Hot Pursuit (5 page)

‘Not exactly.' Matt could have strangled Gloria as she stood there enjoying his discomfort. Clearly she thought he was making the whole thing up and she wanted him to have to admit it. Casting her a malevolent look, he ushered Rosie away towards the Range Rover. ‘I'll tell you all about it as we go
home,' he promised, flicking the key fob to unlock the vehicle. ‘Okay?'

‘But you have found a new nanny, haven't you, Daddy?' Rosie asked, clambering, with his assistance, into the front seat. ‘You weren't just saying that?'

Matt reflected again how adult Rosie was at times. He had no idea what he was going to say to her. He couldn't lie to his daughter, but equally he had to come up with a reasonable explanation of who Sara was and why she was staying at the house.

If she was still there when he got back, he acknowledged. She could have taken the keys he'd left on the counter in the kitchen and made another attempt to start her car. Once she found it was operable, she was a free agent. Whatever he thought, she'd have no reason to stay.

He sighed, fitting his keys into the ignition, and Rosie gave him a troubled look. ‘What's wrong, Daddy?' she asked shrewdly. She hesitated. ‘Is it because you haven't found a nanny? Did you just say that because you don't like Mrs Armstrong? 'Cos that's all right. I don't like Rupert and Nigel either.'

Rupert and Nigel! Matt raised his eyes heavenward for a moment. Nobody but Gloria Armstrong would have called those two imps of Satan
Rupert
and
Nigel
. Rosie was always telling him some story or other about what they'd got up to in the classroom, about how Mrs Sanders was forever sending them to the head teacher for extra discipline.

But grumbling about the Armstrongs wasn't going to help him now. Choosing his words with care, he said, ‘A young woman did come to see me today. Not from the agency,' he added quickly, holding up a hand to prevent Rosie from interrupting. ‘She's a visitor. Her car broke down at the bottom of the road and she came to ask if she could use the phone.'

Rosie's face dropped. ‘So she's not a nanny?'

‘No.' Matt shook his head. ‘But she is going to stay with us, at least until tomorrow. So I want you to be especially nice to her.'

Rosie sniffed. ‘So who is she? Why is she staying with us?'

‘I've just explained,' said Matt patiently. ‘Her car broke down and—she can't get it fixed until tomorrow.' May God forgive him the lie. ‘She's nice. I think you'll like her.'

‘What's her name?'

‘Sara. Sara Victor. What do you think?'

Rosie shrugged, and Matt thought at first that she was going to reserve her opinion until she'd met their visitor. But he was wrong. His daughter was simply considering her options.

‘Perhaps she'll want to stay,' she said at last, with childish optimism. ‘If she likes it here, she might want to take the job.'

Matt made no response to this. He was already regretting having to discuss Sara's arrival with her. But then, he'd known he'd have to give some explanation to his daughter. Unfortunately Gloria Armstrong had precipitated the event.

It seemed to take for ever to get back to Saviour's Bay. Now that she knew about Sara, Rosie wasn't interested in talking about her day at school. She just turned the conversation back to Sara, and he eventually gave up trying to talk about anything else.

She wanted to know Sara's age, what she looked like, where she came from. If she was on holiday, what was wrong with her car? The questions came thick and fast, and Matt dreaded getting back to Seadrift and finding that Sara had gone. He didn't know what he'd tell his daughter if that happened. And, however slight the association was, he knew Rosie would be very disappointed, too.

Would he be disappointed?

That was a question he chose not to ask himself. Yet he knew he was curious about Sara as well. From a professional point of view, he assured himself firmly. As a psychological case, she interested him greatly. But that was all it was, he told himself. He had no interest in her as a woman at all. The days when he'd allowed his hormones to govern his actions were long gone. Any relationships he had were short and rarely sweet. Which suited him.

It was something of a relief to find that the hired Ford was still parked where Sara had left it. If it wouldn't have caused complications that he chose not to get into right now he'd have
shifted it inside his own gates. But towing it would require her assistance, and she might just be tempted to try and start it herself.

‘Is that her car?' asked Rosie, peering over her shoulder as they drove up the private road to the house. ‘What's wrong with it?'

‘I've already told you. I don't know,' said Matt, disliking the untruth almost as much as his own behaviour. ‘Can you sit still? We're almost there.'

‘Where is she?'

