mild surprise.

‘I’ve looked around, but everything seems secure.’ The constable glanced up. ‘Your security lights don’t seem to be working, though.’

‘No, I turned them off,’ she said, cursing herself for all kinds of a fool. If they’d been on they might have deterred her unwanted visitor. Except where would little Sophie be now? Soaked to the skin beneath some hedge. A prime candidate for pneumonia.

She reached for the switch and the area around the cottage was floodlit for a hundred feet, illuminating a police car parked a few yards away and picking up the rain spots soaking into the policeman’s jacket.

‘They seem to light up every time something bigger than a mouse walks by. It makes me jumpy,’ she told him, and added a suggestion of a giggle at her own foolishness.

She was careful to keep any special emphasis out of her voice, careful not to do or say anything that might cause the man behind her to lose his nerve and bolt with Sophie into the darkness. Not that there appeared to be anything wrong with his nerves. But still, she wasn’t taking any chances.

‘Would you like me to come in and check the cottage for you, just in case?’ the young man offered.

He took a step forward but she didn’t unhook the chain. ‘There’s no need, really.’

‘It wouldn’t be any trouble,--’

‘Pete?’ his partner called from the patrol car. ‘If you’ve finished, we’ve got another call.’

‘I’ll be right with you.’ Pete turned back to her. ‘As I said, it was probably the lightning that set off the alarm, Mrs Marriott.’ He nodded towards the car. ‘I expect this is another one.’

‘How trying for you. I’m terribly sorry that you’ve had a wasted journey.’

‘No problem. Just get the alarm checked out in the morning.’ He glanced up again. ‘And keep the lights on. They do make opportunist thieves think twice.’

Too late for that. ‘I’ll do that,’ she assured him. ‘And thank you for coming to check up on me.’

‘It’s what we’re here for. Goodnight, ma’am.’

She could scarcely believe that she was letting him walk away. What on earth was she thinking of? She ought to call him back—

‘Shut the door, Mrs Marriott. Now.’ Gannon’s voice was barely audible from the other side of the door. Too late. She pushed it shut and turned to lean against it as her legs buckled a little at her own stupidity. ‘I can’t believe I just did that.’

‘Don’t worry. You played the dumb blonde so well that the poor kid will break his neck to get back and check up on you the minute that lightning and burglar alarms permit. I’ll just have to rely on the fact that you’re a respectable married lady who will swiftly send him about his business.’

Married? For a moment Dora couldn’t think what John Gannon was talking about, then she realised he had picked up on the young policeman’s mistake. She glared at him. It was what any respectable married lady would do under the circumstances, wasn’t it?

Who was she kidding? Under the circumstances any respectable married lady would have screamed the place down, not offered a burglar the comfort of her home.

‘We’ll see. If you’re really such a good friend of Richard’s, I’ve got nothing to fear.’ She stared pointedly at his hand, still in his pocket. ‘Have I?’

‘No, Mrs Marriott,’ he said, taking his hand carefully from his jacket pocket and pulling the lining out with it, to show her that it was quite empty. ‘Nothing at all.’ The truth of the matter was that Gannon, his ribs giving him hell, his shoulder protesting at the weight of Sophie as she slumped against him, felt incapable of raising a sweat on a nervous fly. And he had no wish to frighten her; what he wanted was her help. ‘Besides, if I hurt you, Richard would probably hunt me down and kill me with his bare hands.’

Dora didn’t anticipate raising that kind of passion in Richard for herself, but she had a pretty good idea of what he would do to anyone who even considered hurting her sister. And, because her intruder had picked up the policeman’s mistake, he was now under the impression that she was Richard’s wife. Well, if that impression was going to keep her safe, she wasn’t about to disabuse him.

‘Only probably, you think?’

He met her gaze head on, for a moment meeting her challenge. Then there was the tiniest contraction of lines fanning out from his eyes, softening his face in an oddly seductive smile that made her catch at her breath. ‘No, not probably, Mrs Marriott. Without question.’ And his voice, back to silken velvet, did nothing to help.

