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The sensation of dread Sara had been experiencing off and on lately returned with renewed force.

‘Marc, you’re embarrassing me!’ Monica raised a delicate, well-manicured hand to her cheek as if to test the warmth of her skin. ‘No one believes in curses and superstitions today.’

‘I’d suggest that Brad might consider the possibility,’ Marc persisted undaunted, his eyes travelling from the wrapped wrist to the bandaged face.

‘Tea, Miss Fallon?' Sara broke the stilted silence following this observation as she fought to regain some semblance of normality within herself and the atmosphere in general. Monica was right. Curses and superstitions belonged in a different time and age. Still ...

‘Yes, please,’ the dark-haired woman replied, forcing a smile. She was obviously having a difficult time hiding her anger towards her brother.

‘Of course, you could possibly ward off the curse by marrying Monica right away,’ Marc suggested with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. ‘Though considering dear old Hanna’s aversion to Yankees, she might consider my sister better off a widow once the property was in her hands.’

‘I don’t enjoy your less than flattering insinuation that Brad would marry me simply to ward off a curse,’ Monica frowned.

‘You’re much too beautiful to be associated with any curse,’ Brad assured her gallantly.

‘And for a Yankee, you can be most charming,’ she purred in return.

‘Coffee or tea, Mr Fallon?’ asked Sara, controlling the tremor that threatened to invade her voice. Again she told herself that she didn’t care what Brad Garwood did or said, but this time the lie crumbled immediately. She felt as green as his eyes.

‘I’d prefer something a bit stiffer. It’s after twelve.’ Though the request was made to Brad, Marc’s attention focused on Sara.

Walking over to the walnut liquor cabinet built into the wall, Brad opened the intricately carved door. ‘Bourbon?’ he questioned over his shoulder.

‘Straight,’ Marc stipulated, continuing to concentrate on Sara.

‘Coffee, Mr Garwood?’ she questioned, feeling decidedly uneasy and wanting only to finish serving and escape.

‘Yes, please,’ he replied, handing Marc his drink before turning to accept his cup from her.

All three were standing very close and the heat of Marc’s gaze was causing Sara’s hands to sweat. ‘I don’t believe you’ve introduced this most charming addition to your household,’ Marc addressed Brad. ‘Don’t tell me that blue jeans are the newest uniform for nurses.’

‘Sara is my temporary housekeeper,’ Brad replied, his tone indifferent as if he found her presence a necessary bore.

‘If she’s looking for a more permanent position, I’m suddenly very seriously considering finding a place of my own.’ Marc’s voice held only the slightest hint of suggestiveness as he raised his glass in salute.

‘Sara is not a housekeeper by profession,’ Brad explained. ‘She’s an artist, and when she lost her apartment I offered her a position in my home until she could find other suitable quarters. Her family are well known to me and I felt compelled to aid her.’

Inwardly, Sara bristled, while outwardly she maintained an air of reserved calm. She knew that Brad was merely attempting to assure Monica that he had no designs on his housekeeper, but he didn’t have to make the situation sound so totally disagreeable where he was concerned. Then, in a more reasonable turn of mind, she realised that he was also protecting her reputation and that she should be grateful. However, gratitude and jealousy did not mix well.

‘How very gallant of you,’ Marc smiled drily. ‘I suppose fledgling artists do find it difficult to live on their work alone.’

‘You do look familiar,’ Monica broke into the conversation, as she concentrated her attention on Sara too. ‘Perhaps I’ve seen you at an exhibition.’

‘Perhaps,’ Sara managed in a calm tone. ‘Though I do have a very average appearance and am always being told I remind people of someone else.’

‘I suppose that could be the case,’ Monica mused in her soft Southern drawl, her hand going to smooth her black tresses as if to say she had never had the misfortune of being nondescript.

‘Do you have a gallery?’ Marc enquired, a touch of indulgent amusement towards his sister curling one corner of his mouth slightly.

‘Some of my works are on display at the Grimes Gallery,’ Sara replied, backing towards the door. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have dinner to prepare.’

Brad nodded his dismissal and she was gone before either of the Fallons could ask any more questions. Her escape, however, was not successful.

