She kept her gaze straight ahead. ‘It doesn’t do to make enemies.’ She had enough of those as it was. ‘He thinks I’m exploring my options and that he’s number one on my go-to list. Besides, I didn’t want to burn our bridges where he was concerned until after you’d read your letter.’ Who knew when they might have to consult with him again?

He didn’t say anything so she forced herself to smile up at him. ‘I’ll save squashing him for another day.’

Her heart started to thump. Hard. She had to tread carefully—very carefully. She was in danger of turning this man into her Sir Galahad. Just as she’d done as a ten-year-old...and throughout her early teens—the fantasy boy who’d ride up on his white charger and rescue her.

She scowled and picked up her pace. Well, she was no damsel. And Rick Bradford wasn’t a Sir Galahad in anybody’s language.

CHAPTER FOUR

NELL BUSTLED ABOUT the kitchen, putting the coffee on to percolate, arranging some of those sugary confections with their over-the-top frosting and decorations onto a plate and setting it on the table.

While Rick was aware of Nell’s activity, all he could focus on was the letter he’d placed on the table. Sun poured in through the windows over the sink and a warm breeze wafted through the wide open back door and the kitchen gleamed in spotless—if somewhat crowded—cleanliness. And yet none of it could hold his attention.

The envelope sat on the table and the black capitals seemed to sneer at him. He deliberately turned to Nell. ‘When did you move back in here, Princess?’

‘Friday.’

His head snapped back. ‘Friday? As in five days ago?’

‘That’s right.’ She poured out two mugs of steaming coffee. She wore another frock. This one was white with cherries printed all over it and she had a red patent leather belt cinched at her waist.

She’d moved in on Friday, met all of her weekend orders, had dealt with the suit and had found the time to help him out too? And she hadn’t complained. Not once. She hadn’t made him feel as if he were in the way or as if she had more important things to do.

Why?

Because of a silly incident fifteen years ago and a sense of responsibility to a dead man? He dropped into a chair, his chest heavy.

She sat too. She glanced at the letter, but she didn’t ask about it. Instead, she selected a cupcake and cut it into quarters, sliced one quarter in half and with the crumb delicately held between thumb and forefinger she brought it to her mouth. Her lips closed about it and she let out a breath, her eyes half closing.

He swallowed. If the taste and texture of salted caramel did that to her, he wondered what she’d look like if she licked whipped cream from his—

He shot back in his chair, hot and hard. Hell! Where had that come from? Gritting his teeth, he tried to shake his mind free from the scent of sugar. He gulped coffee instead and scalded his tongue.

‘Ignoring it won’t make it go away.’ She broke off another crumb. He averted his gaze as she lifted it towards her mouth. She was silent for a moment. ‘You really aren’t sure yet if you do want a brother or a sister, are you?’

He’d already told her that. ‘You don’t get it?’ Why he’d expected her to understand he couldn’t begin to explain. They might’ve grown up in the same neighbourhood, but they came from completely different worlds.

‘I think I do. You’re afraid this unknown sibling will reject you.’

Her candour sliced into the heart of him. He held himself tight so he couldn’t flinch.

‘I’d be afraid of that too.’

The simple admission eased some of the previous sting. ‘Who in their right mind would reject you, Princess?’

‘I know. It’s inconceivable, isn’t it?’ She lifted her nose in the air and gave an elegant shrug, but it was so over the top he found himself biting back a grin.

He let a part of the grin free and reached for a cake.

‘You’re afraid your history—having been to jail and whatnot—will mean they won’t want anything to do with you.’

He bit into the cupcake, barely tasting it.

‘And yet you’re also afraid your sibling could be on the same path you were, that he or she may need help.’

It took all of his strength to swallow without choking. Acid churned in his stomach.

‘There’s no easy answer to any of that, is there?’

He couldn’t bear to look at her. He wasn’t sure he could stand the sympathy he suspected he would find in her face. He pushed his chair back and sat side on to the table.

‘You do know you don’t have to address those concerns yet, though, don’t you?’

Very slowly, he turned back to her. Her face wasn’t full of sympathy, but rather no-nonsense practicality.

