‘Oh, really?’ he asked harshly. ‘And why would you do that?’
‘Heaven knows, but I will. Just stay here and keep quiet.’ He stared at her. She lifted her shoulders. It was something between a shimmy and a shrug. It did something to the way her nightgown clung to her slender body that had much the same effect on his breathing as a couple of cracked ribs. She was right, he wasn’t going anywhere fast enough to make a difference.
‘Whatever you say, lady. Just don’t try and be too clever.’
‘Clever? Me?’ Her mouth suddenly widened in a broad smile. ‘You must be joking. I’m just your average dumb blonde.’
Blonde, certainly. A knock ’em dead and wipe the floor with ’em blonde. Average? Scarcely. Dumb? Never. As she turned, with a little switch of her backside as if to prove her point, there was a second, more urgent knock.
‘Be careful what you say,’ he ordered quietly from the kitchen door, still not sure why he was trusting her.
Dora looked back. Gannon and Sophie were framed in the doorway, and he had his hand stuck in his pocket as if fingering a concealed weapon. Surely not? He was just trying to frighten her... Maybe she should be frightened. A whole lot more frightened than she was.
She swallowed as her nerves caught up with her, then spun round, slipped the chain on the door and opened it a crack.
The young constable waiting on the step was little more than a boy, his face so smooth that he didn’t look old enough to shave. The idea of asking him to collar a man like Gannon and march him off the local police station was plainly ridiculous, she told herself. Just in case she needed convincing. Besides, the wretched man would go as soon as he’d rested. And she was quite sure he’d be only too happy to leave Sophie behind if he thought she was in good hands.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Marriott?’ the young constable asked, assuming that she was Poppy. She considered correcting his mistake, but decided against it. She wanted him to go as quickly as possible, and that would just slow things down.
‘Fine.’ The word came out as little more than a croak. ‘Fine,’ she repeated, more convincingly. ‘Why? What’s up?’
‘Probably nothing, but your security company alerted us that your alarm had been triggered. I’m sorry it took so long to get here, but they’re going off all over the place tonight with this storm.’
She worked very hard at keeping her smile in place, her expression showing nothing more than mild surprise.
‘I’ve looked around, but everything seems secure.’ The constable glanced up. ‘Your security lights don’t seem to be working, though.’
‘No, I turned them off,’ she said, cursing herself for all kinds of a fool. If they’d been on they might have deterred her unwanted visitor. Except where would little Sophie be now? Soaked to the skin beneath some hedge. A prime candidate for pneumonia.
She reached for the switch and the area around the cottage was floodlit for a hundred feet, illuminating a police car parked a few yards away and picking up the rain spots soaking into the policeman’s jacket.
‘They seem to light up every time something bigger than a mouse walks by. It makes me jumpy,’ she told him, and added a suggestion of a giggle at her own foolishness.
She was careful to keep any special emphasis out of her voice, careful not to do or say anything that might cause the man behind her to lose his nerve and bolt with Sophie into the darkness. Not that there appeared to be anything wrong with his nerves. But still, she wasn’t taking any chances.
‘Would you like me to come in and check the cottage for you, just in case?’ the young man offered.
He took a step forward but she didn’t unhook the chain. ‘There’s no need, really.’
‘It wouldn’t be any trouble,--’
‘Pete?’ his partner called from the patrol car. ‘If you’ve finished, we’ve got another call.’
‘I’ll be right with you.’ Pete turned back to her. ‘As I said, it was probably the lightning that set off the alarm, Mrs Marriott.’ He nodded towards the car. ‘I expect this is another one.’
‘How trying for you. I’m terribly sorry that you’ve had a wasted journey.’
‘No problem. Just get the alarm checked out in the morning.’ He glanced up again. ‘And keep the lights on. They do make opportunist thieves think twice.’
Too late for that. ‘I’ll do that,’ she assured him. ‘And thank you for coming to check up on me.’
‘It’s what we’re here for. Goodnight, ma’am.’
She could scarcely believe that she was letting him walk away. What on earth was she thinking of? She ought to call him back—
‘Shut the door, Mrs Marriott. Now.’ Gannon’s voice was barely audible from the other side of the door. Too late. She pushed it shut and turned to lean against it as her legs buckled a little at her own stupidity. ‘I can’t believe I just did that.’
‘Don’t worry. You played the dumb blonde so well that the poor kid will break his neck to get back and check up on you the minute that lightning and burglar alarms permit. I’ll just have to rely on the fact that you’re a respectable married lady who will swiftly send him about his business.’
Married? For a moment Dora couldn’t think what John Gannon was talking about, then she realised he had picked up on the young policeman’s mistake. She glared at him. It was what any respectable married lady would do under the circumstances, wasn’t it?
Who was she kidding? Under the circumstances any respectable married lady would have screamed the place down, not offered a burglar the comfort of her home.
‘We’ll see. If you’re really such a good friend of Richard’s, I’ve got nothing to fear.’ She stared pointedly at his hand, still in his pocket. ‘Have I?’
‘No, Mrs Marriott,’ he said, taking his hand carefully from his jacket pocket and pulling the lining out with it, to show her that it was quite empty. ‘Nothing at all.’ The truth of the matter was that Gannon, his ribs giving him hell, his shoulder protesting at the weight of Sophie as she slumped against him, felt incapable of raising a sweat on a nervous fly. And he had no wish to frighten her; what he wanted was her help. ‘Besides, if I hurt you, Richard would probably hunt me down and kill me with his bare hands.’
Dora didn’t anticipate raising that kind of passion in Richard for herself, but she had a pretty good idea of what he would do to anyone who even considered hurting her sister. And, because her intruder had picked up the policeman’s mistake, he was now under the impression that she was Richard’s wife. Well, if that impression was going to keep her safe, she wasn’t about to disabuse him.
‘Only probably, you think?’
He met her gaze head on, for a moment meeting her challenge. Then there was the tiniest contraction of lines fanning out from his eyes, softening his face in an oddly seductive smile that made her catch at her breath. ‘No, not probably, Mrs Marriott. Without question.’ And his voice, back to silken velvet, did nothing