She swallowed hard. ‘I’m glad you realise that,’ she said, with commendable briskness under the circumstances. ‘Now, if you’re staying, hadn’t you better give Sophie her milk?’ He glanced down at Sophie, but she had finally fallen asleep across his shoulder and Dora’s heart went out to the little girl. ‘Poor soul. Look, why don’t you take her upstairs and tuck her up in my bed? I’ll bring up the milk. In case she wakes,’ she added.

His smile deepened slightly. ‘Whilst I admire your initiative and appreciate your kindness, I think we’ll revert to me giving the orders and you carrying them out. I feel safer that way.’ He eased Sophie gently away from his shoulder, his expression tender as he placed the child into Dora’s arms, brushed a strand of hair back from her face. She didn’t stir. Then he looked up and caught Dora’s thoughtful expression. ‘You might have sent the police about their business, but I’m sure you must have plans to call for reinforcements of some kind. Plans that involve using a telephone?’

Dora hadn’t given the telephone a thought—not that she’d had an opportunity to use it even if she had. Well, he might have wildly overestimated her ability to think on her feet, but it wasn’t too late to start doing just that. Richard’s sister lived a couple of miles away with her husband. They would know exactly what to do in a situation like this. ‘Perhaps I have,’ she said, rewarding him with a smile for such cleverness. ‘I suppose you’ll want to disconnect it?’

He considered the matter. He would need a telephone if he was going to sort out Sophie’s papers, make things right with the authorities, but he couldn’t do that tonight, and this woman was too much of an unknown quantity to risk leaving it connected. ‘I suppose I will.’

‘It’s in the living room,’ she informed him, as he poured the warm milk into a mug. ‘Please try not to make a mess of the wall when you yank it out. It’s only just been decorated.’

The last thing he wanted to do was yank it out of the wall. ‘Find me a screwdriver and I’ll reconnect it before I leave,’ he promised. ‘Are there any extensions upstairs?’

‘None. Although I’m sure you’ll insist on checking for yourself.’

‘Oh, yes, I’ll check.’ Gannon’s grin was unexpected, deepening the lines carved into his cheeks, sparking his warm brown eyes with golden flecks of light, lifting one corner of his mouth as if self-mockery was second nature to him. ‘Although I can understand Richard’s unwillingness to install a telephone in the bedroom. If you were my wife I wouldn’t have a telephone within twenty miles of the place.’

Dora, usually capable of putting down a flirtatious male at thirty paces, with one hand tied behind her back, for a moment floundered helplessly while her brain scrambled to formulate an appropriate response. But nothing had prepared her for an encounter with a man like Gannon. There was a predatory edge to him that stirred the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck, warning her that he would do anything to get what he wanted. And a little part of her that thought she might rather like it

‘How fortunate that I’m not,’ she replied, as coldly as she could. Somehow it didn’t sound cold, just a little breathless. Not very convincing. She tried again. ‘Just think how inconvenient it would be not to have a telephone.’

‘I’d consider it worth any amount of inconvenience to have you all to myself, Mrs Marriott. Without interruption.’

Now that was convincing. The man could give lessons in the subject. It was a long time since anyone had managed to bring Dora to blushing point, but the heat tingling along her cheekbones was unmistakable. John Gannon might not have shaved for two days, but somehow, when he smiled, it was very easy to forget that fact.

She was sure now that he had no intention of hurting her. But he was still a dangerous man.

And every time he called her Mrs Marriott, and she accepted the name, she was taking a convenient misunderstanding and turning it into a lie. ‘Please don’t call me that,’ she instructed.

His brows rose slightly at her abruptness. ‘Why not? If it’s your name?’

She neither confirmed nor denied it. ‘Such formality seems a little out of place, don’t you think? My name is Pandora. Most people just call me Dora.’

‘I’m not most people.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Most people don’t break in in the middle of the night and frighten innocent women out of their wits.’

‘I’d say that it was debatable who frightened who the most. But perhaps, under the circumstances, we should compromise on Pandora. It wouldn’t do to get too familiar.’

‘Under what circumstances?’

‘Under the circumstances that you’re married to my very good friend Richard Marriott,’ he said. ‘Although for some reason you don’t appear to be wearing a wedding ring.’