Rosie was still full of questions, and Matt expelled a weary breath. ‘I expect she's in the sitting room,' he said shortly, hoping Sara hadn't been invading the rest of the house. He didn't think it was likely. She'd seemed quite happy in the spacious sitting room, with its broad windows that overlooked the sweep of the bay.

Rosie had her door open as soon as he stopped the car, jumping down onto the paved forecourt, dragging her canvas bag behind her. Scurrying round the corner of the building, she briefly disappeared from view, but Matt could hear the dogs barking as she reached the back door.

Striding after her, he saw her stop outside the dogs' compound and open the gate. Then, after bending to fuss over the two animals, she turned to enter the house. ‘Don't,' yelled Matt, but it was too late. Rosie had already opened the door, and the retrievers bounded boisterously after her.

By the time he reached the kitchen Rosie and the dogs had disappeared, but he could hear them rampaging into the sitting room, barking again. There was shouting, mostly from Rosie, and laughter, which he was amazed to identify as coming from his visitor, and when he arrived at the sitting room doorway he was confronted by a scene he'd never expected. Sara was down on her knees, fussing over the animals, and Rosie was standing watching her with a look of delighted anticipation on her small face.

It was a long time since he'd seen Rosie so animated with someone other than himself, and he felt a twinge of guilt for neglecting her, for making her a hostage to the life he chose to
lead. It hadn't been so bad when they'd had Hester. She'd compensated for the extended family Rosie didn't have. But since Hester had retired Rosie had had only his parents to rely on. And, apart from the fact that they lived in Cumbria, they were enjoying their retirement too much for him to inflict a lively seven-year-old on them very often.

But Rosie was evidently enjoying herself now, and he suspected Sara was, too, though she sobered a little and scrambled to her feet when he appeared. He noticed she'd discarded the strappy shoes in favour of going barefoot, and he wondered why he was suddenly struck with the fact of how sexy bare feet could be.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, distracting himself. Collecting his wayward thoughts, he indicated the dogs. ‘I couldn't stop Rosie from letting them in.'

‘That's okay.' Sara brushed her skirt, dispersing a fine cloud of dog hairs into the atmosphere. ‘I had to meet them again sometime.'

‘Sara, don't you like Hubble and Bubble?' demanded Rosie indignantly, and Matt gave an exasperated sigh. He could do without this.

‘Not everyone's as mad about dogs as you are, Rosie,' he retorted, his tone sharper than it might have been because of his own reactions. He forced himself to look briefly in Sara's direction before adding, ‘And I don't recall your being given permission to call our guest by her first name. I think you should apologise.'

Rosie flushed at the reproof, but before Matt could feel any remorse Sara intervened. ‘I don't mind,' she said, smiling at the little girl. ‘What was it you called the dogs? Hubble and Bubble?' And, at Rosie's nod, ‘Well, I suppose they introduced us, didn't they?' She held out her hand towards the child. ‘I'm very pleased to meet—all of you.'

Rosie was completely won over. Matt could see that. Any concerns she'd voiced on the way home from school were totally dispelled by the warmth of Sara's smile.

Conversely, Matt wasn't sure now that that was what he wanted. It was one thing feeling sorry for the woman, and quite
another seeing his daughter responding to her undoubted charm. He knew absolutely nothing about her, he reminded himself irritably. He certainly didn't know why
he'd
invited her to stay.

‘I'm pleased to meet you,' Rosie was saying delightedly, casting a triumphant glance up at her father. ‘Daddy says you're going to stay with us. I hope you do.'

‘Oh—well, it's just for one night,' Sara murmured a little awkwardly. ‘It's very kind of your father to invite me.'

She didn't know the half of it, thought Matt, raking long fingers through his hair, but before he could respond Rosie jumped in again. ‘But you do like it here, don't you?' she asked. ‘Are you on holiday? Or are you looking for a job?'

Now Matt saw it was Sara's turn to look disconcerted. ‘I— I haven't decided,' she said at last, a faint flush tingeing the skin of her throat. The unsuitable voile dress exposed a fair amount of her neck and throat, he noticed, and, as if conscious of this, she crossed her arms at her midriff, one hand seeking to protect herself from his eyes. ‘This is a very—beautiful place.' She glanced towards the windows, the tip of her tongue touching her parted lips. ‘I think you're very lucky to live here.'

Matt found to his annoyance that his eyes were following her tongue's sensual exploration. And he felt impatient with himself for being so immature. For God's sake, he was a grown man, not a schoolboy. What was there about this woman that affected him so?

