her and met Rick’s gaze, her green eyes…beautiful. ‘Hello, Mr Bradford.’
Her voice reached out and wrapped around him like a caress. ‘Hello, Princess.’ He hadn’t meant to call her that; it just slipped out. Those eyes widened and continued to stare into his until the breath jammed in his throat.
‘Well, you needn’t think your bit of rough is going to get you out of your current jam and—’
‘Oh, do be quiet, you horrible little man.’
Those green eyes snapped away and Rick found he could breathe again.
And then he looked at her fully and what he saw made him blink. Nell looked as if she’d just stepped out of some nineteen-fifties movie. She wore a dress that made every male impulse he had sit up and stare. It had a fitted bodice that was snug to the waist and a skirt that flared out to mid-calf. It sported a Hawaiian beach print complete with surf, sand and palm trees.
‘Mr Bradford is ten times the man you are and what’s more he has manners, like a true gentleman.’
He did? In the next instant he shook his head. They were reading from different scripts here.
Without another word, Nell turned and took his arm. ‘I’m so glad you could drop around.’ And she led him back along the veranda, effectively dismissing the other man. ‘I’m terribly sorry. I’d take you through the front door—I don’t want you thinking I’m taking you in via the tradesman’s entrance or some such nonsense—but I can’t get the rotten thing open. I’m also afraid that you’ll have to excuse the mess.’
She led him through the French windows into a large room—a drawing room or parlour or music room or something of that nature. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the kind of room he’d had much experience with and, despite her words, it wasn’t ridiculously messy, but there were haphazard piles of boxes everywhere and piles of papers on the only piece of furniture in the room—a small side table.
‘Why can’t you get the door open?’ He detached his arm from hers. Her warmth was…too warm.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘It’s jammed or swollen up or something.’
Why hadn’t she had it looked at?
None of your business. He hovered by the French windows until he heard the clang of the front gate closing behind the suit. He glanced behind to make sure anyway. He turned back to Nell. ‘What was that all about?’
Those green eyes caught fire again. ‘He’s an estate agent who wants to sell my house, only I’m not interested. In more ways than one! He turned out to be a seriously sexist piece of work too. I can tell you now, Mr Bradford, that if you try any of the same tricks you’ll meet with the same fate!’
She was a slim blonde firecracker. In a retro dress. He wanted to grin. And then he didn’t.
The fire in her eyes faded. She made as if to wipe a hand down her face only she pulled it away at the last moment to clasp both her hands lightly in front of her.
She was so different from the last time he’d seen her.
‘I’m sorry, that was an unforgivable thing to say. My blood’s up and I’m not thinking clearly.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, because it was what he always said to a woman.
Nell shook her head. ‘No, it’s not. I have no right to tar you with the same brush as Mr Withers.’
That was when he noticed that behind the blonde princess perfection she had lines fanning out around her eyes and she wasn’t wearing lipstick. ‘I’d prefer it if you’d call me Rick.’
The hint of a smile played across her lips. ‘Are you up for a coffee, Rick?’
And, just like that, she hurtled him back fifteen years. Come and play. It hadn’t been a demand or a request, but a plea.
He had to swallow the lump that came out of nowhere. He wanted to walk out of those French windows and never come back. He wanted…
He adjusted his stance. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
She smiled for real then and he realised that anything else that had passed for a smile so far hadn’t reached her eyes. ‘C’mon then.’ She hitched her head and led him through the doorway into a hallway. ‘You don’t mind if we sit in the kitchen rather than the parlour, do you?’
‘Not at all.’ He tried to keep the wry note out of his voice. His type was never invited into the parlour.
Her shoulders tensed and he knew she’d read his tone. She wheeled around and led him in the other direction—back towards the front door—instead. She gestured into the large room to the left. ‘As you’ll see, the parlour is in a right state.’
He only meant to glance into the room but the sight dragged him all the way inside. In the middle of the room something huddled beneath dust sheets—probably furniture. It wasn’t that which drew his attention. Plaster had fallen from one of the walls, adjacent to an ornate fireplace, and, while the mess had been swept up, nothing had been done about the gaping hole left behind. A rolled-up carpet leant against another wall along with more cardboard boxes. The light pouring in at the huge bay window did the room no favours either. Scratching sounded in the chimney. Birds or a possum?
He grimaced. ‘A right state is the, uh, correct diagnosis’
‘Yes, which is why I currently prefer the kitchen.’
Her voice might be crisp, but her shoulders weren’t as straight as they could be. He followed her into the kitchen and then wasn’t sure if it was much better. The housekeeper had obviously upped and left, but how long ago was anyone’s guess. A jumble of dishes—mixing bowls and baking trays mostly—teetered in the sink, boxes of foodstuffs dominated one end of the enormous wooden table and flour seemed to be scattered over the rest of its surface. It smelt good in here, though.
She cleared a spot for him, wiped as much of the table down as she could and he sat. Mostly because it seemed the most sensible and least dangerous thing he could do. He didn’t want to send anything flying with a stray elbow or a clumsy hip. Nell moved amid the mess with an ease and casual disregard as if she were used to it. He didn’t believe that for a moment, though. The Princess had grown up in a world where others cleaned up the mess and kept things organised. This was merely a sign of her natural polish.
Or unnatural polish, depending on how one looked at it. She’d lacked it as a ten-year-old, but her parents had obviously managed to eventually drill it into her.
The scent of coffee hit him and he drew it slowly into his lungs. ‘So…you’re moving out?’
Nell started as if she’d forgotten he was there. She sent him one of those not quite smiles. ‘Moving in, actually.’
Moving in? On her own? In this great old empty mansion?
None of your business.
His lips twisted. Since when had he been able to resist a damsel in distress? Or, in this case, a Princess in distress. ‘What’s going down, Nell?’
She