‘You can find out who this sibling is and then make the decision about whether to approach them or not.’

She had a point. In fact she made a very good point. He straightened. If all was well and good in his sibling’s life, he could walk away without a pang.

Liar.

If all weren’t well, maybe he’d find a way to help them anonymously.

Or maybe he’d introduce himself. Maybe he’d give family another shot and—

He clenched his eyes and closed his mind to that possibility. It was too soon to think about it, too soon to get caught up in the fairy tale Nell harboured—that this would end well for everyone. This was the real world and, more often than not, in the real world things didn’t work out.

That didn’t change the fact that on this point she was right—he didn’t need to make every decision at this current moment in time. He went to reach for the envelope when she said, ‘It’s also occurred to me...’

She bit her lip. It made her look incredibly young. He pulled his hand back. ‘What?’

She grimaced. ‘What if John left a letter for your sibling with sleazy solicitor Garside—to be opened at some future date?’

He stiffened.

‘What if at some time in the future this sibling turns up on your doorstep? Wouldn’t it be better to...’ She trailed off as if she didn’t know how to finish that sentence despite all of her surface polish.

His hand clenched to a fist. ‘You’re saying forewarned is forearmed?’

They stared at each other for a moment. Eventually she shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying.’

Her chin lifted. ‘Yes, I do. I’m saying read the darn letter, Rick, and then maybe you’ll enjoy your cupcake.’

It surprised a laugh out of him. The Princess had changed from the shy little kid and the awkward teenager. He wanted to ask her about the transformation, only he suspected she’d chide him for changing the subject and avoiding the obvious.

And she’d probably be right.

He tore open the letter. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing. It didn’t stop the skin of his scalp tightening over until it became one big prickling itch.

The envelope contained a single sheet of folded paper. His hand trembled—just for a fraction of a second—and that sign of weakness make him want to smash something. He glanced at Nell to see if she’d noticed, but she was intent on reducing her cupcake to a pile of crumbs. He let out a breath and unfolded the sheet of paper.

He stared and stared.

And then he let loose with the rudest word he knew.

Nell jumped. Her chin shot up. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Sorry,’ he growled. Not that he felt the least bit remorseful.

She moistened her bottom lip and he was suddenly and ravenously hungry. For a moment it seemed that if he could lose himself in her for an hour he’d find the answer to ease the burn in his soul.

As if she’d read that thought in his eyes, she drew back, but pink stained her cheeks and her breathing had grown shallower. If he wanted, he could seduce her. Right here, right now.

If he wanted...

A harsh laugh broke from him. Oh, he wanted all right, but there was always a price to pay for seducing a woman. The price for this woman would be too high.

He leapt out of his chair and wheeled away, his hands clenched to fists.

‘Please don’t punch a wall. I already have enough holes to mend.’

Her words couldn’t drag even a ghost of a smile from him.

‘I take it, then, that you recognise the name John has given you?’

Name? Ha! He wheeled back and thrust the letter at her. With a wary glance up at him she took it. She stared at him for two beats more, looked as if she wanted to say something, and then with the tiniest of shrugs turned her gaze to the letter.

She frowned. She turned it over and then back. She held it up to the light. The frown deepened to a scowl. She slammed it down to the table. ‘But this doesn’t make sense!’

‘It’s obviously some kind of code.’

‘A code?’

She swore then too and it surprised him so much his head rocked back.

‘Of all the mean-spirited pieces of spite!’ She leapt up, hands clenched and eyes narrowed, as she paced up and down beside the table. ‘Not only does he spend your entire childhood ignoring you—’ she flung an arm out ‘—but now he plagues you with nonsense and taunts you with a carrot he keeps whisking out of reach.’

She ended on an incoherent growl of frustration. Rick eased back to lean against the wall. The Princess wasn’t just cross—she was hopping mad. In fact, she was a great big ball of boiling rage.

She stabbed a finger in his direction. ‘If I could get hold of him now I’d make his ears burn, let me tell you.’ She slammed a hand to the table. ‘Well, we’ll just crack that code! And to hell with him!’

