The Nanny Affair. Robyn Donald

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      How did—? No, he couldn’t know! Colour seeped back into her suddenly clammy skin. When she’d been sixteen she’d fought her prospective stepmother with the only weapon she’d had, her father’s love, and she’d won. Now, seven years too late, she regretted it bitterly.

      Fighting to keep her voice even, she said, ‘No. As for housekeeping for seven miners—never.’

      ‘And I don’t suppose you’re just hanging about waiting for the prince to ride by on his white horse?’

      ‘Give her credit,’ she retorted, ‘she was in a coma—she couldn’t actually go out looking for him.’

      ‘True,’ he said, and ruthlessly dragged the conversation back to the subject. ‘So you don’t intend to be any man’s reward?’

      ‘If we’re still talking about Snow White,’ she returned, ‘don’t you think that the prince was her reward? She’d put up with a lot, worked hard for years and fought off a couple of murderous attacks before succumbing to treachery, and then along came this nice young man who apparently believed in love at first sight. She deserved a treat, and he was it.’

      He laughed. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Interesting—fairy stories read as feminist fables.’

      ‘Nothing as intellectual and rigorous,’ Emma said firmly. ‘It’s just that I got called Snow White so often that I had to develop some sort of attitude to the wretched thing.’

      ‘I’ll bet you were a tomboy.’

      The arrogant, angular profile showed no emotion at all, but the corner of his mouth tucked up. It irritated her that he could read her so easily, and behind that chagrin flickered fear.

      Men, Emma had discovered, didn’t really understand women. Seven years ago her father had refused to believe that his daughter was lying and cheating with one aim only: to smash his relationship with the woman he’d been having an affair with, the woman he planned to marry. Because Emma had never been rude, never thrown down any gauntlet, always been polite, he’d believed her and allowed himself to be manipulated by her feigned bulimia.

      Looking back down the years, she shivered with dismay as she recalled how grimly she’d battled with the woman she’d believed to be a greedy, unprincipled interloper. Rage and grief had fuelled her determination. She hadn’t cared that her father had truly loved his mistress; she’d been determined to punish them for being lovers while her mother, made wretched by their affair, had suffered and died.

      Punish them Emma had. Her father had sent his lover away, and—completely taken in by her pretence—devoted himself to getting Emma through her illness.

      A year later he’d died of a heart attack. Sometimes, when she lay awake in the voiceless night, she wondered whether he’d have lived if she hadn’t taken it on herself to avenge his betrayal of her mother, if she hadn’t in turn betrayed her father by lying and cheating. The irony of her own behaviour was now very clear to her.

      Kane Talbot seemed a lot more perceptive than most men. Those amber eyes, lit by a clear ring of gold around the dark centres, saw more than she liked.

      More acidly than she’d intended, she replied, ‘Turning into a tomboy is the classic response to looking like Snow White. I climbed the highest trees, rode the toughest horses, broke arms and skinned knees galore, and had to prove myself over and over again.’

      ‘The onset of adolescence must have been a shock,’ he observed.

      ‘Isn’t it to everyone?’ Emma asked with offhand insouciance. ‘A friend of mine, a thin, shy redhead, was always the tallest in the class—everyone called her Legs. She got unmercifully teased all through primary school. At fifteen she shot up to almost six feet, developed a face to stun the angels, and is now one of the world’s top models.’

      And Emma would bet a considerable sum of money that Kane had never had any problems with growing up—or with anything, unless it was swatting away women. That indefinable thing called star quality had probably been obvious from the moment he’d first smiled in his cradle.

      Except that ‘star’ was a lightweight description, and there was nothing lightweight about Kane Talbot. The quality that made him immediately noticeable was based on calm mastery of his strength and dynamic power.

      Of course, growing up heir to large amounts of money helped. People respected power and influence.

      And even as that last snide comment popped into her brain she discarded it. Whatever situation Kane Talbot had been born into he’d still possess that air of authority and courage. It was innate.

      Kane broke into her thoughts with, ‘And do you envy this top model?’

      ‘Good heavens, no.’ She thought a moment, then added fairly, ‘Well, the money would be nice, but I’d go crazy leaping around like they have to, not to mention the hours it takes to make up their faces and do their hair. Sorrel’s into meditation and poetry, so she just lets it all wash over her while she thinks out her next poem, or communes with the infinite, or whatever you do when you meditate. She’s giving it until she’s thirty, and then she’s going to retire and write the great New Zealand novel, which she’s sure is going to be difficult enough to keep her interested and striving for the rest of her life.’

      ‘She sounds interesting herself,’ he said.

      Emma gave a mental shrug. ‘She is,’ she said sturdily. All men were intrigued by beautiful women; why be surprised—and, yes, disappointed—that he fitted the pattern?

      He slowed, and turned into the gateway of Mrs Firth’s house. ‘I can hear the dogs barking from here,’ he said.

      ‘Babe never used to bark until Lucky arrived,’ Emma told him. ‘She taught him his manners, and he taught her that a dog is supposed to raise the roof whenever a stranger appears.’

      ‘And is she the leader of the pack?’

      ‘Well, she’s above him,’ she said, relaxing. ‘And I’m above them both, although I do have to keep reminding them that I’m top dog. Lucky is sure we females need protecting, and Babe thinks I’m a snippety young upstart who needs to be taught a few manners myself.’

      Absurdly pleased at his laughter, she waited until he’d stopped to say, ‘I’ll get out here and then we won’t have to open and shut the gate.’

      ‘All right,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’ll carry your parcels in.’

      Emma sighed silently and got out. She needed fresh air to banish the sound of that low, amused laugh and calm her jittery heartbeat. ‘I’ll let the dogs out,’ she called, and walked smartly up the drive to the back door. Both dogs bounded out, although Babe stayed with Emma. Lucky, however, raced barking down towards the car and the open gate.

      ‘Sit,’ Kane said in a voice that held no fear and no apprehension of disobedience.

      The dog skidded to a halt, then obeyed the repeated command and sat. Looking slightly bewildered, he stared up at Kane, who waited a moment to establish dominance, then held out his hand. Lucky made to rise, was bade sternly to sit again, and obeyed instantly. He sniffed Kane’s long fingers with interest and respect, then gazed up into his face. It was ridiculous, but Emma felt shut out from a purely masculine moment.

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