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Actually she didn’t mind these absences; she was a lot more comfortable when he wasn’t there—not that she found his company oppressive, exactly. She was always acutely conscious in his company of her deficiencies. When he looked at her she was always sure he was comparing her unfavourably with his first wife As always, the thought of the sainted Catherine made her wince.
‘Mrs Turner will confirm the fact I could probably eat you under the table.’ He wouldn’t consider the children impartial witnesses—they doted on her—but the housekeeper was another matter.
‘I’ve only ever seen you pick at your food. That’s it.’ He pulled up the towel. ‘They’re not deep; you won’t scar.’
Should she tell him she was usually so nervous of making a social faux pas on the occasions he referred to that she couldn’t stomach anything? On reflection she decided not to. Inadequacies—at least, hers—made Ethan impatient.
‘I think that under the circumstances these French classes aren’t such a good idea,’ he mused slowly.
His words filled her with deep dismay and the first stirrings of rebellion. ‘But Thursday is my night off, Ethan.’
‘Night off?’ he repeated coldly. ‘You’re not the nanny now, Hannah. You’re my wife.’
‘Of course I still work for you, Ethan. I just call you Ethan, not Mr Kemp.’ And that had taken some getting used to! ‘The contract’s more permanent, and less flexible,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘That’s all.’
He couldn’t have looked more astounded if she’d popped him one on the nose. He breathed in sharply and the slab of his belly muscles became more noticeably concave. Hannah had heard girls on the beach in Nice commenting on his ‘great pecs’ these too were visible, because even though he’d slipped on a blue top that matched his trousers he hadn’t bothered to fasten it. She was no expert, but she didn’t think their enthusiasm for his body had been misplaced.
‘There is no need to think of yourself in that way,’ he said, his colour heightened.
‘Then as your wife I don’t necessarily have to take your…advice.’ Advice had a more tactful ring than order.
A combative light had entered his grey eyes. Possibly it was due to the unusual events of the evening, but Hannah found the circumstance more exhilarating than alarming.
‘Perhaps you should consider your track record in the decision-making arena before throwing my advice back in my face.’
‘Did you have a particular decision in mind?’
Despite the fact that she had remained meticulously polite, there was no mistaking the obstinate set of her rounded jaw. He viewed said jaw with serious misgivings.
‘Getting into a car with a perfect stranger? Only a complete idiot would do anything so grossly irresponsible,’ he said scornfully. ‘Emma, at seven, would have more sense.’
She’d been stupid to imagine she could win an argument with Ethan. ‘You wouldn’t say that if I was a man,’ she complained belligerently.
He blinked: she was pouting, actually pouting—Hannah! The sight of her rather full pink lips had the most unexpected effect on his body. ‘Well, you’re not a man,’ he snapped. ‘And in that outfit it’s patently obvious.’
Hannah went bright pink and, after a furtive glance down at her body, began to tug the towel higher, but the material would only stretch just so far.
‘I’m sorry if my skinny body offends you, but I didn’t invite you into my room.’ Even a fluffy bunny rabbit could get aggressive if you backed it into a corner, and she wasn’t actually as weak and pliable as Ethan thought.
Early on she’d decided confrontation wasn’t her style, but to survive ten years relatively unscathed after her spells in assorted foster homes, interspersed by the inevitable return to the children’s home, wasn’t the sign of a weak character. It wasn’t an advantage in life to be brought up in care, but Hannah had never allowed herself to grow bitter, just as she’d never allowed herself to be influenced by the less savoury influences she had been surrounded by.
‘I’ll keep that in mind in the future,’ he observed stiffly.
‘I didn’t mean…’ She gave a sigh of frustration. ‘The French classes mean a lot to me,’ she admitted.
‘Very obviously,’ he drawled. With growing dismay she observed the pinched look around his nostrils.
It had been a waste of time appealing to his softer nature! ‘I need to get away, be…I don’t know—me!’
‘Does that usually involve removing your wedding ring?’
Hannah could only stare at him in astonishment. He couldn’t actually believe… ‘I lost my ring.’ It had always been too big; if she hadn’t hated asking him for anything, she’d have told him so.
‘You seem awfully passionate about a night-class.’
His faint condescending sneer really made her see red. ‘Just a class to you!’ she yelled. ‘But then you have dozens of friends. You go out every day and meet people. I see the children—’ And, as much as she loved Emma and Tom, the children weren’t always enough. She broke off, breathing hard. Though one part of her felt appalled at her outburst, another part—a small part—felt relief.
‘We have an active social life. My friends…’
‘Your friends despise me. They only put up with me because I’m your appendage. Actually—’ she smiled briefly, amazed at her daring ‘—I don’t much like them, at least not most of them.’
