Surrender To Seduction - Robyn Donald

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tone. ‘I know how to use them, and that’s all that matters.’

      ‘You did warn me about the disadvantages of stereotyping,’ he murmured, green gaze raking her face. ‘Perhaps I should take more notice of what you say. The face of an angel and a mind like a steel trap. How odd to find you the owner of a model agency.’

      ‘Part-owner. I have a partner,’ she purred. ‘I like pretty things, and I enjoy pretty people.’ She didn’t intend to tell him that she was already bored with running the agency. She’d enjoyed it enormously while she and Honor McKenzie were setting it up and working desperately to make it a success, but now that they’d made a good name for themselves, and an excellent income, the business had lost its appeal.

      As, she admitted rigorously, had everything else she’d ever done.

      A thunderous knock on the door woke the baby. Jerking almost off the sofa, she opened her triangular mouth and shrieked. ‘That’s probably the police,’ Gerry said, setting her cup down and scooping the child up comfortingly. ‘Let them in, will you?’ Her voice softened as she rocked the tiny form against her breast. ‘There, darling. don’t cry, don’t cry…’

      Bryn got to his feet and walked out, his mouth disciplined into a straight line. Gazing down at the wrathful face of the baby, Gerry thought wistfully that although she didn’t want to get married, it would be rather nice to have a child. She had no illusions—those cousins who’d embarked on marriage and motherhood had warned her that children invariably complicated lives—but she rather suspected that her biological clock was ticking. ‘Shh, shh,’ she murmured. ‘Just wait a moment and I’ll give you some water to drink.’

      The baby settled down, reinforcing Gerry’s suspicion that she’d been fed not too long before she’d been found.

      Frowning, she listened as Bryn Falconer said firmly from the hall, ‘No, I don’t live here; I’m just passing through.’

      Policemen were supposed to have seen it all, but the one who walked in through the kitchen door looked startled and, when his gaze fell on Gerry, thunderstruck.

      ‘This,’ Bryn said smoothly, green eyes snapping with mockery, ‘is Constable Richards. Constable, this is Geraldine Dacre, the owner of the house, who found the child outside on the lawn.’

      ‘How do you do?’ Gerry said, smiling. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’

      ‘I—ah, no, thank you, Ms Dacre.’ His collar seemed to be too tight; tugging at it, he said, ‘I was supposed to meet a social worker here.’

      ‘She—or he—hasn’t arrived yet.’ Bryn Falconer was leaning against the doorpost.

      For all the world as though this was his house! Smiling at the policeman again, Gerry said, ‘If you have to wait, you might as well have something to drink—it’s cold out there. Bryn, pour the constable some coffee, would you?’

      ‘Of course,’ he said, the green flick of his glance branding her skin as he strode behind the breakfast bar.

      He hadn’t liked being ordered around. Perhaps, she thought a trifle smugly, in the future he wouldn’t be quite so ready to take over.

      What the hell was she thinking? She had no intention of letting Bryn Falconer into her life.

       CHAPTER TWO

      HASTILY Gerry transferred her attention to the policeman. ‘What do you want to know about the baby?’ she asked. ‘She’s a little girl, and although I’m no expert I don’t think she’s any more than a day old, judging by the umbilical cord.’

      He gave her a respectful look and rapidly became professional. ‘Exactly what time did you first see her?’ he said.

      So, very aware of the opening and closing of cupboards in her kitchen, Gerry explained how she’d found the child, nodding at the box with its pathetic little pile of damp clothes. The policeman asked pertinent questions and took down her answers, thanking Bryn Falconer when he brought a mug of coffee.

      The constable plodded through his cup of coffee and his questions until Cara appeared in the doorway, her sultry face alive with curiosity and interest.

      ‘Hello,’ she said, and watched with the eye of a connoisseur as the policeman leapt to his feet ‘I’m ready to go,’ she told Bryn, her voice soft and caressing. ‘Bye, Gerry. Have fun.’

      Bryn smiled, the crease in his cheek sending an odd frisson straight through Gerry. Go now, she commanded mentally. Right now. And flushed as he looked at her, a hard glint in his eyes.

      Fortunately the doorbell pealed again, this time heralding the social worker, a pleasant, middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a knack with babies. Cara and Bryn left as she came in, so Gerry could give all her attention to the newcomer.

      ‘I’m rather sad to see her go,’ Gerry said, watching as the woman efficiently dressed the baby in well-worn but pretty clothes, then packed her into an official carrycot while the policeman took the box and its contents. ‘For what it’s worth, I think her mother fed her before she put her behind the hedge—she’s not hungry. And she wasn’t very cold when I picked her up, so she hadn’t been there long.’

      The social worker nodded. ‘They usually make sure someone will find them soon.’

      Gerry picked up her towel and the still dry cashmere jersey. ‘What will happen to the baby?’

      ‘Now? I’ll get her checked over medically, and take her to a family who’ll foster her until her mother is found.’

      ‘And if her mother isn’t found?’

      The social worker smiled. ‘We’ll do our best for her.’

      ‘I know,’ Gerry said. ‘I just feel a bit proprietary.’

      ‘Oh, we all do that.’ The woman gave a tired, cynical smile. ‘When you think we’re geared by evolution to respond to a baby’s cry with extreme discomfort, it’s no wonder. She’ll be all right. It’s the mother I’m worried about. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a pregnant woman looking over the hedge this last couple of weeks, or anything like that?’

      ‘No, not a glimpse.’

      The policeman said, ‘I’d say she’s local, because she put the baby where she was certain she’d be found. She might even have been watching.’

      Gerry frowned, trying to recall the scene. ‘I don’t think so. Apart from the traffic, I didn’t see any movement.’

      When they’d gone she lifted the cashmere jersey to her face. It smelt, she thought wryly, of newborn baby—that faint, elusive, swiftly fading scent that had probably once had high survival value for the human race. Now it was just another thing, along with the little girl’s heart-shaking fragility and crumpled rose-petal face, to remind Gerry of her empty heart.

      ‘Oh, do something sensible instead of moping,’ she advised herself crisply, heading for the laundry.

      After she’d dealt with the clothes she embarked on a brisk round of necessary housework that didn’t ease her odd flatness. Clouds settled heavily just above the roof, and the house felt chilly. And empty.

      Ruthlessly she banished the memory of wide shoulders, narrow masculine hips and a pair of gleaming green eyes, and set to doing the worst thing she could find—clearing out the fridge. When she’d finished she drank a cup of herbal tea before picking up the telephone.

      ‘Jan?’ she said when she’d got through. ‘How are you?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ said her favourite cousin, mother of Gerry’s goddaughter, ‘and so are Kear and Gemma, but why aren’t you at work?’

      ‘How do you know I’m not?’

      ‘No

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