‘I’ve decided I want some ice to chill this Bourbon,’ Marc announced suddenly, his voice carrying to her out on the landing. ‘So I’ll just accompany your housekeeper to the kitchen. That will save her a trip back upstairs.’ Before anyone could offer an objection, he was out the door and by Sara’s side.

‘I must apologise for Marc,’ Monica’s embarrassed tones floated out of the living room. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him lately.’

‘Maybe it’s the alcohol,’ Marc suggested mischievously into Sara’s ear as they continued down the stairs. ‘Or maybe I’m beginning to believe in fairy tales. The prince did, after all, rediscover Cinderella and she was acting as the scullerymaid. The coincidence is too much to be dismissed as anything less than fate.’

Inwardly Sara cringed at this overt admission of recognition and quickened her step, not wanting to take a chance that Marc might raise his voice and give her away to his sister. ‘I thought you’d cast yourself in the role of my Fairy Godfather,’ she reminded him as they went into the kitchen and she took his glass.

‘I’ve decided to recast myself. You’re much too lovely and interesting a heroine for me not to want to play the hero.’ Suddenly a pained look flashed across his face. ‘Or do you already have your Prince Charming?’ he questioned, indicating the second floor with an upward glance.

‘No, I do not have a Prince Charming,’ she frowned indulgently as she handed him his drink now diluted with ice.

‘Only a lecherous Yankee?’ The words came out more as a question than a jest.

‘He’s not lecherous. He’s my employer and behaves in the utmost proper manner towards me,’ Sara stated firmly.

‘Then I can assume you have separate sleeping quarters,’ he queried bluntly as he downed the drink in one smooth swallow. Sara guessed it was not his first of the day.

‘My room is on this floor. Mr Garwood sleeps on the third floor,’ she responded frostily, her patience wearing thin.

‘I love it!’ Marc smiled broadly. ‘This is becoming more and more like the original story with every moment ... our heroine lives near the kitchen! I insist on playing Prince Charming!’

‘Then why don’t you return to your sister and Mr Garwood before you get me into trouble?’ she suggested tightly.

‘Only after you tell me the real story of why you’re here.' His expression was adamant and she knew she would have to tell him something.

‘Mr Garwood recognised me at the party,’ she began hesitantly.

‘You keep calling him Mr Garwood,’ Marc interrupted. ‘According to his version, he’s an old family friend.’

‘He’s a friend of my family’s, not a friend of mine.’ The coolness in her voice verged on splintered ice.

‘So you would have the world believe.’ He raised a sceptical eyebrow and then lowered it. ‘However, the prince never questioned Cinderella’s integrity and I won’t blotch the story line now by questioning yours. Now tell me, how exactly did you get from the party to this job?’

‘As I said,’ Sara began again, allowing indignant anger to flash in her eyes, ‘he recognised me at the party. When I left, he followed me and demanded to know what I was up to. I explained about my freelance writing to support myself while I pursued a career in art and he offered me a bargain. If I wouldn’t send in any stories about your sister and her friends, he would provide me with a job in which I could earn a living wage and still have plenty of time to devote to my art.’

‘And the noble Mr Garwood has made no advances towards his lovely scullerymaid?’ Before the words were totally out, Marc’s hand went up in a gesture of self-defence. ‘I wasn’t questioning your integrity, Sara, only that of your employer.’

‘He sees himself in the role of my reluctant guardian,’ she said, attempting to remain civil but finding it more and more difficult as her nerves continued to fray.

‘Men have a way of changing roles,’ he reminded her pointedly.

‘Monica is ready to leave,’ Brad’s cold tones sounded from the doorway before Sara could respond.

‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Marc threw over his shoulder with indifferent calm. Then taking Sara’s hand he carried it to his lips. ‘I don’t believe you told me your last name.’

‘It’s Manderly,’ she flushed, poignantly aware of Brad’s icy stare as he remained in the doorway waiting for his capricious guest.

‘We shall meet again, Sara Manderly, and next time I’ll remember to bring the glass slipper,’ Marc promised.

‘Goodbye, Mr Fallon,’ she frowned self-consciously, slipping her hand free and moving towards the refrigerator.

Although this ploy allowed her to turn her back towards the two men as Marc joined his host, she still felt Brad’s eyes on her as if it was a physical contact. Relief came only as the door swung closed.

