Passion & Pleasure: Savage Awakening / For Pleasure...Or Marriage? / Taken for His Pleasure

She hesitated. ‘Um—tea would be nice,’ she said at last. ‘Do you need any help?’

Matt’s mouth compressed. ‘Why? Do I look as if I do?’ He plugged in the kettle. ‘No, don’t answer that. My ego’s not up to it at the moment.’

A trace of humour touched her lips. ‘I’m sure that’s not true either.’ She wrapped her arms about her midriff. ‘What did Diane tell you about me?’

Matt didn’t want to get into that. ‘Not a lot,’ he said, not altogether truthfully. He unloaded some steak and a couple of pre-cooked meals into the fridge. ‘I guess Amy’s at school right now, isn’t she?’

Fliss nodded. ‘She’s in year five at the village primary. You must have seen the school as you drove through.’ She paused and then went on. ‘So—do you need a housekeeper?’

Matt was taken aback. He wasn’t used to people speaking their minds so openly. Since his return, the opposite had been true. Even his mother verbally tiptoed about him, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what he might do if she said the wrong thing. But Fliss Taylor…

‘I—I need some help around the house,’ he agreed neutrally.

‘And when Diane told you I used to work for Colonel Phillips, you thought snap! She can work for me, too.’

Matt abandoned the rest of the shopping and propped his hip against one of the mahogany units. ‘It wasn’t quite like that.’

‘But that is why you approached me in the car park,’ she persisted, and he gave a concessionary shrug.

‘All right. I admit, I thought about it.’

Her brows drew together. ‘But now you’ve changed your mind?’

‘No! Yes!’ Matt heard the kettle boiling and turned gratefully to make the tea. He sighed. ‘You make it sound as if I could have no other reason for speaking to you. We’re not exactly strangers, for pity’s sake. I mean, I made no complaint about your daughter dumping her rabbit on my doorstep, did I?’

‘Gee, thanks.’

Her sardonic response was hardly unexpected and he turned to face her again with weary compliance. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘That was uncalled-for. You both thought the house was empty. I know that. But, just for the record, when I first came out of the showroom and saw you across the car park, the idea of asking you to work for me was far from my mind.’

And that was true, he conceded, half amused by the admission. But with the sun adding gold lights to the coppery beauty of her hair, she’d been instantly recognisable. And, although the prospect of offering her a job had given him a reason to speak to her, he might have done so anyway.

Or not.

Her sudden decision to leave the doorway and cross the room towards him disrupted his thought processes. For a crazy moment, he wondered if something in his face had given her the impression that he was attracted to her and he moved almost automatically out of her way.

He realised his mistake when she cast him a pitying glance and reached instead for the two mugs he’d filled with hot water. With casual expertise, she spooned the two used tea bags into the waste bin and then said drily, ‘I don’t like strong tea. Do you?’

Matt felt furious with himself as he shook his head. For heaven’s sake, he was doing everything he could to reinforce the opinion she probably already had of him. Cursing under his breath, he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk. He set it down on the counter beside her rather more heavily than was wise and predictably some spilled onto the marble surface. He swore again. ‘Sorry.’

Fliss added milk to both cups. Then, cradling hers between her palms, she said softly, ‘Did I do something wrong?’

Matt felt a wave of weariness envelop him again. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘It’s not you. It’s me. Like I said before, I’m not finding it easy to—to interact with people.’

Fliss frowned. ‘Is that why you’ve moved out of London?’ she asked, and then coloured. ‘Oh, sorry. It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘No.’ He conceded the point. ‘But it’s the truth.’ He picked up his own cup and swallowed a mouthful of tea. ‘I needed some space. London offers very little of that.’

She absorbed this, her eyes on the beige liquid in her cup, and, against his will, he noticed how long her lashes were. For someone with red hair, they were unusually dark, too, but lighter at the tips, as if bleached by the sun.

His jaw tightened. As if it mattered to him. She could be a raving beauty, with a figure to die for, and he wouldn’t be interested. He wondered what she’d say if he told her that.

‘I suppose Diane’s parents said this house was for sale,’ she ventured now, and Matt accepted that she deserved some explanation.

‘No,’ he assured her. ‘As you might have guessed, Diane isn’t in favour of me moving out of London. I found the house on a property website. It sounded exactly what I was looking for so I bought it.’

‘Sight unseen?’ She was obviously surprised.