Definitely dangerous. ‘Contrary to popular belief, it’s not compulsory,’ she said. She knew that wouldn’t satisfy him, but she didn’t give him a chance to say so. ‘I don’t remember seeing you at the wedding?’ Because he hadn’t been there. While she and Poppy bore a strong family resemblance, her sister oozed glamour and poise from every pore. He would never have confused the two of them. ‘Oh, no, of course you couldn’t have been there. You didn’t know Richard had remarried.’

‘Big do, was it?’

‘Pretty big.’ It had been enormous. Richard’s status as minor aristocracy guaranteed media interest, and as for Poppy... Well anything that Poppy did made the news. But despite the crush she knew that Gannon hadn’t been part of it. She wouldn’t have forgotten anything as dangerous on two legs as John Gannon. She half turned. ‘Why didn’t he invite you?’

‘I’ve been abroad for quite a while. Out of touch. When, exactly, was the happy event?’

‘At Christmas.’

‘At Christmas? Richard must have been seriously good all year if he found you beneath his tree. I really must try a lot harder.’

‘Richard doesn’t have to try, Mr Gannon. It comes naturally to him.’

Mouth, mouth, mouth. It would get her into trouble if she didn’t watch out.

But John Gannon didn’t appear to take offence, although it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. That kind of smile could hide a lot. ‘You can drop the mister, Pandora. Since we’re on first-name terms.’

Dora glared at him. She was damned if she was going to call him John. ‘Thank you. Gannon.’

There was an infinitesimal pause. ‘Any time.’

‘And I really would prefer it if you called me Dora.’

‘I’ll try and remember that.’

‘Did you say you’ve been abroad?’

‘I did,’ he confirmed, but didn’t elaborate.

‘I see.’ And as she lay Sophie down in the warm nest of the bed she had so recently vacated, tucked the cover up beneath her chin, Dora quite suddenly thought that maybe she did see. The little girl was dark-haired. Well, so was Gannon—but Sophie’s skin had that olive, Mediterranean look about it. She turned to him. ‘Have you snatched her?’ He stared at her. ‘From her mother? This is one of those terrible tug-of-love cases, isn’t it?’

She had half expected him to explode at her accusation. He didn’t, but appeared interested in her reasoning. ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked.

‘Well, it’s perfectly obvious you’re not a run-of-the-mill house-breaker, Gannon. You were just look ing for somewhere to lie low and you remembered this place, assumed it would be empty.’

‘My mistake,’ he agreed. ‘But Richard would have helped me if he’d been here. When will he be back?’

‘You don’t know him that well if you believe he’d consider helping you take a child away from her mother,’ Dora declared, shocked by the very idea.

‘This is not a tug-of-love case, Dora. Richard will help—when he knows the facts.’

‘I’m here. Tell me the facts, Gannon.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Richard?’ She hesitated. She had been planning to tell him that her brother-in-law was due back at any moment, and that he would do well to make himself scarce before he arrived. But it seemed that Gannon would actually welcome his arrival; if she told him Richard was due back, there was no way he would leave.

She would have to tell him the truth. But not the whole truth—that Poppy had gone to the States where she had just landed a contract as the new face of a huge cosmetics company, and that Richard wasn’t ready to let his new wife out of his sight.

‘I’m sorry, Gannon, but Richard is in the States on business. He won’t be back for at least a week,’ she compromised. ‘You will understand if I don’t ask you to stay and wait for him?’

His face tightened. ‘I understand perfectly, Dora. But if you don’t want me hanging around you’re going to have to stand in for him. I need money and I need transport.’

‘Transport?’ She frowned. She knew something had been bothering her. The policeman hadn’t mentioned any suspicious-looking vehicle parked in the lane. ‘How did you get here without a car?’

‘I walked.’ .

‘Walked! From where?’ The nearest major road was miles away. He didn’t answer. ‘Well, I suppose you can take my car.’ He would undoubtedly take it anyway, so she might as well make a virtue of a necessity.

‘Thank you.’

Dora stared down at the sleeping child, who hadn’t even stirred as she’d been laid in the bed. ‘And I can let you have a little cash.’ She gave him a sideways glance. ‘Or quite a lot, if you’ll let me go to the bank.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t think you’d do that. I suppose I could let you have my cash card.’

