In Need Of A Wife

She had never been called pretty. Tyler had said she was elegant. Fine bones, a long neck and the straight fall of black hair to below her shoulderblades had been her main attractions to him. She wondered what Nathan Parnell saw in her, apart from her skin. She did have fine skin, but she had always thought of it as pale, not creamy, and tonight there were signs of stress and fatigue under her eyes. The last few weeks had not been easy.

Sasha put down the hairbrush and strolled into the kitchenette. A cup of coffee, then she would see what was on TV. She switched on the percolator, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction in not having to consider anyone but herself.

She hadn’t seen Nathan Parnell all day. Mrs Bennet had told her he and Matt had gone visiting; Sasha didn’t ask with whom or where. She was determined not to show any interest in him. But Mrs Bennet had told her other items of interest.

She and her husband rented the servants’ quarters on the other side of the main kitchen. Nathan Parnell employed them as his housekeeper and handyman. This very convenient arrangement gave rise to grave suspicions in Sasha’s mind.

Nathan Parnell liked convenience. He also used the law to suit himself. Seagrave Dunworthy’s highly eccentric will could very well be an invention of Nathan Parnell’s fertile mind. It had brought him the Bennets, who obviously served him well, believing they were the recipients of remarkable good fortune. With the same good fortune extended to Sasha, he might be counting on getting himself a compliant wife.

If so, he could think again. Desperate situations required desperate solutions, but Sasha couldn’t believe her situation would become so desperate she would consider marriage in any circumstances to Nathan Parnell.

The more Sasha pondered her position here, the more it seemed to her that it didn’t matter whether Seagrave Dunworthy was an authentic person or not. All she had to do was believe in him implicitly and esteem him so highly that no one could ever fault her on that score. The terms of his will not only allowed her to live here cheaply, but also independently of Nathan Parnell’s good will or humour. As long as she paid her rent within the required time on Fridays, Nathan Parnell could have nothing to complain about.

The percolator boiled.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ she called, wondering what Mrs Bennet had forgotten to tell her this time.

Sasha poured coffee into her cup, heard the door open; then realised several moments passed without a word being spoken. Surprised into looking for the reason, Sasha lifted her head and was abruptly jolted out of her complacency. Marion Bennet was not her visitor at all. It was Nathan Parnell.

He stood by the opened door, apparently as transfixed by the sight of her as Sasha was by him. He was dressed in navy trousers and a white shirt, yet Sasha was instantly assailed by a sense of dangerous intimacy and a heart-choking awareness of dangerous virility.

Her mind registered shirt buttons left undone, a deep V of tanned chest with a sprinkle of dark curls, rolled-up shirt-sleeves, muscular forearms, the damp sheen of hair freshly washed, electric blue eyes that sent sizzling sensations pulsing to sensitive places.

She was suddenly, flamingly conscious of her nakedness under the silk of her robe. Her skin sprang alive with awareness. Her nipples tightened. She searched frantically for something to say, anything to disrupt the current of serious sexuality flowing between them.

‘I thought it was Marion Bennet.’

He didn’t seem to hear. She needed something less obvious, more earth-shaking. Nothing came to mind.

‘How striking you look in that vibrant blue.’ His deep baritone voice seemed to throb through her. His mouth slowly curved into a whimsical smile that was somehow loaded with sensuality. ‘I don’t suppose you’re wearing it for me.’

‘No.’

‘What a waste.’

Sasha desperately gathered her wits, determined not to be drawn into anything she didn’t want. ‘I have to thank you for suggesting this accommodation,’ she said, trying for a neighbourly attitude.

His smile broadened. ‘Your gratitude would be better directed to Seagrave Dunworthy. I was merely the intermediary. A cup of coffee will be repayment enough.’

‘I was getting ready for bed.’

‘So was I.’ The blue eyes twinkled wickedly. ‘And I thought of you.’

‘As an afterthought of the day’s activities?’

Sasha laughed. It was the only way to break the tug of his attraction and hopefully lift the conversation to a lighter note.

‘The day’s activities concerned you. I went to see Hester Wingate.’

‘Is that someone else who’s left some kind of marvellous will from which I can benefit?’

‘No, but she’s working on it. And she wants your services.’

‘In what capacity?’

‘Marion told me your profession was finding things. Hester is eager to employ your expertise.’

‘You got me a job?’

