The Ice Seduction Page 8

  Bertie cocks his head to one side, looking at me. He goes to his bed and climbs under the duvet. Then he nods.

  Hallelujah!

  ‘Great,’ I say, spying a pile of books on his bedside table. They’re the same books that were there earlier – the horror ones. ‘Not these though – they’ll give you nightmares. God – I hope no one else has been reading these to you.’

  I hunt around his room for a children’s story, but find nothing. Only Xbox games.

  ‘Wait there,’ I say, remembering the books in the West Tower. I dart out and grab Just William from the weird, dark room.

  Just as I’m leaving, I hear something. It sounds like a faraway laugh.

  What the hell was that? I really shouldn’t be here …

  The noise makes me hurry back to Bertie’s bedside all the quicker.

  He’s pulled the cover right up to his chin and is watching me.

  ‘Is this story okay with you?’ I ask, showing him the cover.

  Bertie nods.

  I feel a glimmer of happiness in my chest. My third nod of the day! I’m doing well.

  ‘Okay. Let’s get started.’

  I read Bertie the first Just William story, and after that he nods that he wants another. And another. We end up reading the whole book – all ten stories. By then, it’s eight o’clock and Bertie is starting to look tired.

  ‘Night night little soldier,’ I say, tucking the bedclothes around him.

  He doesn’t flinch, and his eyes look softer and gentler than they have done all day.

  I don’t give him a kiss – I think that might be taking things a little too far. But I say night night and sweet dreams.

  As I’m leaving the bedroom, I hear a knocking sound.

  I turn and see Bertie tapping his fist on the bedside table.

  ‘Are you okay Bertie?’

  He doesn’t say anything. But his mouth pulls up into the tiniest of smiles. I don’t need words to know what he’s saying.

  Thank you.

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ I say, returning his smile. ‘Sleep tight. See you in the morning, okay?’

  Bertie nods.

  31

  When I leave Bertie’s room, I use the tapestries on the wall to try and get my bearings.

  I have to get used to this place. I just have to. It’s no good getting lost all the time.

  Battles for east, churches for west. Isn’t that what Vicky said?

  I’ve walked down a good few corridors and staircases before I realize I still have the Just William book in my hand.

  Oh shit.

  I need to put it back like right now.

  I twist and turn, but I seem to be going around in circles. I’m seeing the same tapestries over and over again, but I can’t find the door that let me into Bertie’s bit of the castle.

  I decide to try every door until I find the right one.

  Some doors are locked, but others open into the most beautiful rooms. I see grand marble fireplaces and soft carpets and antique furniture.

  This part of the castle is less dark and cold, and more like a home.

  So this is where the Mansfield family live. Or lived. There are lots of sitting areas and huge bedrooms, but nothing looks used.

  I turn down a corridor and try yet another door. Its handle feels warmer than the rest, and I hesitate.

  What if someone is in here?

  But I need to return this book. I need to find my way back to Bertie’s room and the West Tower.

  I push the door open, then wish I hadn’t.

  Patrick Mansfield stands by an open fire.

  He’s prodding crackling logs with a long poker, and has his back to me.

  I stand for a moment, frozen. Then I attempt to creep back out of the doorway.

  Patrick’s shoulders tense.

  ‘Lost again Miss Harper?’ he booms, without turning around. His muscles move under his t-shirt as he pokes the fire.

  Good god, that voice …

  ‘How did you know it was me?’ I blurt out, trying to ignore the melting feeling in my stomach.

  ‘I have ears.’

  ‘All I did was open the door.’

  ‘That’s how I knew it was you.’ Patrick turns around. His eyes drop to the Just William book in my hand. ‘Interesting choice of reading.’

  I freeze. ‘I … I was just reading this to Bertie,’ I stutter.

  Patrick raises an eyebrow. ‘I told you not to go in the West Tower.’

  Oh hell.

  I redden.

  ‘Don’t you ever follow orders?’ says Patrick, his voice gruff.

