by Sk Quinn
I remember the dampness of his skin against my cheek, and find myself putting fingers to my face.
Snap out of it Sera!
I snatch my hand away and give my head a little shake.
No stupid crushes on the boss. Especially not an angry boss who calls you ‘woman’.
I pull back the grey blanket and climb under it, gingerly moving my leg and the cold towel into place.
I’m still fully dressed, but I don’t care. There’s no way I’m taking my clothes off in this room – it’s freezing.
As I close my eyes, a vision of Patrick, his hair wet from the snow, his bare chest rising and falling, hangs before my eyes.
I shake it away and eventually fall asleep.
16
Boom, boom, boom!
What is that?
I sit up in bed, my long red hair flying around my shoulders.
It takes me a moment to realize where I am, and when I do, I also realize how cold I am.
It’s cold, cold, cold in this place, and I see ice crystals on the window.
Boom, boom, boom!
I hear a voice outside my door.
‘Young lady! I believe I told you to be up no later than six.’ It’s Agnes Calder. ‘It’s nearly eight.’
Oh shit.
I check my mobile phone to see what time it is, but the battery is completely dead.
Now I know why my alarm didn’t go off.
‘Sorry,’ I call out. ‘My alarm battery died.’
‘We don’t tolerate excuses here,’ says Agnes. ‘Downstairs now. You’re to report straight to Mr Mansfield’s office – no time for breakfast. You have precisely three minutes to get dressed and washed. If you’re not ready by then, you can pack your bags and head home.’
SHIT!
I leap out of bed, forgetting totally about my ankle until a soaking wet hand towel slaps onto the floor.
No wonder I’m cold – my foot is totally frozen. But Patrick was right – my ankle is better. It feels fine, actually. Almost good as new.
I look down at the sleep-crumpled sweater and torn blue jeans I’m still wearing.
Need to change, need to change …
I rip open my bag and begin flinging clothes around. I like making my own stuff, or customizing thrift shop things, so I don’t have a lot of ‘serious’ clothes, and the few smart things I do have are back home. I wasn’t expecting an interview out here.
Eventually, I settle on jet black skinny jeans that I’ve customized with studs on the back pockets, and a sweatshirt I’ve screen printed myself that says, ‘Camden Town Ain’t Burning Down.’
Like I said, I really didn’t expect to be interviewed, so … well, that’s the best I can do.
The tiny ensuite has seen better days, but it has everything I need. I quickly use the toilet and brush my teeth, pulling my red hair up into something like a French pleat and securing it with … wait, where are my pins? Argh! No time to turn my bag out.
Oh well. I brush my hair with my fingers and let it hang lose.
I wish I had time to wash it and straighten it a little, but that’s not going to happen.
Makeup – no time for that. I wash my face, wiping away yesterday’s mascara marks with a towel and catch a look at my pale, freckled face in the mirror.
My pale eyebrows look almost invisible without makeup, and my eyelashes, what eyelashes?
Okay, my eyes look okay. Sort of bright golden today. They always stand out – sometimes people ask if I’m wearing eyeliner even when I haven’t applied any at all.
But all in all, I look stupidly young without makeup. I know some people think that’s a good thing, but really it’s a pain. I’m always getting asked for ID, and when I start a new job, it takes ages to convince people that I actually know what I’m doing.
With seconds to spare, I pull on my brown cowboy boots and stumble towards the door, yanking it open.
Mrs Calder looks startled when she sees me. Then she frowns. She’s wearing another funeral outfit today – a long black corduroy dress with flat black shoes, the sort of shoes you wear when you have foot problems.
‘Well.’ Mrs Calder raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s about time young lady.’ She purses her lips. ‘This is a working house. We have no time for layabouts.’
‘My alarm—’
‘Come with me.’ Mrs Calder turns and stalks off down the hallway, with me hurrying behind her.
17
I’m starving hungry and thirsty too, but I try to ignore that and focus on the maze of stairs and corridors, desperately trying to remember my way. I don’t want to get lost again. I felt like such an idiot yesterday.
