Too Scared To Love
Cathy Williams

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

HERE at last. Dark, freezing cold, but for the first time in months Roberta felt some of that desperate unhappiness and awful, sickening sense of shame begin to lift from her shoulders.

She relaxed in the taxi, her eyes flickering interestedly over everything.

The taxi driver was chatting to her, capitalising on the fact that she was new to his city to boast about absolutely everything. And with good cause.

Toronto by night was marvellous. As the car weaved towards the heart of the city, there was something vital about the illuminated buildings that soared upwards, intent on reaching the stars.

In the distance, by the harbour front, he pointed out the magnificent CN Tower, the tallest free-standing structure in the world, and Roberta gasped in awe at the slender column, rising upwards to its distinctive bubble before narrowing to needle-like slimness as it stretched upwards. Look at me, it seemed to be saying; in this concrete jungle I am the undisputed king.

There was nothing like this in London. Roberta frowned. She didn’t want to think about London. It made her depressed. She had come here in the hope of clearing her mind. The last thing she needed was to find herself pursued across the waters by her unhappiness.

‘How long you over here for?’ the taxi driver asked, and she dragged her attention away from the striking city skyline.

‘A month,’ she said. Would four weeks abroad really do anything?

‘Funny time of the year to pick for a long vacation,’ he responded, curiosity in his voice, and Roberta replied noncommittally, ‘I don’t mind the cold. It’s refreshing.’

He smiled and fell silent, leaving her with her thoughts.

It still seemed an incredible piece of good fortune that she had managed to land this job, even though she was well qualified for it.

She had been doing au pair jobs for the past two years. It had started out as a way of earning money while she considered various other options, but she had enjoyed it so much that those various other options had gradually faded into the background.

She was, she supposed, suited to it. She was a calm, self-possessed person, and she had quickly found that her capacity for patience had a quelling effect on even the most brattish of her charges.

Her friends all thought that she was mad. Why, they had uniformly asked her when she had first started, do you want to waste your university education on looking after spoilt two-year-olds?

But now she was glad that she had done so. How else would she have ever got an overseas job?

Of course, this was a slightly different one from those she had previously had. Emily was no toddler. She was a fourteen-year-old girl and, from what Roberta had read between the lines at her interview at the agency, a rather lonely little girl.

No mother, father hardly ever at home. The sort of domestic background that bred problems. She was doubtless terribly shy and insecure.

She found herself drifting off into speculation, only realising that they had reached their destination when the taxi stopped outside the house.

Roberta absent-mindedly paid the driver and stepped outside, gaping at the massive edifice facing her as he carried her luggage to the front door.

‘Well, have a good time,’ he said cheerfully, and she nodded distractedly. She had known that her employer was wealthy, but she certainly had not been prepared for this degree of wealth. No wonder the child’s father had no time for her, she thought wryly. He would have to work all the hours God made just to maintain a place of this size.

She tentatively rang the doorbell, hearing it reverberate distantly in the bowels of the house, and hoped that they wouldn’t be too long because it was cold outside. A dry, biting cold which seemed to work its way through her layers of clothing until she could feel its fingers pressed against her flesh.

She shivered and was about to ring the doorbell once again when the door was opened by a middle-aged woman wearing an ill-humoured expression.

Roberta ignored it and smiled.

‘Good evening,’ she said as warmly as she could through chattering teeth, ‘I’m—’

‘Yes, yes,’ the woman said, ‘I know who you are. You’re late. We expected you two hours ago.’

She ushered Roberta through, helping her with her cases, grumbling under her breath.

‘I should have been home by now,’ the woman muttered. ‘I had to stay here with Emily.’

‘I’m awfully sorry,’ Roberta began. ‘Surely Mr Adams—’

‘Mr Adams works late most nights,’ the woman cut in with disapproval in her voice.

‘I see.’ She didn’t see at all. It was nearly ten o’clock, for heaven’s sake! Apart from anything else, had he no interest in meeting the woman employed to look after his daughter? Rude, Roberta thought. A workaholic with no manners.

‘I’m Glenda Thornson, by the way—the housekeeper,’ the woman introduced herself, slightly less ill-tempered now that she could sense departure imminent on the horizon.

‘Pleased to meet you.’

Mrs Thornson was already moving towards the staircase and Roberta followed her. ‘It’s a lovely house.’

‘Not when you have to clean it.’

Roberta laughed and got a grudging smile in response.

She looked around her, appreciating the warm golds and yellows of the large hallway, and the tasteful interspersing of mahogany-framed paintings on the walls.

‘Where is Emily?’ She directed the question to the strait-laced back ahead of her and Mrs Thornson responded without turning around.

‘Asleep. Thank God. I’ll show you to your bedroom and then, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way. Have you had anything to eat?’

‘Yes,’ Roberta said quickly, drily aware that any other answer would have met with a frosty reception. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t terribly hungry anyway, even though she had eaten hardly anything on the flight over.

‘Well, the kitchen is on the ground floor to the right of the house, and the fridge is well-stocked. There’s some salad stuff, cold meats, and bread in the bread bin.’

They had arrived at the bedroom and Roberta stepped in, her face lighting up at the sheer luxury.

A huge bed, framed at the back by magnificent flowered drapes that fell to either side, dominated the room. On the floor, a massive rug picked up the colours of the curtains and the rosy tints of the antique furniture.

Mrs Thornson had retreated to the door and coughed pointedly.

‘I’m just off, Miss Greene,’ she announced. ‘If you’re sure that there’s nothing that you want...’

Roberta smiled. ‘A few hours’ sleep might be a good idea,’ she replied, just as eager to be on her own as Mrs Thornson was to leave the house.

‘Fine. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, no doubt.’

With that she vanished, and Roberta carefully began unpacking, preferring to get it over with rather than be confronted with the task the following morning. Every so often she stopped to admire tiny details in the bedroom: the exquisite clock on the dressing-table, two small oval-shaped paintings on either side of the windows, the tapestry cushions on the bed.

Grant Adams clearly had taste, or more probably had paid someone who had to decorate the house.

The little touches, though, spoke of a female touch. Was this how Emily spent her time when she was not at school, perhaps? Trying to instil atmosphere in a place which, if left to her workaholic father, would have no doubt been an empty shell?

Roberta had seen enough of workaholics in her job to know that they rarely noticed their surroundings. They were invariably middle-aged men, their faces creased with lines of stress, who only seemed to come alive when discussing their work.

She was about to stick her suitcase into the wardrobe when a girl’s voice said from behind her, ‘So you’re the au pair grandmother insisted on importing.’

Roberta spun around. This was certainly not the child she had imagined. Long, black hair fanned out around a face that was sullen and suspicious.

‘Yes, I’m Roberta Greene and you must be Emily,’ she said, rapidly realising that this girl definitely did not while away her spare time adding female touches to the house.

‘Who else?’ She strolled into the room and sat on the bed, idly fingering the remnants of clothes to be stored away and staring openly at Roberta.