She glanced at Rick, stilled and then rolled her shoulders. ‘What?’

‘Who are you really angry with, Princess?’

The colour leached from her face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She took her seat and crossed her legs, polished and smooth once more.

He sat too. Even though he knew he should leave.

She pushed the sheet of paper back across to him. ‘All of these letters and numbers—they have to mean something.’

Did he really want to bother with any of this? He raked both hands through his hair and fought the exhaustion that washed over him. If he walked away now, what would be the worst-case scenario?

The answer came to him too swiftly. He reached for a cupcake, needing the sweetness to counter the bitterness that rose up through him. The worst-case scenario would be at some point in the future to come face to face with a younger version of himself—a kid he could’ve helped. A kid he’d chosen to reject in the same way John had rejected him. How could he justify walking away to that kid when he’d had the chance to discover the truth?

Could he live with that?

Maybe, but in his bones he knew he didn’t want to.

Damn it all to hell!

He came back to himself to find Nell copying the code onto a notepad. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Making a copy.’

‘Why?’

She’d taken this too personally—as if John had lied to her.

‘I’m going to do an Internet search on codes tonight to see what I can find out.’

‘Nell, this isn’t your problem.’

‘That’s not what it feels like.’ She finished and pushed the letter back towards him. ‘Besides, it won’t hurt to have a copy.’

He supposed not.

‘C’mon.’ She rose. ‘We haven’t checked John’s cottage yet. There might be a box or two of his belongings left behind, something that might give us a clue.’

He rose. What he should do was thank her for her help, and tell her this was no longer her problem. Except...it wouldn’t hurt to check out where John Cox had spent over thirty years of his life. It might give him a sense of the man. He’d take anything to gain some leverage in this wild goose chase.

And then he could leave.

For good.

He couldn’t prevent a sense of déjà vu when they stepped out of the back door and made their way across the terrace. The yellow heads of dandelions waved in the breeze. Nell pointed to one. ‘I’ve always kind of liked them. They’re cheery, don’t you think? I must’ve spread a whole forest of them throughout the garden. I loved it when they turned puffy and I could blow their seed heads and set them free. I used to think if I could blow the entire seed head off in one breath and make a wish it’d come true.’

‘Did your wishes ever come true?’

She lifted an eminently elegant shoulder. ‘I expect one or two must’ve, I made so many. Law of averages would suggest so.’

She was lying. He wasn’t sure how he knew. Maybe it was the way she lifted a hand to her face to brush an imaginary strand of hair back behind her ear. Maybe it was the way she studiously avoided meeting his gaze.

And maybe he was watching her just a little too closely? Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyes to the front.

They passed the garden shed. They moved beyond Nell’s first flowerbed until they reached the very back of the property. Nell pushed open a gate in a six-foot-high bamboo fence to reveal a cottage on the other side. Rick followed. ‘You’d have no idea this was here if you didn’t know about it.’

‘That’s the point. Heaven forbid that one should catch a glimpse of where the hired help live.’

He couldn’t tell from either her voice or her bearing whether she subscribed to that view or not. She didn’t give him the time to figure it out either, but strode up the two steps leading to the cottage’s veranda and reached for the door handle...and then came up short when it didn’t budge. She turned back to him with a shrug. ‘Locked. I wonder where the set of master keys for the property can be?’

He knew how to pick a lock...

Nell moved back down the steps, dropped to her knees and reached beneath the veranda. When she drew her hand back she held a key.

It hit him then that he wouldn’t be able to just walk away. Nell knew his father and this property like no one else did. If he wanted to solve this mystery he was going to need her help.

Nell was going to be the key.

* * *

Nell tossed the key to Rick.

He caught it as if he’d been catching curve balls all of his life. Which was probably true. She bit back a sigh. She couldn’t change Rick’s past any more than she could change her own.

‘You can do the honours,’ she told him.

‘Why?’

She blinked. ‘What on earth do you mean—why?’ She didn’t feel like explaining her ambivalence. ‘Because you’re closer.’

‘Was closer,’ he corrected.