‘Well, I had Joe Francis, an architect friend of mine, look at it,’ he said, a little defensively. ‘And I did speak to the Chesneys. They seemed to think it was OK.’

‘And what do you think, now that you’ve moved in?’

‘I like it.’ He smiled in spite of himself. ‘I’ll like it better, of course, when it feels less like a mausoleum and more like a home.’

Fliss glanced about her. ‘Colonel Phillips didn’t think it was a mausoleum.’

‘No, well, he probably kept the place furnished.’ He paused, wondering how much he should tell her. ‘That’s what I was doing in Westerbury. Buying some furniture that won’t look out of place in these rooms.’

‘From Harry Gilchrist,’ she said, and Matt quirked an eyebrow.

‘You know him?’

‘He lives in the village,’ she said regretfully. ‘I suppose he recognised you.’

Matt finished his tea and set his empty mug down on the counter. ‘Did he ever,’ he said, pulling a wry face. ‘Oh, well, I guess a week is better than nothing.’

‘You might be surprised.’ Fliss finished her own tea and, to his surprise, moved to the sink to wash up the cups. ‘Most of the villagers tend to mind their own business.’

‘Do they?’

Matt spoke almost absently, his eyes unwillingly drawn to the vulnerable curve of her nape. She’d tugged her hair to one side and secured it with a tortoiseshell clip, and the slender start of her spine was exposed.

He wasn’t thinking, or he would have looked away, but instead his eyes moved down over the crossed braces of her dungarees. A narrow waist dipped in above the provocative swell of her bottom, the loose trousers only hinting at the lushness of her hips and thighs. Her legs were longer then he’d imagined, her ankles trim below the cuffs of her trousers.

‘What do you mean?’

Her words arrested whatever insane visions he had been having, and he shook his head as if that would clear his brain. For God’s sake, what was he doing? And what was she talking about? He was damned if he could remember.

‘I beg your pardon?’

His apology was automatic, but her expression as she turned towards him fairly simmered with resentment. ‘You said, Do they?’ she reminded him tightly. ‘What did you mean?’

Matt didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. For a moment there, he’d been entertaining himself with the thought that he was just the same as any other man. Of course, he wasn’t, but she didn’t know that. And she probably thought he was leering at her like any other member of his sex.

‘You know,’ she said flatly, as he struggled to answer her, ‘when you said Diane hadn’t told you a lot about me, you were lying, weren’t you? Have the decency to admit it.’

‘You’re wrong.’ Matt blew out a breath. ‘Whatever I said, it had nothing to do with anything Diane had said about you. But, OK, she didn’t tell me that you were still at school when you got pregnant. However, that has nothing to do with me.’

‘Damn right.’

There was a catch in her voice now, and Matt silently cursed Diane for getting him into this. ‘Right,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest. ‘So, shall we put that behind us and start again?’

‘Whatever.’ She finished drying the cups and moved towards the door. ‘I’d better be going. Amy will be home from school now and she’s quite a handful for my father.’

‘I’ll bet.’ He kept his mind firmly on what she was saying and not on the curling strands of red-gold hair that had escaped the clip and were bobbing beside her cheek. He chewed at the inside of his cheek for a moment, relishing the pain as a distraction. ‘You—er—you wouldn’t still consider working for me, I suppose?’

She halted, but she kept her back to him as she spoke. ‘Doing what, exactly?’

Matt knew an almost overwhelming urge to touch her then. She suddenly seemed so vulnerable, so alone. Which was ridiculous really, considering she had a father and a daughter who probably thought the world of her. Yet he sensed that he’d hurt her and he didn’t know how to repair the damage.

He thought about asking what she used to do for Colonel Phillips, but that would sound as if he was being flippant and he couldn’t have that. Instead, he prevaricated. ‘Whatever needs doing,’ he said. ‘I won’t expect you to do anything I wouldn’t do myself.’ He paused. ‘I guess what I need is help, that’s all. Just a few days a week if that suits you.’

Fliss shrugged. ‘I can do that,’ she said. Then she half turned, looking at him over one creamy shoulder. ‘With one proviso.’

‘Which is?’

‘I won’t work for you when Diane comes to live here,’ she said. ‘This is only a temporary arrangement—’

‘Diane won’t be coming to live here,’ he broke in impulsively, and he saw the look of disbelief that crossed her face.

‘But she’s your fiancée!’