‘I’m sorry, I would have looked in on you but your housekeeper told me that you were asleep. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.’ Roberta smiled.

‘No, it’s not.’ Green eyes narrowed on her with biting dislike. ‘Not for me, anyway.’

‘Then why,’ Roberta continued in the same polite voice, ‘did you agree to having an au pair?’

‘It was you,’ Emily responded sourly, ‘or my vile relations in New Hampshire. I wanted to go to Europe with Grandmother, but she refused. I suppose she thought that the next best thing was a European au pair.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Or maybe she just thought that once you were over here it would be more difficult for you to leave.’

‘More difficult for me to leave?’ Roberta repeated warily.

‘Sure. The last two au pairs I’ve had didn’t last a week, never mind four.’

This, Roberta thought, removing her clothes from within Emily’s reach, was not what I had expected.

‘What did you do to them?’ she asked mildly. ‘Frogs under the pillows? Buckets of water in strategic positions?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Emily’s face flushed. ‘I’m not a child!’

‘Aren’t you? Silly me, I thought you were fourteen. The interviewer at the agency must have got it wrong.’

‘Very funny,’ Emily snapped, but there was reluctant interest in her eyes now. ‘Is that a British sense of humour? I suppose you think you’re clever, do you?’

‘Not at all!’ She sighed and looked calmly at the girl. ‘Look, we’re going to be together for the next few weeks. Why don’t we call a truce and try to be friends?’

‘Friends?’ Emily sniggered. ‘I may be stuck with you, but that certainly doesn’t mean that I intend to become friendly with you.’ She stood up, and pulled her dressing-gown tightly around her angular frame.

Her little hands were clenched around her, and Roberta saw that the knuckles were white. Much as she wanted to pose a threat, Roberta could see that underneath she was little more than a defensive child. A product of her upbringing.

She felt a surprising twinge of anger directed against the child’s father. Couldn’t these sort of people see the effect that their obsession with work had on those closest to them?

Emily was still scowling at her, and she glanced at her watch. ‘Perhaps you’d better be off to bed now. We can continue this discussion in the morning.’

‘Don’t worry. That’s precisely where I intend going. I just thought that I’d come and check you out myself.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Emily.’

The sentence was scarcely out of her mouth before the girl had flounced outside, slamming the door shut behind her.

Oh, lord, Roberta thought, sitting on the bed, this is definitely a far cry from a spoilt toddler who could be appeased with ice-cream in the park and trips to the zoo.

She tried to remember what the interviewer had said about Emily. Very little, from what she could recall, apart from the barest of facts. That she was fourteen, and lived with her father and her grandmother, and that she was between schools.

And Roberta had asked very few questions. She had been so keen to get the job that she had accepted what she had been told rather than miss the opportunity to leave England by appearing too inquisitive and choosy.

For instance, where was the mother? Were Emily’s parents divorced, perhaps?

She was beginning to get a headache from thinking about it, and on the spur of the moment she hurried downstairs, tentatively making her way towards the kitchen.

Like the rest of the house, it was sumptuously fitted out. The counters were a mixture of frosted oak and multi-coloured granite, and overhead a hanging shelf supported a range of plants which trailed downwards.

She poured herself a glass of milk and settled at the round kitchen table to drink it, mulling over in her head what other surprises lay in store for her.

Perhaps a few vicious Dobermanns that the interviewer had also failed to mention? She grinned to herself, feeling decidedly better now that there was something in her stomach.

It suddenly struck her that she had not given any thought to her own problems ever since she had stepped foot into the house. Maybe a difficult teenager was just the tonic she needed, she thought. Not that Emily was difficult. Probably just unhappy. She glanced around her and thought how lonely it must be for a young girl to be surrounded by such vastness, a vacuum which surely an ageing grandmother and a father who was absent most of the time found impossible to fill.

She carefully washed her glass and was heading back to the bedroom when the front door opened. Or, rather, it was pushed open forcefully, and the sight of a man framed by the blackness outside, the biting wind blowing his black coat around him, made Roberta’s blood freeze in her veins.

She had never been confronted by a more alarming sight. The sheer height and power of the man startled her, and it wasn’t helped by the expression of aggression on his face as his eyes raked over her mercilessly.

He slammed the door behind him without taking his eyes off her and slipped off his coat to reveal a superbly tailored grey suit, which somehow did nothing to lessen the impression of savage power that had initially struck her.

Roberta remained standing where she was, glued to the spot, too terrified and fascinated by the vision in front of her to move a muscle.

Then he spoke, and it struck her that his voice somehow matched the rest of him. Deep but hard, with a hint of menace behind it.

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ he asked grimly, striding towards her.

Roberta cringed back, her eyes wide, her self-control for once deserting her. Alarm had replaced reason and her mouth was half parted in fear.

Her brain had somehow started functioning again, though, enough for her to recognise after the initial shock that this must be Emily’s father. The same dark, almost black, hair, the same peculiar shade of green eyes, but his features were harsh and arrogant. It was a striking face, one that forced you to look at it, and which, once seen, was never forgotten.

‘I asked you a question,’ he bit out. He was close to her now, towering above her. With a swift movement, he reached out and grasped her by her arm, shaking her out of her immobility. ‘Who the hell are you? Some friend of Emily’s? Is this my daughter’s idea of a sick joke?’

Anger suddenly replaced fear and Roberta’s lips compressed tightly. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she said icily, but, instead of that having the desired effect, he shook her again, sending her hair flying around her face.

He’s mad, she thought with a jolt of panic. I’ve managed to land myself a job looking after a wayward teenager with an insane father. Why else would he be behaving in such a bizarre fashion?

‘If you don’t let me go at once, I’m going to scream,’ she said unsteadily, staring up into his ferocious green eyes.

‘Is that a threat? Because if it is, you seem to have forgotten whose house this is.’

His voice now was quite calm, but all the more disturbing for that.

‘Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on here, or do I have to shake it out of you?’ His voice left her in no doubt that he was prepared to do precisely that and she shivered.

Common sense told her to hang on to her self-control, but something about this man, quite apart from his behaviour, unsettled her. Everything about him was overpowering.

‘I’m Roberta Greene,’ she replied as calmly as she could, feeling like someone who had suddenly found themselves in a lion’s den and was trying to find the right placatory tone of voice to enable them to leave in one piece. ‘I’m here to look after your daughter.’

There was a long silence while he surveyed her at leisure and with the same glint of ruthless hostility in his eyes.

‘Well, Miss Roberta Greene, I don’t know how you managed to land this job, but you can forget about unpacking, because you’re going to be on the next flight out of here.’

‘What?’ Roberta looked at him, confused. ‘Why? What are you talking about?’

He gave her a scathing look and then proceeded to half pull, half drag her towards the massive left-hand wing of the house, into which she had not ventured.

Roberta wriggled against him, desperately trying to free herself from his iron grip, but it was useless. She was no match for his strength, and in the end she abandoned the effort, her mind whirling in confusion.