It was, however, a short-lived relief. ‘What was all that about a glass slipper?’ Brad demanded, re-entering the kitchen only minutes later.

‘It’s a long story and I prefer not to go into it,’ she snapped back, still picturing him smiling down on Monica Fallon.

‘I don’t care what you prefer,’ he returned icily. ‘What Marc Fallon knows about you could be dangerous to me. Since he now knows your surname, he could very easily discover that your brother works for me as my Chief of Security. Putting two and two together and coming up with five, he could decide that you’re here to ensure my safety.’

‘You mean like one of those female karate experts who can take out ten men with a couple of kicks and punches,’ she questioned sarcastically, ‘or am I allowed to be the “Charlie’s Angel” type? If I get a choice, I prefer the gun-toting, classy lady image who uses her brains rather than her other body parts.’

Angrily, Brad caught her by the shoulders. ‘Sara, this is no joking matter. Rumours of trouble can be very damaging and take a long time to die.’ Then suddenly, as if realising for the first time that he was touching her, he released her abruptly.

‘Marc doesn’t think I’m here protecting you,’ she said, her chin coming up defiantly. ‘I repeated the business about you being an old family friend. Then I told him that you’d recognised me at the party and when you found out that I was planning to write stories about Monica and her friends to support myself until my career in art was established, you offered me this job on condition that I submitted no such stories. So you see, I painted you as his “charmin’ sister’s” anonymous hero.’

‘And he bought it?’

‘I’m sure he did. He seems to be under the impression that you’re planning to marry the woman. It would only be natural for you to want to protect her from villainous, opportunistic females like myself.’ This came out with a strong touch of acid, and Sara mentally berated herself for allowing her emotions to show.

‘Let’s just hope you’re right!’ he growled.

‘Sara’s nearly always right,’ Steve’s voice came through the back door screen. ‘But what’s she right about this time?’

‘Marc Fallon,’ she replied, unlatching the door and letting her brother inside, relieved to have a third party present. Jealousy was not an emotion she was experienced in handling and it was beginning to glow like a neon light through her remarks. ‘He and his sister were just here and our mutual employer is afraid that Marc will discover that I’m your sister and leap to the conclusion that I’m actually here as a bodyguard rather than a housekeeper. But I’m certain that thought will never enter his mind.’

‘Wrapped him around your little finger, Sis?’ Steve quipped, grinning widely.

‘No, I didn’t,’ she retorted.

Sensing that he had made a tactical error, Steve dropped the subject of Marc Fallon, at least for the moment. ‘Got any coffee?’

‘Of course,’ she answered, modifying her tone, embarrassed that she had reacted so strongly to her brother’s playful bantering.

‘Did you come by to see me or to check on your sister?’ Brad questioned, a hint of anger still present in his voice. ‘Because if you came to visit with Sara, I’ll leave the two of you alone. I still have work to do.’

‘Actually, it’s a little of both,’ Steve replied, accepting the requested cup of coffee from Sara and seating himself at the kitchen table. ‘I wanted to see how you were doing and I always like to check in on my sister from time to time.’

Catching the protective undertone in her brother’s voice, Sara threw him an exasperated glance.

‘As you can see, I’m doing just fine.’ There was an indefinable quality in Brad’s voice which caused Sara to glance towards him, but his expression was shuttered.

‘I spent some time out at The Pines this afternoon,’ Steve continued, his manner becoming strictly businesslike.

Sara pulled a chicken out of the refrigerator and began cutting it up as the men talked.

‘And what did you find?’ Brad asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee and leaning against the counter while he drank it.

‘Nothing really. A little before you received your call, a woman had reported some activity in the woods near the construction entrance. Two of our men went out to check, but they didn’t find anything. Ray was already out making his regular rounds, but that still left Chuck by the phone. Either the woman who called you never tried to call the local security people or she got so flustered she dialled the wrong number and when it was busy called you.’

‘But there was no damage done?’ Brad questioned sharply.

‘No, none that we could find, and nothing was stolen. It was probably that same group of kids that ran the caterpillar into the lake. When they saw all the security people running around the place, it must have scared them off. I doubt if they’ll be back.’

‘Good. But keep the extra men there for another week or so,’ Brad directed, setting down his coffee cup and preparing to leave.