How was it possible for this man to divine her private moods so accurately? Who are you really angry with? She shied away from that one. ‘As far as I know, this place hasn’t been disturbed in months. If there’re any creepy-crawlies in there you can encounter them first.’

‘I’m not buying that for a moment, Princess. I just saw the way you stuck your hand beneath the veranda. You’re not afraid of spiders or insects.’

‘What about ghosts?’ The words shot out of her before she could pull them back. She grimaced at his raised eyebrow. ‘Not a literal one. Ghosts from the past.’

She ruffled out the skirt of her dress to give her an excuse not to look at him. ‘This area was always out of bounds to me when I was a child. I’m still not feeling a hundred per cent easy being here.’

‘Princess, you own this cottage. It’s yours. You have every right to be here.’

She lifted her chin and considered him. He raised that eyebrow then, as if daring her. She plucked the key from his fingers, stuck it in the lock and turned it. ‘I don’t even know if the power’s still connected.’ She swung the door open, but when she tried the switch, light flooded the room.

She stepped inside with Rick at her heels. The door led straight into the living room. ‘I’ve never been in here before,’ she murmured, ‘so I don’t know the layout.’

This room and the adjoining kitchen were sparsely furnished but, other than a faint layer of dust, it was remarkably clean and tidy. She strode across to the kitchen area and hunted through the cupboards. ‘There’s some crockery, cooking utensils and cutlery, but there doesn’t seem to be anything personal,’ she said, turning back to the living area.

‘Not much in here either,’ Rick said, closing the drawer of the sideboard.

‘Maybe we’ll have more luck in the bedrooms.’

But, other than a bed, a mattress encased in plastic—presumably to protect it from the dust—and some linens, they found no trace of John Cox’s presence in either of the two bedrooms. It was as if he’d been washed away when the cleaners had come in. Whoever her father had hired, they’d done their job to perfection.

Nell dropped to the wooden chair that sat at the desk in the smaller of the two bedrooms. Had John used this room as a study? If so, what had he studied? What, other than gardening, had he been interested in?

Other than avoiding his paternal duties, that was.

She glanced at Rick. She couldn’t tell what impression the cottage had made on him. If any.

He turned as if he’d felt the weight of her gaze. ‘You were hoping we’d find something.’

‘Of course I was. Weren’t you?’

‘I thought it a fool’s mission from the beginning.’

Oh, great. She glared at the ceiling. So not only was she a spoiled little rich girl, but she was a fool too? She straightened when she realised what she was staring at. ‘A loft hatch.’ She rose and set her chair beneath it and then gestured for Rick to investigate further.

‘If there’s anything at all up there, Princess, it’ll only be porn magazines.’

‘Look, I’m not tall enough to reach it properly so just humour me, okay?’

He didn’t move. He just stared at her instead. She lifted her arms and let them drop. ‘If I have to go and get the ladder from the shed to do it myself I will.’

With a smothered something she was glad she didn’t catch, Rick hauled himself up on the chair and pushed the loft cover to one side. Pulling himself up, he peered inside.

Nell surveyed the way his forearm muscles bunched and the promise of bulging biceps. Not to mention the long clean line of his back. Her heart pitter-pattered. Her fingers curled into her palms, even as her tongue touched the corner of her mouth.

Rick had been a good-looking youth, but it was nothing to the man he’d become. And in those jeans there was no denying that he was all man.

And the stupid fluttering in her throat reminded her that she wasn’t the kind of woman who was immune to Rick’s particular brand of masculinity. Not that she had any intention of doing anything more than looking.

‘There’s something up here.’

That snapped her to. ‘What is it?’

If only it’d give them another piece of the puzzle. Or, barring that, a clue as to how to solve that stupid coded message.

‘I’m going up.’

With that, he disappeared completely into the ceiling space. Nell paced down below. ‘What is it?’ she called up again.

‘Some kind of box.’

‘Are there any photos in it? A family tree or birth certificates or—’

His face appeared at the hole and he laughed down at her. ‘You really are the eternal optimist, aren’t you?’

Her face fell.

‘It’s locked,’ he said. ‘Here—I’ll pass it down to you.’