What was going on here? I should never have accepted this job after all, she thought, I should have known that it was too good to be true. Doesn’t fate make a habit of tripping you up?

Something was terribly wrong here. There was no way that this man’s behaviour could be classified as normal.

She was suddenly aware of the silent spaciousness around her.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, her voice uneven from the exertion of keeping pace with him.

‘Don’t you know? I’m sure you can suspect.’

He pushed open a door on the right and switched on the light, which threw the room into instant clarity. It was a large den. In one corner there was an old-fashioned desk with a computer terminal perched incongruously on top of it and the walls were lined with bookcases which groaned under the weight of books of every description.

‘Well, Miss Roberta Greene,’ he addressed her tightly, swinging her around, ‘tell me that this is a shock to you.’

Roberta stared in front of her at a large portrait which had not been visible from the door. It was of a woman of a similar age to her, wearing a forced smile on her lips.

‘Who is it?’ she asked, curiosity overcoming her confusion.

‘My wife, as you well know,’ he said derisively.

‘Why should I know?’

‘Don’t tell me that it was sheer coincidence that you applied for this job. Look at the portrait. Can’t you see the resemblance?’

Roberta focused on it and she reluctantly saw what he meant. They both had red hair, pure natural red, unadulterated by any shade of brown or auburn and, from what she could see, the same grey, widely spaced eyes.

But there any resemblance stopped. Roberta’s hair was cut in a neat bob that hung to her shoulders, and far from being neat and plain, which was how she considered herself, there was something untamed about this woman in the portrait. Her hair was a mass of curls, her eyes wild and knowing.

Was this what lay behind his accusations?

‘What are you trying to imply?’ she asked coldly, turning to face him. Her colour had returned to normal, and that alarming, addled feeling she had had a moment ago had subsided.

‘Put it this way,’ he said in an unyielding voice. ‘It isn’t the first time that someone has tried to wheedle her way into my affections, or should I say my money, by playing on a resemblance to my late wife.’

Roberta stared at him, taking in the hard contours of his face. Was there any woman brave enough to try and wheedle her way into this man’s affections? she wondered. He didn’t strike her as the sort who could be wheedled into anything. In fact, he looked the sort who played situations to suit himself, and to hell with the rest of the world.

‘Late wife?’

‘Yes, late,’ he snapped impatiently. ‘She died some years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I. Sorry that you turned up here.’

‘I’m afraid you’re quite wrong about me,’ Roberta informed him calmly.

‘Oh, are you really? Afraid that I’m quite wrong about you?’ He stared back at her until she flushed, and then the harshness in his face softened slightly into amusement.

Roberta felt a surge of anger which she quickly stifled. She could see what he was thinking clearly enough because he couldn’t be bothered to hide it. He saw her as a prim little English woman, with nothing of that tigerish grace of his late wife, and he found it laughable.

She didn’t care, but on the other hand she didn’t see why she should have to put up with being the butt of his humour merely because he happened to be her employer.

‘Quite frankly, and I’m sorry to dent your ego, I had never heard of you until I applied for this job.’

‘I may be Canadian,’ he drawled, ‘but my face is well-known in the business circles in your country. As was my wife’s.’

She detected a certain inflexion in his voice at the mention of his wife and she put it to the back of her mind.

‘I don’t know a great deal about business,’ Roberta said, folding her arms across her chest and not caring for the way he raised one eyebrow at the movement. ‘I’m an au pair, not a stockbroker. I really wouldn’t know a prominent businessman from a bank clerk. I also,’ she continued, irritated with herself for being addled by those brilliant-green eyes, ‘consider it very rude that you haven’t seen fit to introduce yourself.’

‘Are you usually so uptight?’ he asked, ignoring her question and moving to sit in the leather armchair, where he proceeded to scrutinise her with infuriating thoroughness.

‘I’ve just been dragged through your house,’ Roberta replied through gritted teeth, ‘subjected to wild accusations—naturally I’m a bit tense at the moment.’

‘Naturally.’ He was laughing at her, even though his face was serious.

‘And you still haven’t introduced yourself,’ she flared. ‘I take it that you’re Emily’s father.’ She knew who he was, of course, but that didn’t mean that it excused his lack of manners.

‘You’re like a schoolteacher I once had,’ he said, ignoring her yet again. ‘Very prim and always bristling with righteous indignation.’

Roberta was positively fuming now. She hardly ever got angry, but right now she felt like exploding.

‘I seem to remind you of a lot of people, don’t I?’ she intoned politely. ‘I had no idea the world was so full of my look-alikes.’

He laughed at that, and her lips tightened a little bit more.

‘Definitely like that schoolteacher I mentioned,’ he said, ‘and the name is Grant Adams.’

Without that hostility marring his features, she was disturbed to realise, there was something very attractive about this man. Maybe it was that combination of striking good looks and the sense of power that he radiated.

Either way, it alarmed her, because after everything that had happened she should be immune to men, most of all men with charm.

They were dangerous, and danger was one element in her life she could quite happily live without.

‘I wish I could say that meeting you has been a pleasant experience, Mr Adams,’ she heard herself saying, ‘but I can’t.’

‘Let’s hope that time remedies that,’ he murmured, his eyes still glinting as though he found her a diverting novelty. ‘Have you met my daughter?’ He waved her to the other chair in the room and she hesitatingly sat down.

She had hoped that she might be able to leave the room, but he was clearly not in the slightest bit tired. In fact, he looked as though he could have kept going for another few hours at least. If this was his norm, then lord only knew how much sleep he needed. Maybe none. She glanced across at him and decided that he was the type who considered sleep an unnecessary waste of valuable time.

‘Briefly,’ Roberta replied. ‘I’m afraid I was a little late getting here, and she was in bed when I arrived, although she did pop into see me.’

‘I can imagine,’ he said blandly, ‘and what did you think of her?’

‘She seems very outspoken,’ Roberta said carefully.

‘I would say that that’s an example of very British understatement. She lacks discipline.’

‘Lots of teenagers are a bit unruly, Mr Adams.’

‘Grant. And Emily goes way beyond the boundaries of unruly. Have you been told that she’s been expelled three times?’

‘No,’ Roberta admitted, not surprised at that.

‘Have you been told that she should be at school now, but she was expelled from her last one a month ago?’

‘No.’

‘That hardly surprises me. My mother probably thought that such vital statistics would put off any prospective candidates for the job. Not many people are ready or willing to take on a fourteen-year-old with no sense of responsibility.’

Roberta was shocked by the inflexible hardness in his voice. No wonder your daughter’s a bit off the rails, she wanted to say.

‘A sense of responsibility is something that’s gleaned from the example of those around,’ she said bluntly.

‘Meaning?’

There wasn’t a great deal of amusement in his eyes now. She suspected that he was not accustomed to being criticised, however implicitly, and he didn’t like it.

‘How much time do you spend with her?’ she asked, and his frown deepened.