The colour that suffused the pale, perfect oval of her small face was quite becoming. ‘Colourless’ was the adjective he most frequently associated with this girl he’d married—it sure as hell wasn’t applicable now!
‘Then why haven’t you seen fit to mention it before?’
‘I didn’t think it was relevant. I’m quite prepared to take the rough with the smooth.’ But I won’t give up the French classes. It wasn’t necessary to add this; Ethan wasn’t dense.
‘That’s very tolerant of you. Do you consider there to have been much that is rough for you to endure over the past year?’
‘Next you’ll be saying I was in the gutter when you found me,’ she cut in impatiently. She ignored his sharp inhalation of anger and continued firmly. ‘You can expect my loyalty, but not my unstinting gratitude, Ethan. If you remember, I did warn you I wouldn’t be the world’s best hostess, but I’m a good mother.’
‘Mother substitute.’ She flinched, and his expression seemed to indicate he regretted his hasty response. ‘The children love you.’ This was meant to soften his sharp correction but only served to bring a lump of emotion to Hannah’s throat. ‘Do you find me such an ungenerous husband?’
It wasn’t fair of him to bring affection into the discussion because affection, or rather the lack of it, had been implicit in their bargain.
‘I didn’t say that.’
Right from the outset he’d insisted that she spent money from the generous personal allowance that appeared in her bank account every month. Ethan Kemp’s wife couldn’t have a wardrobe that consisted of jeans and jumpers. When he’d discovered she couldn’t overcome her reluctance to spend money, he’d sought the help of the wife of one of his colleagues.
Hannah wasn’t sure whether Alice Chambers had genuinely awful taste or she just didn’t like her. Whichever was the truth, the clothes Hannah came home with from their joint shopping expedition did nothing whatever for her slight figure, and the colours made her appear washed out and insipid.
Some of the annoyance faded from Ethan’s expression as he took in the pale fragility of her unhappy face. With her glossy hair hanging softly about her face she looked incredibly young. She was incredibly young; he was apt to overlook the age gap sometimes. Usually she had the composure of someone much older.
‘No, you didn’t, but it is fairly obvious you’re discontented. I had no idea.’
‘How could you?’ The retort escaped before she could censor it. Some days they barely exchanged two words. ‘I’m not discontent, just tired,’ she said dully. The loneliness of her position rushed in on her and it was more than she could bear tonight. Just go, please go! she thought miserably.
As if he detected her passionate wish, he turned abruptly. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
Now there’s something to look forward to, she thought, torn between tears and laughter as the door closed. In the privacy of her secret dreams she’d imagined him using that door. Usually he’d just woken up to the fact that he’d been unaccountably blind to her charms. In none of those meticulously constructed scenarios had she had a runny nose, scratches over half her body or hair flopping in her eyes.
Falling in love with Ethan Kemp was the only truly spontaneous thing she could recall doing in her life. You didn’t have to be a starry-eyed believer in love at first sight to have it happen to you; she was the living proof. Her prosaic soul had been set alight the instant she’d set eyes on him. He was tall, with an impressive athletic build, and one glance into those shrewd eyes had told her he had an intellect to match his muscles. Never one to respond to superficial beauty, she’d been inexplicably bowled over. None of these passionate cravings had been evident in her colourless replies as she’d sat through the interview. If they had she doubted she’d have got the job.
Worshipping him from afar had always made her particularly inarticulate in his presence, but, so long as the children were happy, Ethan’s interest in their nanny had been minimal. When he’d first started to show an interest in her lukewarm friendship with Matt Carter, a local primary school teacher, she had almost allowed herself to think he might have noticed her as a person.
As it had turned out, he’d just been afraid history was about to repeat itself. Emma and Tom had had three nannies in the year before she’d arrived. Tom had been one, and he’d simply responded to anyone who’d offered him love and warmth. His sister had been a different proposition—five when Hannah had first arrived, and it had been an uphill battle for Hannah to win her trust. Her short life had taught Emma it was painful to love someone only to have them vanish. Hannah could identify with her suspicion, and slowly she’d won the child’s trust, until by the end of that first year she’d become an integral part of the children’s lives.
An indispensable part, as far as Ethan was concerned. They were now confident, happy children, and he’d been prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to provide them with continuing stability. He’d been shocked to recognise the possibility that Hannah might just follow the example of the previous three nannies and do something inconvenient like fall in love or get pregnant. He didn’t actually want a wife, and, just in case Hannah had any doubts on the subject, he’d told her so.