‘She’s my—what?’ Matt stared at her. ‘She told you that?’

‘Yes.’ She looked uncertain. ‘She is, isn’t she?’

Matt allowed a sound of frustration to escape him, realising he couldn’t deny they had had a relationship. ‘We—she and I—we have been involved, yeah,’ he admitted unwillingly.

A faint smile touched her lips. ‘I thought so,’ she said, and he had to stifle the urge to explain that the situation—his situation—had changed.

‘That still doesn’t alter the fact that she’s not going to be living here,’ he said instead, more forcefully than was necessary. ‘Diane’s a city person. She works in London. It wouldn’t be feasible for her to move down here.’

Fliss held up her hand as if to stop him. ‘Not immediately, I understand that—’

‘Not at all,’ he said flatly, and knew he was being far too obdurate. He took a deep breath. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think that’s your business—’

‘I mean, about the job,’ he said grimly, not altogether sure she wasn’t mocking him, and she shrugged.

‘When would you want me to start?’

Matt’s initial reaction was to say, How does tomorrow suit you? But tomorrow was Saturday and he doubted she’d want to start then.

‘Would Monday be OK?’ he asked. ‘Your friend, Gilchrist, is delivering the furniture I ordered on Monday morning. I’d be glad of your help.’

‘All right.’ She pushed her hands into the pockets of her dungarees. ‘I’ll come over about nine, does that suit you?’

‘That’s great,’ he said, and as she moved out into the hall he followed her. ‘See you Monday, then.’

‘Monday,’ she agreed, opening the door before he could get past her and do it for her. ‘G’bye.’

Matt waited until she’d turned her car and driven away before he closed the door and sagged back against it. He felt exhausted and he didn’t honestly know why. It wasn’t as if she’d said or done anything to deplete his energies and yet he felt drained. And strangely let down, which was something new for him.

Straightening, he made his way back to the kitchen and surveyed the room with frustrated eyes. What was wrong with him now, for God’s sake? He’d just completed a satisfactory shopping trip and found himself a part-time housekeeper into the bargain. What more did he want?

A hell of a lot more, he conceded grimly, but it wasn’t going to happen. Nevertheless, for a short time there he’d found himself having thoughts he hadn’t had since he’d got back from North Africa. He didn’t kid himself it meant anything. Despite what his doctors had said, he knew he was never going to be the man he was. But Fliss Taylor was different. She intrigued him. And, like anyone else, he responded to that.

He knew he’d never met a female who was as unaware of herself as she was. There was no artifice about her, no desire to draw attention to herself, no overt sexuality. Yet she was all woman, with a soft innocence that any man would have found challenging.

Any man but him, that was, he reminded himself, the reason for his sense of dissatisfaction no longer so obscure. He picked up one of the mugs they had used and flung it across the room, uncaring when it shattered against the Aga. He had to keep reminding himself he was only half a man, he taunted himself savagely. And if that was true, what the hell was he doing hiring a housekeeper who aroused any kind of feelings inside him?

Chapter Five

‘I’VE got another job.’

Fliss made the announcement as her father came into the kitchen to have his breakfast on Saturday morning. She’d intended to tell him the previous afternoon, but Amy had been home and it would have been difficult to have a private word with him then. Well, that was her excuse, anyway.

Now, however, Amy had had her breakfast and had gone out into the garden with Harvey. The child and the golden retriever were racing round the lawn at present, chasing a ball that Amy was trying to play with and generally tearing the place up. Fliss decided she would have to have a word with Amy later. She was getting too old to act so irresponsibly.

Her father took a seat at the table as Fliss set a pot of coffee and a rack of toast in front of him, and then said stiffly, ‘With Matthew Quinn, I assume?’

Fliss pressed her lips together, surprised by his attitude. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Only in the sense that you apparently forgot to mention that he was the Matthew Quinn I was talking about,’ he remarked coldly, and her heart dropped. Her father had gone out for a drink the evening before and Fliss had been in bed when he’d got home.

‘I suppose you heard the news at the pub,’ she said, turning back to the sink to hide the hot colour that had stained her cheeks.

‘From at least half a dozen different sources actually,’ he replied, and she knew he was hurt that she hadn’t confided in him. ‘D’you want to tell me how long you’ve known you were going to work for him?’

‘Just since yesterday,’ she protested, turning to rest her jeanclad hip against the drainer. ‘But I couldn’t tell you who he was, Dad. He’s come down here to try and escape the media.’