‘Excuse me,’ he said coldly, ‘but who’s employing whom? I don’t like your tone of voice, and I certainly don’t like what I think you’re saying.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Roberta murmured, not feeling sorry in the slightest. ‘I don’t mean to tread on your toes, but from what I gathered you don’t spend a great deal of time with your daughter. If you did, perhaps she might be more inclined to live up to your expectations of her.’

‘In case it hasn’t occurred to you,’ he said in a hard voice, ‘I do have a living to make.’

‘But at the expense of your daughter?’

‘What?’ he roared, running his fingers through his hair and glaring at her. ‘Have you forgotten that you’re paid to look after my daughter and not to analyse my behaviour?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Roberta said calmly.

‘You don’t sound it!’ He stood up and paced the room to the window, staring outside, his back to her.

No, she thought, he really was not accustomed to being criticised. No doubt that was something he held the monopoly on. And got away with, judging from what she had seen.

But his air of restless aggression didn’t intimidate her. When it came to her job she was coolly professional and daunted by very little. It was only in her personal life that she had bumped into things she couldn’t handle.

‘I was wrong about you,’ he bit out, turning to face her. ‘You may have a passing resemblance to Vivian, but that’s about all.’ He walked across the room and leant over her, his hands gripping either side of the chair. ‘But something must ruffle that cool exterior of yours. What is it? What goes on behind that controlled face of yours? You’ve made your opinions of me loud and clear; now it’s time for me to ask a few questions. After all, I’m entrusting my daughter to you.’

CHAPTER TWO

ROBERTA regarded him with a trace of alarm. As far as she was concerned, being au pair to Grant Adams’s daughter in no way gave him an invisible right to quiz her on her personal life, but the look of intent on his face, inches away from hers, disturbed her.

She lowered her eyes and wished that he would remove himself to another part of the room. His daunting masculinity so close to her made her feel slightly giddy and out of control and she didn’t like it.

‘I don’t think,’ she said carefully, ‘that what goes on under this cool exterior of mine, as you put it, has anything to do with my job here. I’m being paid to look after your daughter for four weeks, and that’s precisely what I shall do. I happen to be very good at my job.’

‘I never said you weren’t.’

She could feel his breath warm on her face, and it seemed to go to her head like incense. That, coupled with the relentless, demanding glint in his eyes, made her hackles rise even further and she had to control herself against another unaccustomed surge of anger.

‘Then I don’t see that there’s anything further to discuss,’ she said evenly, raising her eyes to his.

‘You really would have made a great schoolteacher.’

‘And I resent your constant insults!’ she snapped.

‘Me? Insults? I thought that you were the one doing that.’

‘What do you mean?’ She eyed him levelly, inwardly cringing from that intangible sense of unquestioned power that radiated from him.

‘What I mean, my dear Roberta Greene, is that you feel free to make sweeping generalisations on my relationship with my daughter, but the minute I suggest that I try and discover what makes you tick, you instantly clam up. Surely you can see it from my point of view. I know nothing about you.’

‘I come with references,’ Roberta interrupted him, realising that her choice of words made her sound like some kind of prize dog proclaiming its pedigree. ‘Your mother will have copies of them all—’

‘But what do they say about you?’

‘That I’m experienced in this,’ she said evenly. ‘I’ve been an au pair now for two years. There’s not much else I can tell you, except that you must trust me with Emily.’

He stood up and walked back to the armchair by the desk, and Roberta breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realised how much she had been affected by his proximity until she felt a swift release of tension that made her body sag.

Poor Emily, she thought sympathetically. She was probably scared stiff of her father. He certainly didn’t seem the sort who had a great deal of patience, and that was the one virtue that most adolescents needed in abundant supply.

‘I don’t suppose I have much choice, do I?’

It was a rhetorical question, but Roberta answered it nevertheless.

‘You could always ask me to return to England,’ she pointed out. ‘After all, you didn’t hesitate to do that when you thought—’

‘When I thought that you had conned your way over here on your physical similarity to my wife,’ he finished for her, and she nodded. He shrugged. ‘I know how to handle gold-diggers,’ he said abruptly. ‘It pays to be ruthless.’ The hard inflexion in his voice made her shudder.

‘I’ll bear that in mind when I’m dealing with your daughter,’ Roberta said mildly.

Her eyes met his, and for the first time he smiled, a genuine smile that lent his face such extraordinary charm that she was almost knocked for six.

‘I really would love to know what makes you tick,’ he commented lazily, and she stood up, in no way prepared to let his idle musings force her into a position of defensive anger again.

She didn’t need anyone prying into her life. Right now, it was all too sensitive a subject for that. Not that she would have been inclined to have told him anything, anyway. She was not given to sharing confidences, least of all with a man who gave off warning signals that even a deaf person would have been able to hear.

‘And I really would love to get some sleep,’ she said politely, with a cool little smile on her lips.

‘I take it that was a “hands off” remark?’ he asked with amusement. Any minute now, Roberta thought with hostility, he’ll start referring to me as quaint, or an oddity.

‘If by that you mean that I don’t intend to discuss my personal life with you, then yes, you’re absolutely right.’

She began to move towards the door when his speculative drawl stopped her in her tracks.

‘Same colour hair, same eyes, but you really are nothing like my late wife at all. Unless, of course, you’re an extremely fine actress.’

Roberta didn’t turn around. She found his words offensive, because when she thought of that woman in the portrait she thought of everything that was wild and exciting. To have the differences between them pointed out to her was tantamount to telling her that she was as dull as dishwater.

Nobody likes to think that they’re dull, do they? she told herself.

‘If I were an extremely fine actress,’ she said, staring straight ahead of her, her back to him, ‘I wouldn’t be an au pair. I’d be in the acting profession.’

‘I hope so,’ he said, conversationally enough, ‘because, as I said, I can be ruthless when it comes to gold-diggers.’

There was no answer to that one, and Roberta left the study, shutting the door quietly behind her, quickly running up the stairs until she got to her bedroom.

It was late, and she hadn’t slept for hours, what with the long flight and the inevitable waiting around at airport terminals, but she didn’t feel tired at all. Her mind felt as though it had been suddenly thrust into overdrive, and as she undressed and lay on the huge bed her thoughts flitted tantalisingly and aggravatingly back to Grant Adams. Odious man. Not only had he seen fit to insult her, but he had also seen fit to laugh at her.

She had only met a few North Americans in her life. They had been full of joie de vivre and terribly extrovert. She wasn’t like that, but her natural reserve wasn’t a matter for amusement, was it?

She had always been quite reticent. She wondered now whether that hadn’t increased over the past eight months.

She cast her mind back over everything that had happened to her recently, for the first time not feeling her stomach contract at the thoughts racing through her mind.

Her mother’s death she could face now with less of that desperate sense of loss. The pain was duller, more of a lingering sensation of sadness.

She had been very close to her mother. From as far back as she could remember they had been a twosome. Her father had died when she was only eighteen months old, and her mother had never remarried.

‘It could never be the same,’ she had once told her. ‘I loved him too much to ever give my heart to someone else. It would have seemed like a betrayal.’