  ‘I … Bertie wanted a story. I found this book by mistake, actually—’

  Patrick throws the poker into a brass log bucket. ‘Sit down.’

  Oh boy, I’m in trouble.

  There’s lots of furniture in the room – couches, chaises longues and easy chairs.

  I head to a chaise longue and perch on the edge of it.

  ‘I … honestly, I’m sorry. I … I was only thinking of Bertie.’

  Patrick comes to stands before me, towering over me. He’s so broad and solid, it’s like someone carved him out of rock.

  ‘You need to learn to do as you’re told,’ Patrick growls. ‘Exactly how far did you venture into the West Tower?’

  ‘I … just to the first room.’

  ‘Don’t go there again.’ Patrick paces towards the fireplace and picks up the poker again. ‘I should have known you’d go snooping. Typical woman. Tell her one thing and she does the other. But in this castle, you’ll learn to do as you’re told.’

  ‘Typical woman?’

  Patrick smiles at the fire. ‘Yes. Typical nosy woman.’

  I glare at him. ‘I wasn’t snooping.’

  ‘What would you call it then?’

  ‘Keeping out of Margaret Calder’s way,’ I snap.

  ‘And why would you do that?’

  Oh no. Now I’ve done it. I sigh. May as well tell the truth. It’s halfway out, anyway. ‘Because … she didn’t approve of me putting Bertie to bed. She said if she caught me doing it, she’d get me sacked.’

  ‘Did she indeed?’ Patrick turns to me. ‘Margaret Calder isn’t your boss. She has no authority where you’re concerned. Is that understood?’

  ‘I … ’

  ‘I’m the one in charge. Clear?’

  ‘Um. I suppose—’

  ‘I’m glad we understand each other.’

  ‘What’s so special about the West Tower anyway?’ I blurt out.

  Patrick shakes his head. ‘Never you mind.’ He prods the fire so fiercely that sparks fly. ‘Let’s just say that in this castle, it’s best some things stay hidden.’ He’s not looking at me. ‘For your safety as much as anything else. But for all your snooping, I’m glad you’re here.’

  I swallow. ‘You are?’

  Patrick turns to me. ‘You know I am.’

  My mouth opens and closes.

  Patrick laughs – a hard sounding laugh. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I told you as much this morning. Didn’t I?’

  ‘You … you said I was different. And … and intoxicating.’

  ‘More than intoxicating.’ Patrick fixes me with his fierce eyes.

  The blush spreads down to my neck.

  ‘And you’re attracted to me too,’ says Patrick. ‘Aren’t you?’

  Heat rises all the way up my legs until it swirls around my stomach.

  Oh good god.

  ‘I …’ I shake my head, and try to think of something, anything to say. In the end I say the first thing that jumps into my head. ‘I heard you were spoken for.’

  Patrick raises an eyebrow. ‘First I heard of it. Who’s the lucky girl?’

  ‘Um … Margaret Calder.’

  Patrick laughs. ‘She’s the last person who could ever speak for me, I assure you.’

  ‘So you’re not—’

  ‘No.’

  Little sprinkles of excitement hit my stomach. But … no. I can’t give i
n to this.

  ‘I should go,’ I say, getting to my feet.

  I drop the Just William book on the chaise longue. ‘I’m sorry about the book. And the West Tower. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I won’t go there again.’

  ‘Seraphina—’

  God, just him saying my name sets another beautiful storm swirling in my stomach …

  I hurry to the door, feeling his eyes on me the whole way.

  ‘Seraphina, wait.’

  But I don’t. Instead I hurry out, closing the door behind me.

  When I’m out in the corridor, I put a hand to my chest and sag against the closed door.

  Oh my god, my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.

  That was dangerous. Way too dangerous.

  32

  I turn and run, down corridors, up and down stairs, running and running until somehow I find my way to the main entrance.

  Thank god.

  I know my way to my bedroom from here.