‘He told you that, did he?’

‘Not in so many words, no. But he said he needed some space. More space than he had in London, anyway.’

‘Space!’ Her father was scornful. ‘Why do you young people think you need so much space? How much space did my father have when he was fighting in the trenches? The man’s spent less than two years as a prisoner of war, if you want to call it that. Some of my father’s men spent twice as long as that in German prison camps and there was no red carpet laid out for them when they got home.’

‘I know that.’ Fliss was defensive. ‘In any case, I don’t know what you’re getting at me for. All I did was respect the man’s privacy.’

George Taylor’s nostrils flared. Then, as if acknowledging that she had a point, he heaved a sigh. ‘I just wish you’d trusted me, that’s all,’ he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot. ‘I can keep a confidence as well as anyone else.’

Fliss’s brows arched. ‘This confidence?’ she asked sceptically, relieved to see he was looking a little less severe. ‘Come on, Dad, you wouldn’t have been able to resist it. Knowing Matthew Quinn was living in the Old Coaching House. What a scoop that would have been!’

Her father’s lips pursed. ‘If he’d asked me to keep his identity a secret, I’d have done so.’

‘Oh, and how was he going to ask you that?’ Fliss stared at him. ‘You’d have had to have gone to see him. Can you imagine how I’d have felt if you had?’

‘Well, it’s a moot point now,’ declared her father curtly. ‘Harry Gilchrist couldn’t wait to spread the news. I suppose that’s when you saw him, too. When you went shopping in Westerbury. Was that why you forgot the netting?’

Fliss could have denied it, but there didn’t seem much point. ‘I suppose so,’ she said, turning back to the sink. ‘Anyway, I’m starting on Monday. Just mornings, I expect. Like I used to do for Colonel Phillips.’

‘Huh.’ Her father didn’t sound too happy. ‘I don’t know why you insist on demeaning yourself like this. Doing other people’s housework. It’s not what I hoped for you, Felicity.’

‘Oh, Dad!’ Fliss didn’t want to get into that again. ‘Until Amy’s older and I can go into Westerbury to work, there aren’t a lot of jobs around.’

‘What about working for Lady Darcy? She needs a social secretary, and I know she’d look very kindly on your application. She was only saying the other day—’

‘I’m happy as I am,’ said Fliss quickly, suppressing a grimace. The idea of being a companion—dogsbody—to the wife of the local member of parliament didn’t appeal at all. At least what she did gave her a small measure of autonomy. Or it had when she’d worked for Colonel Phillips.

‘Oh, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ declared her father casually, buttering a slice of toast, and Fliss was compelled to turn and look at him again.

‘Warn me?’ she echoed, regarding him with puzzled eyes. ‘Warn me about what?’

‘I thought you knew who he was,’ said her father blandly, and Fliss’s nails dug into her palms in frustration.

‘I do know who he is,’ she said, wondering where this was going.

‘Then you’ll know there have been rumours about his mental state since he got back from Abuqara,’ remarked her father, reaching for the marmalade. ‘Oh, here comes Amy.’ His smile irritated Fliss anew. ‘Hello, sweetheart. I hope you and Harvey haven’t destroyed any of your mother’s precious flowers.’

Amy gave her mother a rueful look. ‘Not deliberately,’ she said, as the retriever went to beg beside his master’s chair. ‘I think Harvey knocked the heads off a couple of roses, that’s all.’

Fliss shook her head, but she was too disturbed by what her father had said to offer much in the way of chastisement. ‘I wish you’d be more careful,’ she muttered, finishing the dishes and drying her hands on a paper towel. Then, ‘Do you want to come down to the Black Horse with me? I want to check on my hours for next week.’

‘Ooh, yes!’ exclaimed Amy, who enjoyed being fussed over by Patrick Reardon, the landlord. ‘Can I?’

‘May I?’ Fliss corrected automatically, as her father said.

‘Is that wise? Taking the child down to the pub? Do you want her to get into bad habits?’

‘Like yours, you mean,’ retorted Fliss tartly, but her heart wasn’t really in it. What had her father meant? That Matthew Quinn had mental problems? Or was he simply using some gossip he’d heard to spoil Fliss’s enthusiasm for her new job?

