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Best for her, maybe. Yet if she was brave enough there was another way, one that had flashed tantalisingly into her mind. An insane idea and she wouldn't give it headroom so why had she heard herself telling him, 'Yes, I'm ready.'?
'I'm afraid the second bedroom's rather cramped,' Finn found himself apologising. 'My friends, Ben and his wife Joanna, have two boys—a four-year-old and a baby of nine months—hence the cot and narrow single. But if you feel cramped and uncomfortable we'll swap rooms.' He picked Sophie up off the floor and settled her against his hip, his eyes intent on his companion.
Caroline Fair was quite a lady. Clearly out of her depth in the situation she'd plunged into, yet just as clearly determined to hang onto it. Quite unlike her sister Katie, this one was a fighter.
When he'd first met Katie at her grandmother's eightieth birthday party she'd seemed like a bunch of fresh spring flowers in a cupboardful of dusty old aspidistras and it had soon become painfully obvious that she had the habit of trying to become invisible when in her grandmother's company.
Elinor was an overpowering old lady and only respected those who stood up to her. He had felt desperately sorry for the appealingly pretty young girl and one thing had led to another and he'd ended up in a situation that had been problematical, to say the least.
There would be no such difficulties with Caro. She was a different breed entirely. No clinging vine...
'The room's fine,' she answered primly, staring at the pretty flower-sprigged cotton curtains at the dormer window, wondering what she thought she was doing here.
Then she remembered precisely w
hat she thought she was doing here and went cold all over, frantically debating whether she had what it took to get the game moving.
'Right, if you're sure about that I'll leave you to unpack. But remember the offer's there if you change your mind. And perhaps you could make up the beds while I take Sophie down to explore the garden? We'll go to the village for provisions when you're ready.' He turned in the doorway. 'And get out of that prison-warder outfit while you're about it.' He grinned at her, hoping to put her at her ease.
She'd been subdued since he'd bawled her out for racketing around with the baby early this morning, his anger a direct reaction to the sudden, almost overwhelming need to scoop her up into his arms and kiss her silly.
But she had no way of knowing that, of course, and now he had to put her at ease, or as much at ease as the poor sweet would ever be until she came clean and told him exactly why she was pretending to be a nanny.
She was an independent young woman and if only half of what her grandmother had said about her was true she was intelligent, highly motivated and intensely loyal. He knew she wouldn't tell him a thing until he'd gained her trust.
He was going to get working on it, in earnest.
Alone, Caro sank down on the edge of the bed. She was suffering the unnerving experience of despising herself. All through her life she'd made her own decisions and, once made, she'd stuck to them, gone flat out to attain her goals.
Yet she was dithering over this one. It wasn't like her to be so feeble. Part of her brain was telling her to carry out her plan to hit that ratfink where it hurt before telling him exactly who she was and why she had suffered his odious company for so long, telling him exactly what he had done to Katie.
The other part was telling her to cut and run. Pick up her suitcase and walk down those stairs, phone for a taxi, give the brute a piece of her mind and get back to safety.
That was what was bugging her—the safety bit. She instinctively knew that if she stuck to her game plan she would be putting herself in danger.
Already that abundance of charm of his was getting to her, and there were some things about the wretch that she actually liked—his moments of consideration for her, the care and devotion he showed to his daughter, the way he had of taking charge with a natural warmth and ease, not with the cold arrogance she'd hated in the few other wealthy and highly successful males she'd encountered.
And, unlike any of the other males she'd occasionally dated, Finn Helliar had something special going for him, something that reached deep inside her and found a responsive chord she hadn't known she possessed.
She wasn't ready to respond to any man, not in that way, least of all Finn Helliar. It would be dangerous to get more involved with him.
Yet she hated him, didn't she? Surely that should be safeguard enough?
Grinding her teeth with rage over her own lack of decision, she got to her feet and stamped over to the window, looking out, and wished she hadn't because Finn was there in the garden, hunkered down on the soft green grass, one hand steadying his baby, the other pointing to one of the heavily flowered rose bushes.
He was shaking his head, pointing to the bush, obviously teaching the child one of life's most salutary lessons. That roses have thorns.
He stood, clasping Sophie's small hand, and they continued their slow discovery of the garden, and Caro's stomach muscles contracted as her eyes swept the hard, wide lines of his shoulders, the taut narrowness of his waist and hips. And the way the denim fabric hugged his thighs made something stab painfully deep inside her.
She turned away, her fingers gripping the edge of the small chest of drawers, her eyes tightly closed as she fought to gain some control of her stupidly wayward senses.
She was mad to let the man's undoubted sex appeal get to her this way! He used that damned sensual charisma like a weapon and left bleeding hearts behind.
Why else should his wife of a mere two years be conspicuous by her absence, leaving him to make major decisions—hiring a nanny for their beautiful little daughter, choosing where they would live—if she weren't away somewhere, hurt and disenchanted?
And she only had to remember Katie, the vulnerability of her ashen face, the shadows of pain and distress in her haunted eyes, when she'd told her what
had happened...