She had to stand on the chair to reach it. When she was on the ground again, he swung himself back down beside her. ‘Don’t worry, Princess. I’m a dab hand at picking a lock.’

She couldn’t drag her gaze from the box.

‘Nell?’

She swallowed and forced her gaze up to his. ‘We won’t need to pick the lock.’ She handed him the box and reached up to open the locket at her throat. She removed the tiny key it contained.

His gaze narrowed. ‘Where did you get that?’

She touched the locket. ‘This was my grandmother’s. And that—’ she nodded at the box ‘—is her jewellery box.’

He stared at her and the lines around his mouth turned white. ‘John Cox stole your grandmother’s jewels?’

She laughed. It held little mirth, though it was better than sitting in the middle of the room and bawling her eyes out. ‘I don’t think he stole them. I think he probably saved them.’

Comprehension dawned in his eyes. ‘From your father?’

‘From my father.’ Before she’d died, her grandmother had owned a couple of nice pieces. Nell had thought them long gone.

He slung an arm about her shoulders and led her back into the living room. He placed the box on the tiny kitchen table and pushed her into one of the two chairs. He sat in the other. Even though he’d removed his arm she could still feel the warm weight of it and the lean coiled power of his body as he’d walked beside her. He smelt like dust and something smoky and aromatic like paprika.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’

Of course she was. It was just...she’d never expected to see this box again. She missed her grandmother. Seeing this only made her miss her more.

His face darkened. ‘Or would you prefer to take it back to the big house and open it in private?’

Her spine stiffened. Her chin lifted. ‘I never once thought you a thief, Rick Bradford!’ A temptation, definitely, and one she fully intended to resist, but a thief? No.

For a moment his slouch lost some of its insolence. ‘Goes to show what you know, Nell Smythe-Whittaker. My teenage shoplifting is on police record.’

‘I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.’ She pulled the box towards her, unlocked it and lifted the lid. Her breath caught. ‘Oh, her rings! I remember her wearing these.’ She had to swallow a lump. ‘My grandfather gave her this one.’ She touched a large diamond ring. ‘And this emerald belonged to her grandmother. The gold signet belonged to her mother.’ She lifted them out one by one and passed them to Rick.

‘The diamond and the emerald might fetch you a bit.’

‘I couldn’t sell them!’

She knew he wouldn’t understand her sentimentality, but...her grandmother was the only person in her life who’d loved her unconditionally.

‘How old were you when she died?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘That must’ve been tough.’

Sure, but it was nothing compared to all Rick had been through in his life. ‘Oh, look.’ She lifted a shoulder in a wry shrug. ‘John has left me a letter.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘He’s turning out to be the regular correspondent.’

Dear Miss Nell,

If you’ve found your grandma’s box then I expect you know why I hid it. I’m sorry I couldn’t rescue it all before your daddy got a hold of the diamond necklace.

She stopped to glance into the box. ‘Yep, gone,’ she clarified.

‘We only have John’s word it was your father who took it.’

‘And my knowledge of my father.’

Rick straightened. Unfortunately, it didn’t make his shoulders any the less droolworthy. ‘Hell, Nell.’

‘Hell’s bells, Nell, has an even better ring to it,’ she told him, resisting the sympathy in his eyes and choosing flippancy instead.

Who are you really angry with?

She cleared her throat and smoothed out the sheet of paper.

I know the old lady meant these for you, and I know you’d want to pass them on to your own daughters when the time comes.

Regards, John.

She folded the letter and put it back in the box. Silently, Rick put the rings back on top. Nell locked it. She pulled in a breath and then met his gaze. ‘Rick, would you please put this back where you found it?’

His head rocked back. ‘Why? You should at least wear this stuff if you’re not going to sell it. You should at least enjoy remembering your grandmother.’

In an ideal world...

She moistened her lips. ‘The set of master keys for Whittaker House are nowhere to be found. Until I find them I can’t...’ She halted, swallowed. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I can’t think of a safer place to keep them than where we found them.’

‘You’re forgetting one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I know where they are.’

‘I’ve already told you that I don’t believe you’re a thief.’

<1...3 4 5 6 7 9 >

На страницу:

Перейти

5 из 9