So they had tackled life together, hand in hand, and when she died quite suddenly nine months ago Roberta had been shattered.

Now, looking back, she could see that Brian’s entrance into her life had come when she least needed it. She had been vulnerable, unprepared, emotionally in need of support, and he had swept through her like a whirlwind. Blond, handsome, charming, he had wooed her with flowers, surprised her when she least expected it.

Roberta stared upwards at the ceiling, allowing her mind to roam freely for the first time over her huge mistake, not trying to shut it away somewhere safe where it couldn’t touch her.

We all make mistakes, don’t we? she told herself.

How was she to know what he really was? She had had no experience of men, after all. Physically, her life had been a closed book as far as that was concerned. When he didn’t pressure her into sleeping with him, she had been relieved and delighted. It had been one more point in his favour, so his requests to borrow some money, small amounts to start with, had hardly caused a ripple.

He had told her that he was an actor, struggling to get parts.

Now, as she lay in bed, she found that she could actually think of his lies with a certain degree of resigned cynicism, instead of with that choking bitterness.

Of course he hadn’t been an actor, though he should have been one. His performance with her was deserving of an Oscar. He had softened his borrowing with little, thoughtful, romantic gestures, and like a fool she had swallowed it all hook, line and sinker.

She had let herself be lulled into a false sense of security, had even begun discussing marriage, and he had encouraged her in that. So, when he raised the subject of buying a house together, it had seemed reasonable enough to her. He had persuaded her that she could keep on her mother’s place, renting it out, as an investment, and they could use the better part of the money left to her to buy into a new property.

They would be cash buyers; they would have no problem finding somewhere. The market was depressed; they could find a bargain.

His arguments rang in her ears as though they had been spoken just yesterday instead of three months ago.

And she had fallen for them.

‘You make the cheque over to me,’ he had told her. ‘I have some money of my own in savings. I’ll make one cheque out to the solicitors. No point in creating unnecessary paperwork.’ He had worked out in detail how much money they jointly had, and his tone of authority, his tender, clucking dismissal of her shadowy doubts had persuaded her in a way that nothing else could have.

The memory of it made her flush with bitter shame. How could she have fallen for someone so obvious? But she had. Like a naïve fool, only realising that she had made a massive error of judgement when he abruptly vanished from her life. She had tried calling him, but the number had been disconnected. She had gone round to his bedsit, but he had flown the coop.

The new tenants had stared at her and shrugged their shoulders. This was London, they had said, of course we don’t know where he’s gone, we were only happy to have got the flat.

Disillusionment had given way to anger, and then to bitterness. Of course, she had eventually gone to the police, but by then she had resigned herself to the fact that she had kissed sweet goodbye to her money.

She could recall the interview with the chief inspector in minute detail, and it still had the power to make her cringe. She had known precisely what had been going through his head. Gullible dupe who has no experience of life, or of men, and gets taken in by the first clever conman who comes along and plays upon her insecurities. He had seen her as pathetic. She was convinced of it and she had looked at herself through his eyes with humiliation.

But, she now thought, didn’t every cloud have a silver lining? She thought of Grant Adams, and of that glimpse of suffocating charm that had flashed across his face. If there was one thing that Brian had done for her, it was to make her immune to men like Grant Adams.

Even before Brian, she had always been a self-contained person. Now she guarded herself and her emotions with rigid control. She might have been a fool once, but lessons were there to be learnt from. She would never be a fool again.

It was late the following morning before she woke up, after the sort of restless night that came from sleeping in different surroundings.

It was warm in the room, but as she drew back the curtains she could see the cold outside clutching at the trees and buildings.

Emily burst into the room as she was preparing to get dressed, and Roberta said automatically, ‘There’s such a thing as knocking.’

Emily’s long black hair had been dragged away from her face and was hanging down her back in a pony tail, but her face still wore that suspicious, defensive expression.

‘You work here,’ Emily replied. ‘Why do I need to knock?’

‘I wish I could follow that argument,’ Roberta replied, vanishing into the en suite bathroom to wash her face and then reappearing to apply some light make up at the dressing table.

‘Anyway, you should have been up hours ago.’

‘Should I?’ she asked drily. ‘If I had known that you were that eager for my company, I would have set my alarm clock.’

‘Ha, ha.’

‘Actually, I got to bed quite late last night. I met your father and we remained chatting for a while.’ Chatting, she thought with a silent laugh. What a way to describe that explosive encounter between them.

‘You mean he came home?’ Emily’s voice expressed a cynicism that sounded out of place in someone that young. ‘Before midnight? How good of him. Normally we cross each other in passing. He’s always on the way out somewhere.’

There was a wealth of bitterness in her voice and Roberta looked at her with surprise.

‘Shocked?’ Emily asked. ‘You wouldn’t be if you knew him. I suppose you fell for all that laid-on charm, did you? He seems to have a talent with women, not that I can understand why.’

‘That’s a bit unfair.’ Roberta shrugged herself into some clothes, making sure that she had enough underlayers to protect her from the weather outside. ‘And in answer to your question, no, I didn’t fall for all that laid-on charm.’ Not, she thought, that he had used any on her anyway, but she wasn’t going to say that.

Emily was staring at her suspiciously, as though ready to argue the point, but Roberta wasn’t having it. She switched the subject skilfully away from Grant Adams, and on to the infinitely safer topic of Toronto and what there was to see.

By the end of a very tiring day, they were at least on speaking terms, even though it was a case of treading carefully in order to avoid initiating one of Emily’s sulks. Roberta had discovered quite quickly that Emily was adept at them, although they would last only a short while, to be replaced usually by a battery of forthright questions which left Roberta feeling exhausted.

‘I thought I was direct,’ she said, as they relaxed later that afternoon in the kitchen in front of a cup of coffee, ‘but you’re leagues ahead of me.’

That extracted a grin from Emily, which vanished almost as soon as it had formed. ‘I can see why you didn’t go for Dad,’ she said. ‘He’s not into direct women. He likes them coy and brainless.’

‘Do I really?’

‘They both turned at the sound of his voice. Emily with surprise, and Roberta with an expression of amusement at his daughter’s reaction.

He walked into the kitchen, slinging his coat carelessly on to the counter and sitting down opposite them.

Roberta looked at him with detachment, thinking that he really was remarkably attractive. Last night she had been too caught up in her emotional reaction to his behaviour to have really examined him, but she could see now that he was the sort of man who had probably spent a lifetime turning heads. And, she thought, agreeing with Emily, spending his time playing with coy, brainless women. He had a lean, arrogant hardness about him that no doubt attracted hordes of them. She smiled, and he said in a cool voice, ‘What’s the joke?’

‘Joke?’ She threw him an unreadable look. ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’

‘About Toronto? Or about the brainless women that I go for, according to my daughter?

Emily was looking between them.

‘What are you doing home so early, anyway?’ she asked, her mouth downturned as she stared at him, and he frowned.

