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“Really?” Gabby’s tongue poked out, touched the corner of her mouth giving her a slightly naughty look. “I bet I’m better than you.” She leaned forward, said in a stage whisper. “I beat Sam. I beat everyone.”
Sam blushed with embarrassment but Cristiano laughed, a deep masculine sound that rumbled from his chest.
“You are your father’s child, aren’t you?” he said, but he wasn’t looking at Gabby as he spoke. He was looking right at Sam.
And suddenly Sam understood even though she didn’t want to. Last night she’d ignored the facts, but this morning she couldn’t play ostrich. It was all beginning to make sense. The card games, the high stakes, the ruthless moves, the seizing of family and assets…
She was forced to ask questions now, forced to piece it together bit by bit.
Perhaps this wasn’t just a gambler’s impulse move…
Perhaps all along Cristiano had ulterior motives…
Perhaps Cristiano, not Johann, was Gabriela’s father…
But those fragmented thoughts were forgotten as Gabby scrambled to the window and announced, “Someone’s coming! It’s a lady and she looks mad.”
Sam tucked a blond curl behind her ear and exchanging swift glances with Cristiano, headed for the door. But on opening the door, Sam froze as she caught sight of the white-haired woman bundled in a thick gray wool. “Mrs. Bishop,” she whispered, rooted to the spot.
The elderly woman looked equally stunned, her annoyance giving way to shock. “Samantha?”
Sam closed the distance and gave the older woman a swift hug. “What are you doing here?”
Mrs. Bishop clasped her hands on Sam’s shoulders. “I should ask you the same! You gave us all quite a scare. I’d heard there were lights here last night, and I insisted Gilbert, my son-in-law, drive me over.” She paused, tilted her head back, searched Sam’s face. “It’s been so long, my girl. Where have you been?”
“Away.” Sam tried to smile but couldn’t. Suddenly the past was rushing back, painful memories she didn’t want, couldn’t bear. Charles had died eight years ago and yet suddenly it seemed as if it were just yesterday. “How is everyone? And where is everyone? When did the Rookery close?”
“Not long after you left.”
“I see.” Sam bit her lip, and she did see, she knew exactly what had happened. Without Charles to run things there probably wasn’t funding, or the management, to keep the orphanage open. “Would you come in?”
Mrs. Bishop nodded, and followed Sam back into the cottage but her expression fell as she took in the cottage’s deplorable conditions. “You can’t possibly mean to stay here. The cottage is a wreck. There’s no water, heat, plumbing. What are you thinking?”
Sam smiled, but tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Mrs. Bishop saw the tears and shaking her head, clucked, “It’s not been easy, has it, my girl?”
Mrs. Bishop’s kindness would be Sam’s undoing and yet Sam knew she couldn’t break down here, not in front of Gabby, not with Cristiano standing just a stone’s throw away, listening to everything being said. Which reminded her, she ought to make introductions. She couldn’t very well pretend Gabby and Cristiano weren’t here.
But Mrs. Bishop had spotted Gabby already. She clapped her hands, bent low. “And is that your little girl?”
Gabby scampered to Sam’s side. “Um, yes.” Sam put an arm around Gabby’s shoulders. “I’m her…her…nanny.”
“And my mum. My stepmum,” the little girl corrected. “You see, she married my dad. Johann van Bergen. But he left us. There were problems with money.”
Mrs. Bishop’s head shot up and she stared aghast at Sam. “Is this true?”
Sam flushed. “More or less.”
“And is that why you’re here?” Mrs. Bishop continued worriedly. “You’ve nowhere else to go?”
Put like that it sounded absolutely appalling. A desperate Sam dragging a little girl across the continent to a derelict orphanage in Cheshire.
Her mouth opened, her throat worked, but there was no ready answer. Just the sting of tears she wouldn’t cry, and the bite of memory, the ache of heartbreak.