He’d known her history when he’d offered her a home and financial security. No doubt he’d considered the bait irresistible to someone who was completely alone in the world. She’d never have to budget her meagre resources again; she’d have the family she’d always dreamed of—in short it was a fairy tale. The but was inescapable: he would never view her as anything other than a paid employee, no matter what her title. The pre-nuptial agreement he’d had her sign prior to the wedding had only served to reinforce this fact.
He had probably congratulated himself on his subtle, but clever presentation of the package when she’d appeared the next morning, looking unusually pale and subdued, and said the all-important ‘yes’. He wouldn’t have looked so happy if he’d suspected that, no matter how tempting his offer might appear to a girl who longed for roots and stability, it was love that had been the vital ingredient in the equation. Love that had made her ignore the logical part of her brain that told her that such a union could only give her pain.
CHAPTER TWO
TOM usually woke Hannah by creeping into her bed, often before six in the morning. This morning there was no solid little body against hers when she awoke. A light sleeper, she didn’t normally need to set her alarm clock, but there had been nothing normal about the previous night! A whistle-stop, vaguely panicky tour revealed the children weren’t in their rooms.
‘Why didn’t anyone wake me?’ Hannah demanded breathlessly as she ran into the kitchen still tying the belt on her robe. ‘Ouf, sorry,’ she gasped as she rushed full tilt into her husband.
‘I told them not to,’ Ethan replied calmly.
She was conscious of the intimate contact of their bodies only for a few seconds before he solicitously steadied her and stepped away. It was enough to send her pulse-rate hammering. Although he didn’t douse himself in masculine cologne, she could have recognised his presence blindfolded in any room. Her nostrils automatically flared as she got a full dose of his signature male fragrance.
‘What are you doing here?’ She instantly wished the words unsaid. Ethan didn’t want or need her interest, and any suggestion of interrogation would be met with a sharp rebuttal. Now was the time to get their relationship back on its neatly designed unchallenging lines. Last night had been a blip in normality not a new chapter.
One dark brow quirked. ‘I live here, remember.’
His dry tone brought a flush to her cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t you be in work?’ There I go again.
As she spoke Hannah was conscious of the fact that they weren’t alone; despite appearances, at least one pair of ears was undoubtedly taking in every word. The housekeeper had never made any comment on her employer’s odd choice of bride, but she wouldn’t have been human if the situation hadn’t intrigued her.
Hannah sometimes wondered what she said about them to her husband when she returned home in the evenings. She’d been in situ when the first Mrs Kemp had been alive, and Hannah had half expected her to keep the sort of suspicious, unfriendly distance many of Ethan’s friends did. To her relief this hadn’t been the case. So long as Hannah didn’t trespass on her domestic territory, she seemed perfectly at ease with the arrangement.
Ethan didn’t normally participate in the usual morning chaos of dressing and feeding the children, then ferrying Emma to school. He was generally leaving the house as Hannah fetched the children downstairs. He appeared to start the day with nothing more substantial than a cup of strong black coffee, a practice Hannah privately had serious reservations about. She had never voiced her concerns, because Ethan’s welfare was one of those things that were out of bounds. She had no doubt that with a few well-chosen words he could and would subdue any pretensions she had in that direction.
‘Not this morning, Hannah. Dear God,’ he murmured, inspecting the streak of strawberry jam he’d just discovered down the sleeve of his dark jacket with a grimace. ‘How does he manage to spread it that far?’ he wondered, casting a fascinated look in the direction of his chubby-faced son, who smiled back with cherubic innocence from his highchair.
‘I want down!’ he announced, banging his spoon on the plastic table-top.
‘Soon, Tom,’ Hannah responded automatically. She pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to work out what Ethan was doing here. A devoted father he might be, but he’d never involved himself in the more mundane of parental duties. ‘You should have woken me. I’ll be late getting Emma to school.’
‘Daddy’s taking me, Mummy.’
The ‘Mummy’ was a new thing, and it still gave Hannah a glow of pleasure to hear it. Ethan had never commented on her promotion from ‘Hannah’ in his daughter’s eyes, but she was sure he didn’t like it. His restraint only reminded her that from his point of view her role within the household would always be one of necessity rather than desire.
‘You are?’ she gasped, unable to hide her surprise.
‘You consider the task too complex for me?’
‘You just sit down, my dear, and I’ll get you a nice cup of tea. Mr Kemp has told me about the nasty accident you were in. What you need is a rest,’ the housekeeper advised.
Hannah’s eyes flew to Ethan’s face as her hand went automatically to her scratched cheek. So that was to be the story, she thought philosophically. It certainly made her appear less foolish than the truth.
‘I feel fine—just a little stiff, Mrs Turner.’
‘I want out, now!’ Patience was uncharted territory for a three-year-old.