‘I thought you might have been pleased to see me.’ There was impatience in his voice.

‘Why? You think showing up at a reasonable hour now and again helps to remind me what you look like?’

Grant frowned heavily. ‘I don’t think that remark is called for, young lady, and—’

‘And what?’ she muttered mutinously. ‘Are you going to pack me off to bed for punishment? Or tell me that I can’t have any pocket money?’ She sniggered, happily oblivious to the flush of anger that had darkened his cheeks.

‘We had a lovely day,’ Roberta said, suspecting that if she didn’t interrupt soon she would be witnessing an almighty clash.

Grant ignored her completely. He was staring at his daughter and she was staring back at him, her green eyes angry and defensive.

‘When are you going to realise, young lady, that being rude isn’t charming or endearing, it’s just aggravating and rubs people up the wrong way.’

Emily stood up, her face flushed. ‘You should know all about that!’ she shouted. ‘You specialise in it!’ With that she ran out of the room, and Roberta looked towards the door worriedly. She didn’t have a great deal of experience in dealing with adolescents, but she did know that Emily would probably lock herself in her bedroom and burst into tears.

She stood up to follow and Grant said tightly, ‘Sit down.’

‘But—’ she began, and he cut into her with a hard voice.

‘I said sit down! I didn’t come back here at this hour to be subjected to my daughter’s ill manners.’

Roberta sat back down and glared at him. ‘What did you expect? You hardly spend any time with her. You can’t think that the odd early return from work is going to fill her with delight.’

‘And I don’t need you to start preaching to me again,’ he muttered, pouring himself a cup of coffee. ‘She’ll calm down. What did you two do today, then?’

‘We went to the Eaton Centre and browsed around. And how do you know that she’ll calm down? I think you ought to go to her bedroom and talk to her.’

‘And I think you ought to stop playing at being an amateur shrink. When I need advice, I’ll consult a professional.’

Roberta looked at him, bristling, and he said with lazy amusement, ‘You’re wearing that school-ma’am look again.’

‘Because I don’t happen to agree with how you react with your daughter?’ she burst out.

Grant’s mouth tightened into a forbidding line. ‘I didn’t employ you to voice opinions. I employed you to make sure Emily behaves herself in my mother’s absence.’

‘The two go hand in hand.’ She gave him a conciliatory smile. ‘She’s unhappy, can’t you see that? She’s suffered not having a mother-figure. I’m sure most children do—’

He slammed his coffee-cup on to the table and the liquid spilled over the rim, leaving a wet patch. ‘She damn well doesn’t need a mother-figure!’ he ground out. ‘She’s already had a mother-figure, enough to last her a lifetime.’

Roberta’s eyes widened at his tone of voice. She had touched on a raw nerve here. Her mind flashed back to his reaction to her when he had spotted her physical resemblance to his wife. Was that why he filled his time with women? Because no one could ever live up to the woman he had married and loved?

What had she been like? She bit back the compulsive desire to ask, knowing that that would definitely cause a major explosion.

‘And I hope you’re not entertaining any thoughts of putting yourself in that position,’ he said tersely.

She looked at him with bewilderment. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t give me that innocent stare. You already know that my wife and you share certain physical attributes, even if they are only superficial—’

The gist of what he was saying became patently clear and Roberta felt a rush of blood to her head. ‘You may think so!’ she snapped. ‘Emily has made no mention of any similarity!’

‘Emily rarely notices anyone but herself. Subconsciously, I’m sure she’s drawn the inevitable comparisons. All I’m saying is that I hope you don’t intend to exploit that fact. I hope you don’t let it slip your mind that you’re an au pair and not a prospective mother-figure for her.’

‘Is that a warning?’

‘It’s a piece of advice. You may have come here in good faith, but now that you know the situation there’s nothing to stop you from manipulating it to your own advantage.’

‘Nothing except a few principles,’ Roberta informed him coldly. She could have laughed aloud at his train of thought if she wasn’t so damned angry at his assumption. Involvement with a man? Good grief! She had had enough of the male sex to last her a lifetime.

‘Principles can become very elusive when there’s financial gain in the offing,’ he said with infuriating calm. ‘I’ve seen it in action and, believe me, it’s not a pretty sight.’

‘Well, you can rest assured that I have no intention of doing any such thing,’ she said briefly, thankful that the hot emotion which he seemed to arouse in her had not deprived her of her power of speech. ‘I’m not after your bank balance. In fact, I don’t find you or your money the slightest bit appealing.’

Her words seemed to echo in the kitchen, and she could have kicked herself. She didn’t want to indulge in any conversation that strayed from the strictly professional subject of his daughter with this man, yet here she was, saying the first thing that came into her head.

‘Now there’s an admission,’ he drawled, his green eyes flickering with faint mockery. ‘I was wondering what sort of man appealed to you.’ The savagery had left his face completely. Now she wished heartily that it was back there because it was far easier to handle.

‘Were you?’ Roberta said, pink colour creeping up her cheeks. Her power of speech didn’t seem nearly so reliable now. In fact, she was totally lost for words as he looked at her curiously.

‘I was,’ he murmured softly, ‘so why don’t you tell me? Not afraid, are you?’

‘Of course not!’ Roberta denied with a vigour she was far from feeling.

‘Then please fill me in. I’m interested.’ He leaned back in the chair, his hands clasped behind his head, and continued to survey her through narrowed eyes.

At this point, she thought, I should have some freezing retort on my lips. But nothing came to mind. All she could see was his overwhelming sexiness. The silence stretched around them until she was suffocating in it. Finally she gathered her wits and said with composure, ‘I don’t like men who are smooth and charming.’

A picture of Brian flashed into her head, and she found herself describing him in minute detail. She was hardly conscious of the edge of jaded disillusionment that had crept into her voice.

‘And are you going to tell me who he was?’

Grant’s question caught her by surprise and she stared at him and blinked. Everything settled back into perspective, and she recalled with horror what she had told him. She had not mentioned names, but she had nevertheless found herself imparting personal information without even realising it. Either she had suffered some bout of temporary insanity, or else he was more adept at listening than she had given him credit for.

‘No one,’ she said, standing up, furious with herself for dropping her defences. ‘I was generalising.’

‘Were you?’ His eyebrows shot up in disbelief and she had an urge to throw her coffee in his face.

‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, ignoring his question and shifting her eyes away from the mesmeric lines of his face, ‘I think I’ll head upstairs now and check on Emily. It’s been a long day. I want to have a bath before dinner.’ Her voice faded into the silence, and she pursed her lips tightly.

‘Of course,’ he said, not pursuing the topic. ‘Toronto can be exhausting. Particularly the Eaton Centre. A marvellous place to shop, so I hear, but very tiring on the legs.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Roberta replied politely. She wanted to get away now. As soon as his attention was off her, as he reached to pour himself another cup of coffee, she quietly slipped out of the kitchen, her face thoughtful as she headed towards Emily’s bedroom.