For a moment, my thoughts drift to Patrick Mansfield carrying me through the castle, but … get it together Sera!
After five minutes of twisting and turning, we come to a stop by a huge oak door, and Mrs Calder raps on it hard with her knuckles.
‘Come in,’ booms a voice. That same beautiful deep voice that sent shudders all the way down to my ankles last night.
I think of bobbing around in Patrick’s arms, looking up at his solid, set jaw …
No, no, no.
I need to forget about last night, and focus on making sure I convince Patrick I can do the job.
Oh god.
The door is opening.
I try to stand up straight, pushing my hair behind my shoulders.
I hate that Patrick is going to see me without makeup, all freckly and bare looking …
Don’t be stupid Sera. Who cares what you look like? As long as you can do the job.
As the door creaks open, I can’t help but suck in my breath.
There he is.
Sitting behind a huge walnut desk.
To my relief, Patrick has his shirt on today – a navy-blue t-shirt with an army logo on it. I don’t think I could have handled him bare-chested this morning.
His arms are bare though, and he sits bolt upright in his chair, watching the doorway.
His eyes flicker when he sees me.
‘Is your ankle better today?’ he says, his voice low.
God. Why isn’t there anything to hold on to around here? I’m struggling to keep my balance
His blond hair is loose and floppy around his face, but some of it is pushed behind his ears.
And those eyes – those hunter’s eyes. They see every twitch and movement I make. I feel like he can see everything I’m thinking, and a deep blush spreads over my nose and cheeks.
‘Much better,’ I stammer. ‘Thank you for your … um … help.’
‘Don’t go night walking around the castle on your own again.’
Beside me, I feel Mrs Calder bristle.
‘Ankle?’ she says.
‘I had an accident last night,’ I say, glancing at Patrick. ‘I sort of threw myself down some stairs.’
‘Which stairs?’ says Mrs Calder, sounding cross. ‘Why weren’t you in your room?’
‘I needed to phone my sister,’ I explain. ‘There was no phone reception up there.’
‘You shouldn’t go wandering about the castle on your own,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘There are private places. Places strangers should stay out of.’
‘Did you want me to stay in my room until the next morning?’ I ask.
‘That’s exactly what you were supposed to do. No wonder you were up late this morning,’ Mrs Calder huffs.
‘Late?’ says Patrick, his mouth twitching.
‘I … my alarm, the battery ran out.’
Patrick runs a strong hand through his thick blond-brown hair. ‘Do you have a problem following orders, Miss Harper?’
‘I …’ How do I answer that? I mean, I didn’t get up late on purpose. But the truth is, I’m not good at following other people’s instructions. It’s not that I can’t listen to advice, but sometimes, especially where children are concerned, I have to go with my heart. ‘Sometimes.’
Patrick swings his chair around to the window, and I follow his gaze, out to the beau
tiful green lawns. Past the lawns are the thick, wild woodlands and snow-capped mountains.
‘Don’t get up late again,’ says Patrick.
‘I really didn’t mean to—’
Patrick holds up a large hand. ‘That was an order, not a question,’ he interrupts. His eyes hold mine. ‘Do you like a challenge, Miss Harper?’
18
‘Yes,’ I say, without pausing.
Patrick props his feet on the windowsill. He’s wearing battered boots over jeans. ‘You haven’t met Bertie yet. You might decide he’s too much for you.’ He raises an eyebrow and throws me a stomach-melting smile.
My chest puffs up. ‘No.’ My voice is a little louder than I mean it to be. ‘I’ve never met a child I couldn’t handle. I love children.’
Patrick turns to me, dropping his feet, his hands slamming on the table. ‘Strong words.’ The smile stretches up one side of his face, and his jaw ripples. ‘Let’s hope you live up to them.’
‘I will,’ I snap, feeling my chest burn. ‘Like I said. I’ve never met a child that I couldn’t look after. And I’ve cared for some children with problems, believe me.’