‘That's what Daddy always says,' exclaimed Rosie now, rather wistfully, and Matt wondered if he was depriving his daughter of a social life. Seadrift was remote. There was no getting away from it. But he resented the thought that a stranger should bring it to mind.

‘I'm sure he's right,' Sara murmured, no doubt for her own reasons, he thought savagely. He didn't need her endorsement. In fact, he needed nothing from her, he thought irritably. She bent to pat the two retrievers, exposing the dusky hollow of her cleavage. ‘You probably couldn't keep these two rascals if you lived in a town.'

‘Do you live in a town?' asked Rosie. Then, without pausing, ‘Would you like to live at the coast?'

Matt stiffened. ‘Rosie!' he said warningly, half afraid he knew what was coming. But he couldn't stop her. It was too late.

‘'Cos Daddy's looking for someone to come and look after me,' she explained eagerly. ‘You wouldn't have to do much. Just take me to school and stuff. You wouldn't really be a nanny,' she ran on, ‘'cos I'm too old for that. But you could live here—couldn't she, Daddy? And then I wouldn't be always getting in your way when you're working, like you said.'

S
ARA
didn't want to feel any sympathy for Matt Seton, but she couldn't help it. She saw the look of anguish that crossed his lean tanned features at the child's careless words. He obviously cared deeply about his daughter, and it hurt him to hear her describe the way she thought he thought about her. She sensed he was fostering all the remorse of a single father who was obliged to employ strangers to care for his child while he earned them both a living.

But she also glimpsed a thread of anger in the gaze he directed towards her, and she wondered if he thought she had engineered Rosie's innocent invitation.

‘I—' She strove to find an explanation for not accepting the position that wouldn't offend the little girl. ‘It's very kind of you, Rosie—'

‘But Miss Victor is heading off tomorrow,' put in the child's father harshly, before Sara could finish, and, despite the fact that she'd been about to say something similar, Sara felt her hackles rise at his callous dismissal. ‘Besides,' he went on, rather maliciously, she thought, ‘I'm sure our visitor would find our way of life very dull.'

Rosie looked crestfallen now. ‘Would you?' she asked, her dark eyes, so like her father's, gazing up at Sara in mute appeal. Sara thought it would have taken a harder heart than hers to resist her, but once again Matt Seton saved her the trouble.

‘Of course she would,' he essayed flatly. ‘Now—shall we get these animals out of here before they shed any more hair?'

Rosie's lip jutted. ‘If you say so.'

‘I do say so,' declared her father inflexibly, ushering the two retrievers into the hall. ‘If you'll excuse us, Miss Victor?'

It was a perfunctory enquiry at best, and Sara expelled a breath before lifting her shoulders in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Is there anything I can do?' she asked, deciding there was no point
in pretending that she could go against his wishes, however enthusiastic Rosie might be.

Matt Seton paused in the doorway. ‘You're a guest,' he said simply. ‘If you'll excuse me, I'll go and see what my housekeeper has left for our evening meal.'

Sara took a couple of steps after him. ‘It's early yet,' she protested. Then, with inspiration, ‘Don't these dogs need exercising or something? I—Rosie and I could take them for a walk.'

‘I don't think so.'

His cold denial came only seconds before Rosie's, ‘Oh, why not, Daddy? We often take the dogs out after I get home from school.'

‘
We
do,' he said, emphasising the personal pronoun. ‘Besides—' he gave Sara another impatient look ‘—Miss Victor doesn't have any suitable footwear.'

‘I don't need shoes on the beach,' she exclaimed, the idea growing on her. She found the prospect of running along the shoreline, paddling in the cool waters of this northerly sea, more and more appealing. She couldn't run away from her troubles. She knew that. But perhaps this was a way to escape from them for a while. ‘We wouldn't go far. I promise.'

‘I'm sorry.'

He was adamant, and her spirits plummeted. But how could she blame him really? She hadn't exactly behaved responsibly this far.

‘You could come with us, Daddy.'

Clearly Rosie wasn't prepared to accept his refusal without an attempt to change his mind, and Sara sensed he was torn by the knowledge that he was on the point of disappointing her once again.

‘Rosie,' he began, a little wearily, but she evidently sensed he was weakening.

‘Please, Daddy,' she begged, clutching his hand. ‘You need the exercise, too. You're always saying so. Come on. It'll be fun.'