  I hurry up the stairs, two at a time, gasping for breath, but when I reach my bedroom I find the room is bare.

  Where’s all my stuff?

  There’s a note on the bed …

  ‘Patrick, in his wisdom, has insisted you’re moved to a new room. You’ll find a map enclosed. Your possessions have already been moved.

  Agnes Calder’

  Under the note is a little hand-drawn map.

  I look around the tiny, cold bedroom, with its hard little bed and leaking window.

  I guess it will be nice to have a different room.

  Then I realize someone must have packed my bag for me. And I remember yesterday’s underwear that I left lying on the floor. In my rush to get ready this morning I just threw it there. Not that I’m usually tidy anyway, but … sooo embarrassing!

  Oh well. Onwards and upwards.

  As I follow the map, I discover another secret of Mansfield Castle – the doors with brass animals on them lead to corridors. The ones without lead to rooms. It helps me get my bearings.

  Before long, I’m in the corridor leading to my new room.

  I creep along, trying to keep my footsteps as soft as possible on the hard stone and wood floors.

  Soon I find my new bedroom and carefully try the handle.

  Whoa.

  Is this really my new room?

  It couldn’t be more different from the draughty, cold room I was in before.

  For a start, there’s a huge double bed, all made up with flowery linen and big puffy pillows. And then there’s the spongy carpet and long golden drapes by huge arched windows.

  There are radiators around the room that take off the winter chill.

  My bag is waiting by the bed, and my clothes have been neatly folded over an antique armchair.

  My guitar stands by a window.

  In the ensuite bathroom, there’s a huge tub and shower, and my toothbrush and makeup have been arranged around the sink.

  Wow. Thank you Patrick.

  I think of him, his eyes fierce and locked on mine, and feel such a fluttering in my stomach that I have to sit down.

  The attraction between us …

  Double wow. I can’t think of those words without heat rising around my body.

  This is all way too dangerous.

  I decide that I need to avoid Patrick – at least for a few days. A guy like that – he must have princesses and duchesses falling over themselves to be with him. Probably he just wants to have a one-night stand with ‘the help’ so he can laugh about it in the country club.

  I need to talk to someone. Urgently.

  I take out my phone. Thank god. This room has reception.

  I call Sharon.

  It’s a little late, but she won’t mind. She’s a really good friend that way. She’ll talk to me any time of the day.

  ‘Sera!’ Sharon picks up on the first ring. ‘Let me guess. You need me to book you a train home?’

  I chew my lip and think of Bertie. ‘No. At least, not yet.’

  ‘Not yet?’ Sharon’s voice brightens. ‘That sounds hopeful.’

  ‘I have a problem,’ I confess.

  ‘Spill it.’

  ‘Patrick.’

  ‘Patrick?’ says Sharon. ‘How are the two of you getting along?’

  ‘I’m … things are getting a little dangerous,’ I say. ‘I mean, he’s just SO hot. And I just … I just can’t stop thinking about him.’

  Sharon laughs. ‘Wow Sera. I’ve never heard you talk that way about a man before. Could this be love?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Just a stupid crush on the boss. Who Mrs Calder and her daughter have both told me to keep my hands off, by the way.’

  ‘Would the daughter be Margaret Calder by any chance?’

  I nod at the phone, surprised. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I know about the families in that area. The Calders have been trying to better themselves for years. And everyone knows Margaret Calder is on a mission to marry Patrick Mansfield.’

  ‘She told me they’d be married this year.’

  Sharon laughs. ‘She’ll be lucky. What she meant was, just like you said, keep your hands off. And you say her mother said something similar? Agnes? The housekeeper?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admit.

  Sharon laughs again. ‘Those two are a pair. So. What’s the problem? Why the late night phone call?’

  ‘Patrick … just now …’ I can’t find the words. ‘He said I was different,’ I finish lamely. I can’t bring myself to say the other word.

  Intoxicating.