I think about Rebecca Carmichael, who used to twist and pull her hair out whenever she got stressed.
Used to.
After six months in my care, she stopped doing it. God, I hope she’s okay. So far, the Carmichael girls have been conveniently out whenever I’ve called. It breaks my heart to think I might never talk to them again.
‘But what if that child pushed you to your limits?’ said Patrick.
‘Children don’t push adults to their limits, Mr Mansfield,’ I say. ‘It’s the adults who have the wrong limits. When children are difficult, it’s usually their way of asking for help.’
Mrs Calder’s mouth drops open. Eventually she closes it again. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to, Miss Harper,’ she says.
Patrick swings his chair around to face me. He watches me for a moment. Then he turns to Agnes. ‘Mrs Calder, you can leave us now.’
‘But Mr Mansfield—’
‘You can leave us,’ says Patrick.
Mrs Calder glances at me. ‘Very well. Um. Mr Mansfield, just to remind you. Bertie has his tuition later. With Margaret. Seraphina will need to make sure Bertie is in the castle after supper. She needs to be aware of that.’
‘Well,’ says Patrick. ‘Now she’s aware.’
‘Um … well yes,’ says Mrs Calder. She hesitates for a moment, then slides around the door and closes it behind her.
The room feels very silent now she’s gone. Too silent.
Patrick watches me, and I feel kind of naked under those cool eyes.
He picks up a roll of fishing line that was weighing down a bunch of papers and taps it against the desk. Then, finally, he speaks.
‘You’re not afraid of me,’ he says.
It’s not a question. He’s just stating a fact.
‘Afraid of you?’ I say, trying to hold his gaze without blushing.
‘Most people … women, I should say, are afraid of me. Not many of them talk back, like you just did. Which tells me that you’re not afraid.’
‘I didn’t think I was …’ I swallow. ‘I … I speak my mind, that’s all. I mean, if you care for children, you’ve got to have a mind of your own.’
‘As long as you understand that I’m in charge.’
I swallow. ‘Maybe in charge of the castle. But if I’m the nanny here, I’ll be in charge of your nephew.’
Patrick smiles. ‘You really are different from the others, aren’t you? But I like a challenge myself. And something tells me I’m going to enjoy keeping you in line. This castle can be a dangerous place. You’ll soon learn to follow my rules and do what I tell you. No more midnight walks.’
‘Look, if you’re just going to humiliate me …’
‘Humiliate you?’ Patrick’s eyebrows pull into a frown.
‘Mr Mansfield, I’m a good nanny. I promise I am. And if your nephew, Bertie, is as troubled as he sounds, then he needs me.’
Patrick’s lips twitch. ‘Maybe we all do.’
I redden.
What on earth does that mean?’
‘I’ve never met anyone like you in my life.’ Patrick’s eyes are fixed on mine now.
‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’ I hear myself ask.
‘Good.’ Patrick is still watching me, his eyes just a little bit amused.
I swallow again, as I watch his strong wrists cross over each other on the walnut desk.
He stands up suddenly, and my head follows him up and up.
Good god, he’s tall. My head is pretty much chest-height with him, and I have to tilt it to see his face.
Such a handsome face, too. All smooth skin and strong features, but it’s rugged and tough, with those bright white tiger scars and those eyes that strip me naked.
‘But no matter how interesting I find your lack of fear, in this castle you still have to do as I say. Do you understand that, Miss Harper?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘Yes and … no?’ His lips curve into a dangerous smile.
‘Sometimes rules should be a little flexible. Especially where children are concerned.’
‘Not here,’ says Patrick, his voice suddenly low and growling. The smile leaves his face. ‘And the first rule is, no more exploring the castle at night. It’s not safe.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘Rule two. You stay out of the deep woods. Go no further than the stream. Got it?’
‘Yes.’ The rebel in me is itching to ask why. But I don’t.
‘And the third rule. The most important one. The West Tower is completely off limits. Understood?’