She had made a mistake bracketing him with Brian, she decided. There really was no comparison. Brian’s charm was all superficial. She could see that now, and quite probably she would have seen that at the time, had she not been so wrapped up in her own personal misery.

But Grant Adams... She frowned. He was a different cup of tea altogether. He possessed that rare, innate ability to get people to talk, to make them respond to his magnetism, and she knew that she was a novelty to him.

There was no doubt that women were attracted to him in droves, and there was also no doubt that men who could get what they wanted frequently pursued the things that were inaccessible.

He might warn her off, but there lurked a niggling thought at the back of her mind. What if, despite everything he had said, her resemblance to his wife succeeded in whetting his appetite?

You’re being over-imaginative, she thought with a little laugh. Playing amateur shrink, as he had put it. It was a game she would do well to refrain from.

Emily was lying on her bed when Roberta entered, her eyes red. She immediately sat up and scowled.

‘Who asked you here?’ she snapped, and Roberta sat on the edge of the bed with a little shrug. ‘Did he ask you to follow me up here?’

‘No,’ Roberta replied truthfully.

‘Then why have you come?’

‘To see how you were, of course. I know that you were upset, but—’

‘I wasn’t upset,’ Emily denied, pushing her hair out of her face. ‘I was annoyed. How can he carry on about me when he’s the same? He’s rude, arrogant...’ She spluttered speechlessly and her ferocious scowl deepened.

‘You are quite similar, now that you mention it,’ Roberta agreed drily. ‘Does he sulk as well?’

‘I never sulk.’ Emily’s lips twitched in the glimmer of a smile. ‘I react to situations.’

Roberta laughed aloud at that one. ‘You’re made to be a politician with statements like that,’ she said with a grin, and Emily relaxed.

‘I picked it up from him,’ she stated. ‘He always becomes evasive when he doesn’t want to talk about something. For instance, did he admit to you that he went with brainless beauty models?’

Roberta shook her head. ‘Why should he? It’s none of my business.’

Emily propped herself on her elbows and surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘I can’t stand them,’ she confided, sliding a sidelong glance at Roberta, ‘they’re awful. They giggle too much and half the time pretend to be fascinated by everything he says.’

‘Maybe they are.’

‘Maybe.’ She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I can’t see why, though—nothing he ever says to me is fascinating. No, they’re just interested in netting him. You can see it written all over their faces. It’s laughable really.’

‘Law of averages says that one day one of them will succeed,’ Roberta said lightly.

‘Not if Grandmother has her way. She finds them as dislikeable as I do.’

‘It’s understandable that you view it like that,’ Roberta said, and then she grinned. ‘Lord, here I go again, trying to analyse.’

‘And wrong, too. I have no objections to a stepmother, just so long as it’s someone who doesn’t simper.’

‘What are we going to do tomorrow?’ Roberta asked, not liking the sly look that was being directed at her.

‘You don’t simper,’ Emily said. ‘In fact, you don’t seem at all impressed by all this.’ She waved her hand grandly around the room.

‘I’m not,’ Roberta said hurriedly, uneasy at this turn in the conversation. ‘Nor am I looking for a mate, if that’s what this little conversation is leading to.’

Emily’s green eyes widened in innocent shock. ‘Oh, no, of course not! I never said you were. All I’m saying is that it’s nice to meet someone who has their feet firmly planted on the ground. Are all English people like that?’

‘All the ones I’ve met.’ She stood up and smiled. ‘Now, get freshened up. Your eyes are red. Anyone would think that you had been crying.’

At that, Emily sprang out of the bed. ‘Crying? At something my father says?’ she shrieked in horror. ‘Never!’

But, as Roberta closed the door behind her, she could hear the tap running profusely, and she sighed.

What a situation. No wonder she had not spared any thought for her own problems ever since she had arrived. She didn’t have the time. She was too busy trying to cope with everyone else’s.

She unhurriedly got dressed for dinner. There was no leeway with the evening meal. Mrs Thornson made that clear. Dinner was served at seven-thirty because she had to leave very soon after that.

She was heading for the dining-room when Grant appeared from the direction of the study, impeccably dressed in a dark-coloured suit.

‘Have a good evening,’ he said, and she nodded. She had expected that he would be dining with them, something that she had not been particularly looking forward to, so she couldn’t account for the swift feeling of disappointment that flooded through her.

Where was he off to? Did she really need to ask?

She didn’t have to, because just then the doorbell sounded and he unhurriedly made his way towards it.

Roberta automatically hovered to see who would enter, her mouth going dry as a tall blonde entered the hallway. Her hair was long—waist-length—and falling turbulently around the camel-coloured coat draped across her shoulders.

She glanced towards Roberta, her exquisite features hardly registering any reaction. The glance was part of a brief sweep before her deep navy eyes settled lingeringly on Grant.

‘Ready?’ she asked in a throaty voice, and he nodded, sparing Roberta a backwards glance.

‘See you later. And make sure that Emily gets to bed at a reasonable hour, would you?’

‘Of course.’ Roberta resisted the urge to salute, not that he would have seen anyway. He had already been halfway out of the door when he had addressed her.

So that’s one of his brainless beauty queens, she thought. And I fancied that I would have to be careful with him.

She laughed scornfully at herself. You’ll have to put a brake on that imagination of yours, my girl—it could get quite out of control.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS surprising how quickly you became accustomed to different surroundings.

After five days, Roberta could almost feel her body acclimatising to the intense cold, or maybe she had simply become more adept at protecting herself from it. And London seemed several light years away.

Had she really wasted all that time torturing herself over her abortive relationship with Brian? She must have been mad. Mad to have been conned out of her money in the first place, and mad to have then proceeded to spend her hours agonising over her stupidity.

From where she was standing now, it seemed positively easy to be philosophical about the whole mess.

Her relationship with Emily was still unpredictable, but getting better. The bouts of sulking were becoming less frequent, and conversation was proving less of an enormous effort than she had originally thought it was going to be.

There was still a lurking suspicion that one hesitant step forwards might be rapidly followed by two very decisive ones backwards, but Roberta was beginning to discover how to handle that situation.

It really wasn’t difficult. As soon as you remembered that Emily was insecure rather than headstrong and defensive rather than aggressive, then it was fairly easy to go from there.

And the sheer joy of exploring Toronto in the company of someone who knew it intimately was enough for Roberta to put up with anything.

‘But I’ve seen all this stuff before,’ Emily had objected at the start. Roberta had been inflexible.

‘I haven’t,’ she had stated firmly, ‘and we’re going to explore this city if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.’

‘Some attitude from an au pair,’ Emily had grumbled ill-humouredly, but she had allowed herself to be led, and had gradually taken over the reins of tour guide.

They braved the cold to travel the city centre in the streetcars, and when the cold became unbearable, they ducked into any one of the massive shopping malls to recuperate in front of cups of coffee and doughnuts.

Roberta browsed in the shops with Emily, smilingly refusing to be talked into buying anything.