Matt looked as if that was the last word he'd have used to
describe the proposed outing, and, judging by the look he cast in her direction, Sara guessed he blamed her entirely.

But this time he wasn't prepared to risk another rift with his daughter. ‘Well,' he began slowly, ‘perhaps for half an hour—'

He wasn't allowed to finish. Rosie squealed with delight, throwing her arms around his hips and hugging him tightly. Matt's hands were gentle on her shoulders, but over his daughter's head his eyes told Sara a different story. However, she wasn't prepared to deal with his resentment; not now. Glancing out of the window again, she saw that although the sun was still fighting with the clouds a stiff breeze was flattening the grass on the cliff top. She would wear her jacket, she thought, concentrating on the needs of the moment. There was no point in risking a chill, however bleak her future looked at present.

They left the house through the kitchen, but this time they turned away from the front of the house. Instead, they followed a grassy path through a walled plot where wallflowers grew in wild profusion and rambling roses covered a latticed trellis, their scent evocative on the afternoon air.

The dogs bounded ahead, their flowing tails wagging excitedly as they led the way across the cliffs to where a rocky path meandered down to the beach. They were obviously used to this walk, and although they occasionally turned back to ensure that their human companions were following they needed no encouragement.

‘This is lovely, isn't it, Daddy?' exclaimed Rosie, who had thrown off her school blazer and was jumping up and down beside the adults. ‘Aren't you glad you came now?'

Matt's mouth compressed for a moment, before the smile he reserved for his daughter appeared again. ‘I guess,' he said drily. Then, with a disturbing look at Sara's feet, ‘Are you sure you want to go down here without shoes?'

Sara had been wondering the same thing, but his sardonic words hardened her resolve. ‘I'm sure,' she said, going ahead as if she was used to negotiating rocky paths in her bare feet every day. She started down with a confidence she didn't feel. ‘No problem.'

In fact, her feet felt as if they'd encountered every sharp stone
on the path by the time she reached the bottom. It was only by a supreme effort of will that she stopped herself from crying out at times. Still, the soft sand was balm to her bruised soles, and she strode off towards the water with real enthusiasm.

After a few moments Rosie joined her, and then, after assuring herself that Sara was all right, she raced off in pursuit of the dogs. With a feeling of inevitability Sara realised she was going to have to be content with Matt Seton's company, and she was hardly surprised when he said drily, ‘Not as easy as it looked, was it?'

‘I'm not as fragile as you seem to think,' she retorted, catching her breath when she inadvertently trod into a pool of cold water. Then, forcing her mind away from her own problems, she took a deep breath and said, ‘I never realised there were still untouched beaches like this in England.' She looked about her. ‘It's amazing!'

‘Oh, Robinson Crusoe has nothing on us,' remarked Matt, matching her mood. ‘Despite the isolation, it's a good place to live.'

‘I can believe it.' She sighed, and then caught her breath again as an errant wave drenched her ankles. ‘What made you choose it?'

‘Its remoteness from London?' he suggested. And then, as if aware that his answer had raised more questions, he went on, ‘No, I am from this area originally. I guess that's why it appeals to me.'

‘But you used to live in London?'

Her audacity surprised her, and she was quite prepared for him to remain silent. But then he said, ‘For my sins. When I left university it was the place to be.' He paused. ‘How about you, Miss Victor? Are you a runaway from London, too?'

‘You don't run away from places,' she retorted recklessly, and was instantly aware that she'd aroused his interest.

‘No, you don't,' he agreed. ‘Which begs the question, who are you running away from?' He waited a beat. ‘Who—or what?'

That was too close for comfort, and, taking advantage of the fact that he was still wearing his shoes, she trod further into the
water. It was cold, and her skin feathered instinctively, but anything was better than fencing words with a man who was proving far too perceptive for her peace of mind.

To her relief, Rosie provided a distraction. Seeing that Sara was in the water, albeit only up to her ankles, she came running back to join them, peeling off her own shoes and socks with obvious intent.

‘No, Rosie.' Her father grabbed the little girl before she could scamper into the water. ‘It's too cold yet,' he insisted, ignoring her protests. ‘Miss Victor was just coming out—weren't you, Miss Victor?'

Sara didn't have a lot of choice. Besides, the water was proving much cooler than she'd anticipated. ‘That's right,' she said, avoiding his eyes in favour of the child's. She stepped out onto the damp sand and smiled at Rosie. ‘Look, I've got goose-bumps.'