19
‘Yes, Mrs Calder told me that too,’ I say. ‘But I wouldn’t worry. I don’t even know where the West Tower is right now.’
‘It’s above the main entrance.’
‘Oh.’ My brain starts tick tocking.
Above the main entrance … where I saw that flash of something in the window yesterday …
Patrick walks around the desk, resting one hand on the walnut wood.
‘Ready to be put to the test?’
‘Yes,’ I gulp, feeling my skin sigh at his nearness.
He goes to the door and opens it. ‘Ladies first.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, slipping by him. I feel his strong, hard body against my shoulders.
Oh good lord, he’s a dangerous man. He must know the effect he has on women. Is he toying with me? Does he know that my heart is beating like a rabbit’s?
In the corridor, I stand a little taller – trying to look all cool and calm. Which is a bit of a joke right now. I’m nothing of the sort, especially when Patrick joins me outside the office.
‘This way,’ says Patrick, stalking out and away at a fast pace.
I half walk, half run after him, struggling to keep up.
We stop outside a closed door – another office by the looks of things – and Patrick turns to me.
‘Agnes will take over from here. I—’ Patrick turns to me, his blue-green eyes nearly knocking me over. ‘It’s good that you’re here, Miss Harper. Bertie needs someone strong.’
‘I won’t leave him,’ I say. ‘No matter how tough things get. That’s something you won’t need to worry about with me. The only reason I’d leave is … I guess if you asked me to.’
Patrick’s eyes burn into me. ‘Why would I do that?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Why did all the other nannies leave? Didn’t you lose patience with them or something?’
Patrick laughs, and I’m knocked sideways by the handsomeness of his smile, all strong white teeth, square jaw and twinkling eyes.
‘Is that what you think?’
‘I … I guess I sort of assumed …’
‘You think I’d want Bertie to have a different nanny every week?’
I blush. ‘No, I guess not.’
‘The nannies all chose to leave. They couldn’t ha
ndle Bertie so they packed their bags.’
‘That won’t be me,’ I say. ‘I don’t leave when things get tough.’
Patrick’s face moves closer to mine, and for a moment, I feel my lips burning.
‘Is that so?’
Oh shit, shit, shit. Stupid body! Blood is rushing all around, from my forehead all the way down my chest. I should step back, but I feel my body pulling towards him.
But my god, he’s beautiful. And so commanding.
‘Yes,’ I manage to say.
Our faces are inches apart now, and my breathing is getting quicker and quicker.
‘Seraphina Harper,’ says Patrick, playing with the words. Trying them out. ‘There’s something … intoxicating about you. Do you know that? You’ve been running around my mind since I found you yesterday.’
I can see his strong, thick eyebrows and the little muscular creases either side of his mouth.
‘Intoxicating?’ I whisper. ‘Is that something you say to all the nannies?’
‘No.’ He reaches out a hand, and runs a knuckle gently down my cheek. ‘I’ve never said that to anybody before.’
My body is in turmoil. A crazy part of me wants to throw myself into his arms. The sensible part of me wants to run away as fast as I can. This is so dangerous. Our bodies are way too close …
Suddenly, something like anger burns in my chest.
No way am I falling for the boss. I have a job to do and a little boy who needs me.
I’m stronger than this.
I take a step back.
‘I’m here to do a job, Mr Mansfield,’ I say, my voice as firm as I can manage.
Patrick doesn’t take his eyes from me. ‘I know,’ he says, his voice going low. ‘And for Bertie’s sake, as well as mine, I’m glad you’re here.’ With that, he stalks away, and I’m left watching his long, strong body bound like down the corridor.
20
It takes me a moment to realize that I’m not breathing.
God damn it! God damn you Patrick Mansfield.
Who on earth do you think you are? I let out a long breath. I bet he chats up all the nannies. He probably shags them, then ditches them and they leave the castle heartbroken. Maybe that’s why they have such a high staff turnover.
Well not me. I’m not falling for it. Like I said, I’m here to do a job.