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lifted her hand in a gesture of remorse. ‘No. Don’t answer that. I had no right to ask.’

      ‘No, you didn’t.’ But Matt answered her just the same. ‘Carol left me when Rosie was a baby,’ he said flatly. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not a secret.’

      ‘I see.’ Sara cradled her coffee mug between her palms. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Yeah.’ Matt gave a wry smile. ‘But, believe me, it was the best thing for both of us.’

      Sara looked up at him. ‘For you and your wife?’

      ‘For me and my daughter,’ Matt amended, hooking his heel around the stool opposite and straddling it to face her. He nodded to her cup. ‘Coffee all right?’

      She drew back when he was seated, as if his nearness—or his bulk—intimidated her. It crossed his mind that someone must have done a number on her, must be responsible for her lack of confidence, but he didn’t say anything. In his professional experience it was wiser not to probe another person’s psyche. Not unless you had a reason for doing so, at least.

      ‘So you live here alone?’ she said at last, apparently deciding to pursue her enquiries, and he pulled a wry face.

      ‘I have Rosie,’ he said, his lips twitching. ‘Hey, are you sure you’re not a journalist? That’s the kind of question they ask.’

      Her face fell. ‘No!’ she exclaimed. And then, as if realising he was only teasing her, she continued, ‘I was thinking about the job.’

      ‘What job?’ For a moment he was nonplussed, and she took advantage of his silence.

      ‘Your daughter’s nanny,’ she declared quickly. ‘Would you consider me for the post?’

       CHAPTER TWO

      HE LOOKED stunned. That was the only description Sara could find to fit the expression on his lean tanned face. An expression that was definitely at odds with his harsh compelling features. At least a day’s growth of stubble roughened his jawline and there were dark pouches beneath the deep-set hollows of his eyes.

      And why shouldn’t he be shocked at her announcement? thought Sara uneasily. It wasn’t every day that a strange woman turned up on your doorstep asking for work. After all, he knew nothing about her. She didn’t even have the backing of an employment agency. She could be a con artist, living on her wits. Though any con artist worth her salt would surely not try and dupe a man like him.

      Sara wished now that she hadn’t made the offer. She didn’t know anything about him either, and just because he had been kind to her that was no reason to trust him. Besides, she wasn’t a nanny. She wasn’t a nursemaid. Her experience with children had been confined to the classroom, but he’d never believe that she’d once been a primary school teacher. That had been at another time; sometimes now it seemed like another life. When she’d been young—and so naïve.

      ‘You’re offering to become Rosie’s nanny?’ Matt Seton asked at last, and she could tell he was suspicious of her offer. ‘You didn’t say you were looking for work.’

      I’m not. I’m looking for sanctuary, thought Sara wildly, but she couldn’t tell him that. And when she’d left London the previous evening she’d had no plans beyond the need to get away. To put as many miles between her and Max as possible.

      But she couldn’t think about that now. She needed time to come to terms with what she’d done. ‘I might be,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee to avoid his penetrating gaze. ‘Are you interested?’

      ‘“I might be”,’ he mocked, echoing her words. ‘Are you used to working with children.’

      ‘I was.’ Sara chose her words with care. She didn’t like lying but she really didn’t have a choice. And, the more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed to her. A job like this might be exactly what she needed. Somewhere to stay; a means of earning money; a chance to disappear without leaving a trail. She hesitated, and then stated bravely, ‘I used to be a primary school teacher.’

      ‘Used to be?’ Dark brows arched interrogatively.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But not any more?’

      ‘Not recently, no.’

      ‘Why?’ The question was innocent enough but she had the feeling he was baiting her.

      ‘Because I gave up teaching some time ago,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s not something you forget.’

      ‘So what have you been doing?’

      Fighting for my life!

      Somehow she managed to keep her voice steady as she replied, ‘I—got married. My hus—my ex-husband, that is, didn’t like me having a job.’

      And that must be the understatement of the year!

      ‘I see.’ Matt Seton was regarding her so intently she was almost sure he could see into her mind. And if he could he’d know that she wasn’t being completely honest, that she was only telling him as much of the truth as she needed to sound sincere. ‘Do you come from around here?’

      He asked a lot of questions. Sara swallowed and considered the option of saying yes. But he’d know she didn’t sound like a local. So, after a moment, she said, ‘I used to live in the south of England until quite recently.’

      ‘Until you decided to hire a car and drive three hundred miles up the motorway?’ suggested Matt laconically. ‘What happened, Sara? Did your husband ditch you for someone else, so you decided to disappear and make the bastard sweat?’

      ‘No!’ She was horrified. If Max had turned his attentions elsewhere she wouldn’t be in this state now. ‘I—I told you, we’re—we’re divorced. I just fancied a change of scene, that’s all. I didn’t know where I wanted to stay until I got here.’

      ‘And decided that because I needed a nanny, you’d be it,’ he commented cynically. ‘Forgive me if I sound sceptical, but I’ve never heard such a load of garbage in my life.’

      ‘It’s not garbage.’ Sara suspected she was beginning to sound desperate but she couldn’t help it. She really wanted this job. ‘Do you want a nanny or don’t you? You sounded fairly sure about it when you were on the phone.’

      Matt tipped his stool onto its back legs, balancing himself with one hand on the counter. ‘So you were listening?’

      ‘How could I not?’ Sara knew there was no point in denying it. ‘All I’m asking is that you consider me for the position.’

      ‘Really?’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘So what qualifications do you have?’

      Sara hesitated. ‘Well, two years of working at a primary school in—in London.’ She’d almost mentioned the school’s name and that would have been foolish. ‘Like I say, I left when I got married.’

      ‘And you can prove this? You’ve got certification, references?’

      Sara bent her head. ‘Not with me.’

      ‘But you could get them?’

      Her shoulders slumped. ‘Not easily, no.’

      ‘Surprise, surprise.’ He was sardonic. ‘Hey, I may live in the sticks, but I haven’t got straw in my ears, Mrs Victor.’

      ‘It’s Miss Victor,’ she muttered unnecessarily. If he wasn’t going to employ her, what did it matter what he thought her name was? It wasn’t her real one. She lifted her head, deciding to make one last plea for his understanding. ‘Look, I’m not going to pretend that working for you wouldn’t suit my purposes. It would. And, although I can’t prove it, I was a primary school teacher. A damn good one, as it happens.’ She gazed at him. ‘You could give me

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