Rosie struggled to get over her disappointment. ‘Have you?' she asked doubtfully, and Sara squatted down beside her to help her put her shoes on again.

‘Everywhere,' she assured the little girl, indicating her wrists and bare legs, and knew the instant when Matt Seton joined his daughter in assessing her appearance.

She was immediately conscious of the fact that the hem of her skirt had fallen back to mid-thigh, exposing her knees and several inches of flesh above them. Matt's eyes seemed to touch her skin and, although she knew it was crazy, she felt that appraisal deep within her bones.

Heat, strong and totally inappropriate, flooded her chilled limbs, and she couldn't wait to get to her feet and put some distance between them. She wasn't attracted to this man, she told herself fiercely. She couldn't be. Not in her present situation. After the way Max had treated her, she'd always believed she'd never want to get involved with any man ever again, and for all she knew Matt Seton might be just like him. After all, he looked bigger and stronger, and therefore more dangerous.

When she tried to get to her feet again, however, her legs gave way under her. Her bruised hip screamed with pain when
she tried to straighten it, and she sank down onto her knees in total humiliation.

But, the damp sand had barely had time to coat her skin before hands fastened about her upper arms and helped her up again. Favouring her uninjured leg, she managed to support her weight with an effort, and even managed a light tone as she said, ‘Sorry about that. I must have lost my balance.'

Matt let her go with obvious reluctance. ‘Are you sure that was all it was?' he asked, and she could tell from his expression that he distrusted her story. ‘I think we'd better be getting back,' he added, whistling to the dogs, and she was grateful he was giving her time to pull herself together.

‘I fall over all the time,' said Rosie comfortingly, trying to reassure her. ‘Do you want to hold my hand?'

‘Thanks.' Sara forced a smile, even though she knew her face must look pinched. ‘I think I'm all right now.'

And it was true. She could put her weight on her injured hip again now. Not heavily, of course, and not with the freedom with which she'd come down the cliff path. But, as before, it got easier as she moved forward, and she faced the climb with only a small amount of trepidation.

Even so, going up the cliff was much different from coming down. Each step required an effort, and although Rosie surged ahead, Matt insisted on following behind. She didn't truly believe he was doing it because he got some pleasure out of watching her struggles, but she was very relieved when she reached the top.

She longed to sink down onto the grass then, and allow her aching limbs to relax, but she didn't dare. She had to keep going until she got back to the house at least. Even then she had to remain on her guard. Or Matt might get even more suspicious. She already knew he was not an easy man to deceive.

Back at the house, with the dogs corralled in their compound in the yard, Rosie was sent to change her clothes and Sara asked if it would be all right if she went to her room. ‘I'd like to have a wash,' she said, picturing the bed where she had rested earlier with real longing. ‘If you don't mind.'

Matt regarded her consideringly. ‘Why don't you have a bath?' he suggested. ‘I expect you're feeling quite stiff.'

Sara sucked in a breath. ‘Why do you say that?' she demanded, and he lifted his shoulders in a careless gesture.

‘Well, you have had a long drive,' he pointed out mildly, and she dipped her eyes to hide the relief that rose in her face.

‘I—I see,' she said, glancing about her for the haversack which she'd left behind when they went out. She managed a slight smile. ‘I suppose you're right.'

‘Why else would your legs give out on you?' he queried, and she wondered just how innocent his remarks really were.

‘I—they didn't give out,' she protested. ‘I told you. I lost my balance.'

‘I know what you told me,' he returned, taking off the cream sweater he'd pulled on over his black tee shirt when they'd left the house. He smoothed his ruffled hair with long-fingered hands. ‘Okay. Have it your own way. But I'd still get in the bath if I were you.'

Sara straightened up. ‘I might do that.'

‘Be my guest.'

She was aware that he watched her as she left the kitchen. She didn't know what he was thinking, but she knew she hadn't done anything to improve his opinion of her by collapsing on the beach.

It was surprisingly easy to find the room where she'd rested earlier. She could hear Rosie clattering about in her room, which was apparently further along the galleried landing, but Sara went into her own room and closed the door behind her. Then, sinking down onto the side of the bed, she allowed her body to sag with relief. Exhaustion rounded her shoulders and she allowed her wrists to fall loosely between her knees.

Had he believed her? Or did he suspect that there was more to her conduct than a simple stiffness in her spine? No doubt he had a computer. He'd need one for his writing. Was he even now combing the Internet for any story that might match her unconvincing explanation?