‘To make sure you could pay the rent.’

And keep me here, Sasha reasoned. Nathan Parnell was irrepressible, and probably ten steps ahead of her. She had no doubt that behind the twinkling eyes was a determined will to have his own way. He was not shy of playing any trick to get it, either. What have I let myself in for? Sasha wondered, then tried again to assert some control over the situation.

‘Don’t you think it’s rather improper to visit me in my bedroom? Is this what I’m to expect?’

He shrugged. ‘You’re free to evict me if you want. But then you wouldn’t know about the job.’

He had an indisputable point there. She needed work. She also needed this accommodation. But she didn’t need a husband who didn’t love her and Bonnie.

‘Does a cup of coffee cover that favour as well, or are you expecting more?’ she asked in dry challenge.

‘I like mine black and two sugars,’ he said, and promptly shut the door.

‘Sit at the table. I’ll bring it over,’ Sasha instructed, wary of allowing him to set a cosier scene. As it was, he hadn’t really answered her question and she wanted some firm distance between them. Like a good solid slab of wood.

‘Did Bonnie settle down OK?’ he asked affably, lessening her tension by doing as he was told.

‘Sound asleep,’ she replied.

‘So is Matt,’ he said with satisfaction.

Which instantly put the thought of bed in Sasha’s mind. She fought off the idea that Nathan was thinking their children were conveniently accounted for. He had gained admittance to her room, but it was more than ten steps to her bed and she was definitely not going to give him any encouragement whatsoever in that direction.

Having surreptitiously checked that her robe was securely wrapped around her, Sasha took both cups of coffee to the table and settled herself on the chair opposite his.

‘Now tell me what this job is about,’ she invited, intent on keeping strictly to business.

His mouth twitched. ‘Muck-raking.’

‘Then I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time on my account. I’m not into scandal or anything defamatory that would hurt other people.’

She placed her elbows on the table, picked up her cup, lifted it to her mouth and sipped, hoping he would take the hint that the reason for him being with her was now limited to coffee-drinking.

He grinned openly, undeterred by dismissals or hints. ‘Hester Wingate is ninety-two years old. Or, at least, that’s what she admits to. She’s probably older. She’s the last of her tribe. All her friends, brothers, sisters have passed away. There are a few old scores she never got to settle. But that doesn’t deter Hester. She wants the information for the other side.’

‘What other side?’

‘The vast beyond. The next life. I’m not quite sure how Hester sees the other side—whether they’re all going to be together in heaven, or hell, or somewhere entirely different. But whatever it is, Hester wants to be prepared for them who done her wrong in this life.’

Sasha couldn’t help being amused. ‘Well, that does rather change the situation,’ she conceded. ‘You mean she wants to muck-rake in the far past about people who are dead and gone.’

‘Precisely. Every last skeleton in every last closet. Nothing to be overlooked.’

‘Can she afford my services?’

‘What do you charge?’

Sasha hesitated. She really needed a good substantial job. If the old lady was a pensioner, it was unlikely she could pay much, but anything was better than nothing in her present straitened circumstances, and often one job led to another.

‘The accepted rate is twenty-five dollars an hour plus expenses, but most people can’t afford too many hours at that rate,’ she said with rueful honesty. ‘Usually, because I can’t get much done in an hour, I put in a couple of hours for every one I charge.’

‘Well, that’s one way to get rich,’ he drily remarked.

It made Sasha feel defensive, which drove her to an aggressive reply. ‘It takes a long time to dig up real substance.’

‘I’m sure it does,’ he agreed. His eyes twinkled with infectious good humour, completely defusing any offence given. ‘Hester has a lot of old scores to settle. If you’re any good at giving her what she wants, you may end up being fully employed for years.’

The prospect of full employment for a while sounded too good to be true. Sasha’s suspicions were aroused. ‘Precisely who is this Hester Wingate and what connection do you have with her?’

‘I’ll take you to meet her if you’re interested in the job. I do her legal work.’

‘Then the law is still your profession.’

He shook his head. ‘I only do it for Hester because no one else would put up with her.’

‘A favour, you might say,’ Sasha prompted.

‘Very much so.’

And a favour for a favour seemed very much down Nathan Parnell’s alley. Sasha’s suspicions moved up a notch. ‘She sounds extremely eccentric.’ And possibly primed for the part by her legal consultant.

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