‘Why are you so tight with your money?’ Emily asked, as they strolled through one of the department stores. She was still young enough, despite her attempts at adult behaviour, to get away with the most appallingly direct questions.

Roberta shrugged. ‘I haven’t got a great deal of it,’ she confessed. ‘Not everyone is blessed with a limitless source of funds,’ she added drily, smiling when Emily’s face contorted into a sardonic grimace.

‘Blessed? Ha! Dad lavishes material things on me because it eases his conscience.’

‘You mean because he spends so much time at work?’ Roberta asked absent-mindedly, fingering the soft wool of a cashmere coat which cost the earth.

‘At work and at play,’ Emily replied darkly. ‘You saw the type of woman he goes out with and, believe me, she’s one in a long line of them.’

Roberta hurriedly changed the subject. She preferred not to talk about Grant Adams. It made her uncomfortable—she could already feel herself getting hot under the collar at the thought of him. Talk about double standards. How could he possibly expect his daughter to be well-behaved and old-fashioned, without a wayward streak in her body, when the only example of behaviour set before her was in the shape of him?

There I go again, she thought wryly, getting all het up thinking about him. It was just so damned frustrating. She resented the way he had the power to stimulate in her a host of emotions which she had always been quite successful at submerging.

Not even Brian had had that effect on her. Which, she now thought, strolling away from the cashmere coat in case Emily produced another quip about her stinginess, just went to show how much she disliked the man.

Her feet were killing her by the time they made it back to the house. Shopping in a mall in Toronto, she had decided several days ago, was similar to walking ten times around Hyde Park. Except infinitely more lethal on the bank balance and, in weather like this, far more comfortable, which made it even worse.

To cope with the cold, shopping was an enclosed affair. A vast quantity of shops, all under one roof and, she had soon discovered, all linked by the underground system.

Now, as she eased her weary feet out of her boots and lay back on the bed, she decided that bankruptcy could be very easy to achieve. A cashmere coat here, a pair of trousers there, some bits and pieces of underwear, and before you knew it you were on the quick road downhill.

There was a knock on her door and, without getting up from the bed, she yelled, ‘Come on in,’ only sitting up abruptly when she realised that it wasn’t Emily or Mrs Thornson, but Grant.

‘Hello,’ she said, shifting off the bed and on to one of the chairs in the room.

He leaned against the door-frame and looked at her.

‘Hard day?’ he asked.

Roberta nodded, wondering what he was doing in her bedroom and wishing he would clear off. Something about that tall, lean frame sent prickles through her. ‘Yesterday we went to the harbourfront, and today we went to some of the malls.’ She paused. ‘I feel as though I’ve left my legs behind somewhere. I’m only now beginning to realise how unfit I am.’

He moved across to the window and she followed his movements, noticing how gracefully he moved for someone so powerfully built. He had clearly just returned from work, was still in his suit, and she thought, another early day? What was the significance of this one? She had seen nothing at all of him recently, ever since his leggy date had shown up at the house, and she was beginning to believe Emily when she had said that her father played as hard as he worked.

Men, she thought acidly—weren’t they all the same? Out to enjoy themselves, whatever the cost? And looking at him now, framed by the window, the bedroom light throwing the sharp contours of his face into relief, she told herself that he was a typical male, but more so. He had limitless women at his disposal, and he took every advantage to exploit that fact. How long had Miss Legs of the Year been on the scene? she wondered. A few weeks? Maybe longer? Only to be discarded when another model took his fancy? She decided that she heartily disapproved of him, and right now she particularly disapproved of him standing there by the window without showing any signs of leaving.

‘Don’t you exercise?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow.

‘Have you come to make polite chit-chat?’ Roberta asked. ‘If so, I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘You certainly know how to get to the point, don’t you?’ he said drily, not budging.

‘I just think that this isn’t exactly a suitable place to conduct a conversation.’

There was the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he looked at her, and she flushed.

‘Emily seems to have taken to you,’ he commented. ‘I’ve just come from chatting with her, and she tells me that you’re all right, she supposes, which is tantamount to a eulogy.’

Roberta smiled. ‘She can be charming when she forgets that rebellious image she’s trying to cultivate.’

‘You’ll have to let me in on your secret,’ he drawled, but there was enough of a hint of seriousness in his voice to make her look at him sharply.

‘No secret,’ Roberta responded lightly. ‘I just take time with her. If she throws a sulk, I let her, but I don’t let it affect me. It’s difficult to be constantly ill-mannered to someone when they don’t respond.’

‘You think I don’t handle her correctly, then.’

‘I never said that.’ She stood up pointedly and walked towards the door, hovering once she had reached it.

‘You seem to have mastered the art of not saying anything, but nevertheless making your meaning perfectly clear. I suppose you disapprove of my lifestyle, and I’m sure Emily hasn’t been backward in supporting that.’

Roberta stared at him, unsure whether he expected an answer to that one.

‘She doesn’t mention it, really,’ she hedged, feeling quite awkward now that she had got to her feet, but had found herself unable to actually leave the room.

‘I don’t believe that for a minute,’ Grant remarked lazily. ‘The child barely utters two words to me, but she makes herself perfectly clear on the subject of my women.’

Roberta didn’t say anything. Suddenly the room was feeling very small, and images of Grant with his women flashed through her head with such graphic detail that she was alarmed. Why was it that whenever she was in his presence, it was always so damned hard to draw the line between her professional status and her private one? Much as she disliked it, he made her conscious of the fact that she was a woman.

‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ she murmured vaguely.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ He strolled across to where she was standing, and as he looked down at her she realised that the room was feeling much smaller now. In fact, it was difficult to breathe evenly.

‘I think we ought to go down for dinner,’ she said as firmly as she could. ‘Mrs Thornson gets quite upset if we don’t eat on time. She likes to get away at a reasonable hour, especially as she has to use public transport to get back to her house. She says that winter’s a dreadful time to be standing in a bus shelter waiting for a bus.’

‘Perhaps I should get her a car.’

‘Wouldn’t it be cheaper just to make sure you eat dinner on time?’

Those amazing green eyes were pinning her against the wall. She felt very much like a helpless moth fluttering too close to an open flame. It wasn’t a very pleasant feeling. Remember, she told herself, what happened the last time you got too close to an open flame.

‘I make money,’ he said coolly. ‘But once it’s made, I don’t count it.’

‘Lucky old you. How nice to be in that position.’

‘I don’t suppose as an au pair that you are,’ he said speculatively. ‘Is that why you took this job? Because it was well paid?’

Roberta shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Among other things.’

‘What other things?’

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said decisively, ‘I’m going downstairs now. I don’t relish the thought of Mrs Thornson’s anger if she’s kept waiting around.’

She turned to go, and his hand closed over her wrist. ‘Wait just a minute. Forget about Mrs Thornson. You won’t be having dinner here tonight. You’ll be having dinner with me.’

‘Is that an order?’ Roberta asked after a while. ‘I wasn’t told that having dinner with the boss was to be part of my duties.’

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