Whatever, Fliss decided that now was not the time to tackle him on it. Besides, on the whole, Matthew Quinn had struck her as a perfectly normal human being. OK, maybe he had problems interacting with people, but you didn’t have to have been a political prisoner to feel that.

When she was younger, she’d had a similar problem. An only child, she’d been painfully shy with boys, envying girls like Diane who found it so easy to flirt with the opposite sex. No wonder Terry Matheson had taken advantage of her. She’d been ripe for the taking.

It wasn’t until she’d gone to university that she’d learned to have faith in herself again. Which was why she felt such a debt of gratitude to her parents. It was also why she hated to disappoint her father now. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Matthew Quinn did have psychological problems. But, despite his dangerous appearance, she’d liked him. And she couldn’t believe Diane would be involved with someone she couldn’t trust.

Nevertheless, as she cut through the churchyard on Monday morning on her way to the Old Coaching House, Fliss couldn’t deny a frisson of apprehension. Working for Matthew Quinn was not going to be like working for Colonel Phillips. For one thing, Colonel Phillips had spent most of his days in a wheelchair. He’d spent his mornings doing the daily crossword in his newspaper, and his afternoons dozing in the conservatory that adjoined the morning room. He’d been sweet and amenable, and always willing to adapt his needs to hers.

No one would make the mistake of describing Matthew Quinn as ‘sweet.’ And, although he’d seemed amenable enough when he was asking her to work for him, only time would tell.

Still, if she didn’t like working for him, if he proved an impossible employer, she’d be out of there. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have another option. Lady Darcy beckoned, and working for her might not be as bad as she anticipated.

A gate opened from the churchyard into the grounds of the house. Colonel Phillips had used it in the days when he’d attended church, but latterly Reverend Jeffreys had called at the house himself to give the old man the sacrament.

Beyond the gate, a flagged path wound around an overgrown vegetable garden before climbing steadily towards the terrace. Tall trees, ash and poplar mostly, bordered lawns badly in need of mowing. Flowering shrubs flanked the path, but they were gradually choking the life out of the perennials that grew between them.

The place needed a gardener, thought Fliss, but since Colonel Phillips went into hospital six months ago there’d been no money to pay Ray Jackson, who used to do the work. She wondered if Matthew Quinn would employ him. He didn’t seem the type to do all the work himself.

Deciding he wouldn’t expect her to use the front door, Fliss knocked at the back door instead. A fleeting glance through the window revealed that her employer wasn’t in the kitchen. She hoped he was up. She wanted to get started.

And finished, she admitted ruefully as another shiver of apprehension rippled down her spine.

When no one answered her knock, she tried again, using a piece of wood she found beside the step instead of bruising her knuckles. A piece of Buttons’s hutch, no doubt, she mused, dropping the stick again. Which reminded her she really would have to get some netting. The rabbit was still waiting for his run.

There seemed to be no movement in the house and, sighing, Fliss glanced about her. Foolishly, she’d expected Matthew Quinn to be waiting for her, ready to tell her what he wanted her to do. Instead, the place seemed deserted. Surely he hadn’t forgotten she was coming?

Biting her lip, she laid her hand on the door handle, and then nearly jumped out of her skin when it opened to her touch. Just like the haunted house in that movie she’d watched with Amy, she thought, glancing behind her once again. Matthew Quinn must be up, she told herself fiercely. The door would have been locked otherwise.

Pushing it open, she stepped into the kitchen. At least this was familiar territory, and she looked around, expecting to see breakfast dishes littering the sink. But, although at some time someone had made coffee and left the dregs in the pot, it was stone cold. Clearly, he hadn’t had breakfast. So where on earth was he?

‘Mr Quinn!’

Moving across the tiled floor, Fliss was acutely aware of her shoes squeaking against the terrazzo tiles. Colonel Phillips had had the kitchen updated about fifteen years ago, long before she had come to work for him, and he’d chosen the décor. She supposed it was old-fashioned by today’s standards, but she liked it.

‘Mr Quinn!’

She called his name again as she emerged into the short corridor that led to the entrance hall. Now that she had time to look about her properly, she could see how dusty the place had become. There was even paper peeling from the wall halfway up the staircase, probably torn when the colonel’s furniture had been moved out. It was a shame, but flocked wallpaper was definitely not a fashion statement these days. The whole hall and staircase needed stripping and redecorating. It would look wonderful with a fresh coat of paint and some light, cheerful wallpaper.