‘And I suppose you’d tell me the correct number?’

‘I would,’ she promised. ‘I wouldn’t want you coming back.’ She mentally corrected herself. She wouldn’t want him coming back angry. There was another reason for convincing him that she was telling the truth. ‘But you’ll have to leave Sophie with me. She shouldn’t be going through all this.’ He gave an odd little sigh and she turned to him, sure that she could make him see sense. He was staring down at the sleeping child, his face creased in concern. Then, as if sensing her gaze, he turned to meet it, challenge it. ‘I’d look after her, Gannon,’ she said, with sudden compassion for the man.

‘Would you? For how long?’

It was an odd question. ‘Until she can be returned to her mother of course. I’ll take her myself, if you like...’ She was sure he was wavering. ‘I won’t say anything to the police.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because there’s nothing to be gained from it.’ He was regarding her intently. ‘Because you’re Richard’s friend.’ She knew she was being silly, but right at that moment the child was more important than any amount of common sense. ‘Does it matter?’

Gannon stared at her strangely familiar face. He’d been running for days, ever since he had grabbed Sophie from the refugee camp. He was hurt, hungry, exhausted, and he’d broken into Richard’s cottage in a desperate need for somewhere to hide, somewhere to keep Sophie safe while he recouped his strength, sorted things out. And this woman was offering to help, although she didn’t know the first thing about him. More than that, she was looking at him as if her heart would break. Of course it mattered. It shouldn’t, but it did.

Or maybe he was so tired that he was just hearing and seeing what he longed for most. Trusting her just because she looked like the angel he needed right now would almost certainly be a mistake. ‘I won’t be taking her anywhere tonight,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll see how she is in the morning and then I’ll decide what to do next.’

‘She needs time, Gannon. A chance to recover.’

‘And these.’ He produced a small bottle of pills from his pocket.

‘What are they?’ Dora asked suspiciously.

‘Just antibiotics.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, coaxed the child half awake and persuaded her to swallow a capsule with a little of the milk. She was asleep again before her head hit the pillow. Then he turned and looked up at the girl standing beside him. ‘Will you help us, Pandora? Give us a little of your hope?’

The thing that most people remembered about the legend of Pandora was that her curiosity had let loose all the troubles of the world. He remembered that she had- given the world hope, too. How could she possibly turn him down?

Dora gave a little gasp, scarcely able to believe how easy it was to be suborned by a pair of warm eyes, by a smile that could break a girl’s heart without really trying.

‘You ask as if I have a choice,’ she replied, cross at such weakness. Yet she’d already sent the police away. She was already his accomplice, whether she was prepared to admit it or not. Then her glance flickered over the dishevelled appearance of her unwanted guest, the sunken cheeks in his exhausted face, and something inside her softened. She didn’t entirely believe him when he said this was not a tug-of-love case, but he must love his daughter, miss her desperately, to have been driven to such lengths.

‘You look as if you could do with a drink yourself,’ she said. ‘Something rather stronger than milk.’

He dragged his hand over his face in an unconscious gesture of weariness. ‘You’re right; it’s been one hell of a day. Thanks.’

‘It isn’t over yet.’ And she’d didn’t want his thanks. She just wanted him to do what was right. She crossed to the door, but for a moment John Gannon stayed where he was, a dark, slightly stooped presence, as he leaned over the bed to lift the quilt up over the little girl’s shoulders. It was an oddly touching scene, and Dora didn’t doubt that he loved the little girl. But she was even more certain that he wasn’t telling her the entire truth.

‘Shall we go downstairs, where we won’t disturb Sophie?’ Dora prompted. ‘Then you can tell me exactly what is going on.’

John Gannon watched the tall, fair-haired girl as she poured a large measure of brandy into a crystal glass. She was heart-stoppingly lovely. When she had stormed into the kitchen with Sophie in her arms, his heart had momentarily stopped. And it hadn’t just been because she’d startled him. He’d have felt the same jolt of excitement if he’d seen her from the far side of a crowded room, felt the same heat flooding through his veins. And it made him angry. He had been in too many tight corners to be distracted by a woman, no matter how lovely, when he needed all his wits about him.