Hannah unclipped his harness and heaved his sleep-suit-clad body into her arms. His sturdy frame made her conscious of bruises she hadn’t known she had. She wasn’t able totally to subdue the wince.
‘Give him to me,’ Ethan said, holding his arms out.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Martyrdom is an overrated and tedious virtue,’ Ethan observed in a bored drawl.
Hannah handed over her charge with as much dignity as she could muster. Normally their parental duties were strictly, if unofficially, defined, and it was vaguely disorientating to have her role so thoroughly usurped.
Ethan might well regret his chivalry when he discovered that the wet kiss his beaming son had pressed somewhere east of his mouth had left a blob of porridge adhering to his freshly shaved cheek. A wicked impulse made her keep this information to herself.
‘Will you do my hair?’ Emma slid onto Hannah’s knee and solemnly passed her a comb and ribbons.
‘With your permission?’ She shot Ethan a challenging look. She sounded cranky and didn’t much care. She knew he was watching her again and it made her feel uncomfortable.
‘I’d say that constitutes light duties,’ he conceded. Whilst playing a tickling game, which Hannah thought might well result in his small son throwing up, he watched Hannah’s expert fingers twist Emma’s fluffy golden locks into the desired design. Emma was a beautiful child who looked remarkably like a miniature version of her mother. Hannah was sure Ethan didn’t need the constant reminder to keep Catherine’s memory fresh—several people had lost no time telling Hannah how passionately in love he’d been, how he’d worshipped her.
Hannah had been astounded the first time she’d seen Ethan with his children. Who would have guessed that behind the austere, rather daunting façade there lurked such a warm and humorous man? She’d thought his attitude towards her might bend a little over the months, but he’d never actually dropped the formality with her. She’d never been in any danger of forgetting her position in this household.
It wouldn’t be long before Emma at least began to notice that her parents weren’t like other people’s: no hugs or teasing, no shared history of private jokes. Ethan didn’t appear to have taken this aspect into account in his calculations. Children were sharp; nothing much escaped their observant eyes. It would be interesting, and probably uncomfortable, Hannah reflected, to see how he dealt with the inevitable questions.
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said as he stood, the open doorway framing the sight of daughter and father hand in hand.
‘Work…?’ she faltered.
‘I’ve cancelled my appointments for this morning. Cal Morgan will see you at ten. I’ll take you to the surgery—for that tetanus jab,’ he added as she stared at him blankly.
‘Quite right, you can’t be too careful,’ the housekeeper observed approvingly. ‘Tom will be just fine with me. I’ll take him for his bath, won’t I, darling? Kiss for Mummy.’
When Hannah emerged from the grubby embrace Ethan had gone. This new personal interest in her welfare obviously stemmed from his opinion that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. It was frustrating to realise that she had nobody to blame for the situation but herself. If only he hadn’t caught her last night. It had been an inconvenient time to discover the man she’d married was either an insomniac or a secret drinker, possibly both. The idea brought a whimsical smile to her lips. She couldn’t imagine Ethan indulging in weaknesses of any variety!
She’d just have to reestablish herself in his eyes as being more than capable of taking care of herself. Driving herself to the doctor’s surgery was step one of this process. He’d be glad to be relieved of this tedious chore.
That view took on a rapid sea change when she emerged from the surgery to find Ethan standing beside her Volvo. His long fingers were rapping an impatient tune on the bonnet. He appeared to be muttering under his breath at regular intervals. He straightened up at the sound of her feet crunching on the gravel. His dark brows met over the bridge of his nose as he recognised her.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’
Whilst his attitude to her lacked warmth, she couldn’t remember any occasion when his manner towards her hadn’t been faultlessly polite. The flash of anger in his grey eyes and the unmistakable message his whole body language was shouting threw her totally off balance. What had she done?
‘I’m not playing at anything, Ethan.’
‘Don’t waste that “butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth” look on me, Hannah Smith… It won’t wash any more.’
‘Kemp, I’m Hannah Kemp.’ He might like to pretend this weren’t true sometimes, but it was.
He rubbed a hand through his dark hair, disrupting the sleek silhouette. ‘You were less trouble as Smith,’ he reflected after a thoughtful pause. ‘I offered to drive you because you’re very obviously not fit to sit behind a wheel. What are you trying to do—smash the parts you missed last night?’
‘That’s a ridiculous overstatement!’ she protested. ‘And don’t think you’re the only one regretting this marriage,’ she yelled wildly.
His expression hardened into one of icy disdain as his cold glance whipped up and down her slender figure. Under the scrutiny she forced herself to straighten up, even though the ache in her ribs intensified.