But Gannon was angry with Richard, too. Good God, how could he? He liked the man, admired him, but at a guess Dora was scarcely into her twenties a new-born lamb to Richard’s wolf. The man who had once been his champion had become a cynical, hard-bitten misogynist, with one broken marriage behind him and no right...no right...

He almost laughed out loud at his own self righteous indignation. He wasn’t angry with Richard. He was just plain, old-fashioned jealous. His body was clamouring to take this girl and they were in the classic setting for seduction—alone in a cottage, deep in the most beautiful countryside. And honour dictated that he couldn’t make a move on her.

It was probably just as well, under the circumstances. He didn’t have the time for dalliance. Or the strength to spare. But it was a pity. This girl had far more than beauty to commend her. She had courage.

Faced with an intruder, anyone might have thrown hysterics, but she’d just been angry with him. Not for breaking in, for heaven’s sake, but for taking Sophie out on a wet night. As if he had had any choice.

He could use that kind of courage right now. But so far he hadn’t done a very good job of convincing her that he was the kind of man she would want to help. And Richard would never forgive him for involving his pretty new wife in something messy. Not that he was about to underestimate her. He thought Dora might just be the girl to give his kind of problems a run for their money.

Nevertheless, given half a chance to summon assistance, she would undoubtedly take it. And, with that thought uppermost in his mind, he walked across to the telephone and hunkered down to examine the socket. ‘How about that screwdriver?’ he asked, turning to her.

She was watching him, slate-dark eyes solemn. Then, without a word, she crossed the carpet on those pretty bare feet, the soft silk of the wrap, now tightly fastened about her, clinging to her legs as she walked. ‘It’s brandy,’ she said, as she handed him a glass.

He raised the glass, and raised his brows at the quantity of liquor. ‘Enough to lay me low for week,’ he said, finding it suddenly a great deal easier to concentrate on the pale amber liquid pooled in the bottom of the glass than meet her silent disapproval.

‘Then don’t drink it. I can assure you the last thing I want is for you to be here for an entire week.’ She looked at the socket. ‘Do you have to do that? I’m hardly likely to dial 999, am I? After all, I’ve already sent the police away.’

‘The police, yes. But I’m sure there’s someone else you’d like to call. I’ll reconnect it before I leave, I promise.’ Sooner. But she stood her ground. ‘It would be a lot easier just to pull it out of the wall, Dora. You decide.’

Having made her point that the telephone was important, she capitulated. ‘There’s a screwdriver in the kitchen.’

‘Then I suggest you fetch it.’ Quickly, before his ribs made the decision for them.

She turned abruptly, her robe stirring the air against his cheek as it swirled round, returning a moment later with a small screwdriver. Then she retreated to the fireplace, kneeling down in front of it so that her hair fell forward over her shoulder, a skein of honeyed silk in the light of a tall lamp that stood on the sideboard beside the drinks tray.

Damn, damn, damn. She was a complication he hadn’t bargained on. His life was already loaded with complications, and Richard’s empty cottage had seemed the perfect place to hole up while he sorted them out.

As he watched her, she reached for the poker. It was halfway out of the stand when his fingers tightened around her wrist. Startled, she turned to look up at him. ‘I’m going to make up the fire,’ she protested.

‘Are you?’ For a moment their eyes clashed, hers stormy grey and about as welcoming as the scudding thunderclouds that had blacked out the moon as he’d crossed the fields with Sophie whimpering in his arms.

‘What else? Laying you out with a poker isn’t going to improve things, is it?’ she said.

‘It would give you time to get help.’

‘Oh, right,’ she said, looking pointedly at the telephone. ‘And how do you suggest I do that? By telepathy?’

‘No. You would get in your car and drive away. You did say you had a car, didn’t you?’ Her wrist was slender, ridiculously slender, the bones delicate, fragile beneath his fingers, stirring the kind of longings that were madness even to contemplate. It had been a long time since he had been this close to a sweet-smelling woman.

He wanted to lower his mouth to the pulse he could feel racketing under the pale skin, taste it, press her palm against his cheek and pull her tight against him to ease the sudden, unexpected ache of longing.

Madness.