  33

  ‘Well you are different,’ says Sharon. ‘And beautiful. And brave and you speak your mind. And you’re the best nanny I’ve ever had on my books.’

  ‘And he said … that he felt an attraction between us.’

  ‘Wow. Well, he’s right on one score, isn’t he? I mean, you just told me how hot he is.’

  ‘I’m just … a little confused. I mean, nothing can happen between us. He’s my boss. I’m here to look after Bertie.’

  ‘But he said you were different?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘And you like him?’

  ‘Yes,’ I admit.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like so much of a problem to me,’ says Sharon. ‘I mean, what I wouldn’t give to have someone stupidly rich and gorgeous like Patrick Mansfield to find me different from other women …’

  ‘But nothing can happen,’ I say. ‘I’m not going to mess up my job by getting sidetracked with the boss. Bertie and I are doing well. Sort of.’

  ‘I really think you have a chance of helping Bertie,’ says Sharon. ‘Of all the nannies I’ve sent up there, you’re the only one who’s likely to go the distance.’

  ‘I can handle Bertie. I just can’t handle …’

  ‘Having a crush on the boss?’ Sharon fills in.

  I laugh. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Look Sera, I’m willing to bet you’re not the first girl to get a crush on Patrick Mansfield. And you won’t be the last. I mean, hell, I have a crush on him. He’s the whole package. Good looks. Billions of pounds in the bank. His own castle.’

  ‘It’s not his money, or even his looks really,’ I say. ‘There’s something about him that … he knocks me sideways. I can hardly string a sentence together when he’s around. That’s not like me.’

  ‘It surely isn’t.’

  ‘And when he looks at me … I feel … I don’t know. Something I’ve never felt before.’

  ‘It all sounds very intriguing,’ says Sharon. ‘But you’re right – your focus should be Bertie. I mean, there probably isn’t a woman in the country who isn’t after Patrick Mansfield. Leave him to the gold-diggers and get on with your job.’

  ‘I know you’re right,’ I say. ‘And I would never … I mean, you know me. I’m professional. The job and the children come first. I would never do anything to compromise that. But … God, Sharon, he’s so hot.’

  ‘You’ve had to resist him, have y
ou?’ Sharon says, and I can almost feel her eyebrow raising down the phone line.

  ‘I ran away from him just now,’ I admit. ‘We were talking, and … I couldn’t handle it. I had to get out of there. I feel stupid for running, but what else could I do? God. Why did I run away? Now it’s going to be even worse when I see him again. I should have been stronger.’

  ‘I know why you ran,’ says Sharon. ‘You’ve been a grown up your whole life, Sera. You’ve always taken care of yourself and your little sister. And when it comes to men, you’ve always picked the ones you had to take care of. That Billy guy who borrowed money from you left, right and centre.’

  ‘And cheated on me,’ I add.

  ‘And cheated on you,’ says Sharon. ‘And now, here you are, maybe interested in a real man – a provider. A protector. And it scares the shit out of you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But it doesn’t matter, anyway. Like you say, I’m here to do a job. And a man like Patrick Mansfield would never really be interested in me. Not really.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ says Sharon. ‘But anyway, you’re right. Don’t let yourself get sidetracked.’

  ‘I won’t.’ But my voice sounds stronger than I feel.

  Next I call Wila, then I risk another call to the Carmichaels. I’ve called them five times since I lost my job, and every time the new nanny answers and comes up with some reason why I can’t speak to the girls.

  It kills me, and I just pray they know I’m calling.

  The phone rings a few times and then there’s a click.

  ‘Hello?’

  It’s the new nanny again. Her name is Tanya, and she’s not from Sharon’s agency.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ I say. ‘It’s Sera. The old nanny. Again. I was wondering, are the girls there?’

  ‘They’re not here,’ says Tanya, in her curt Russian accent.

  ‘Really? I mean, it’s a school night. Are they okay?’

  ‘They fine.’ Tanya sighs. ‘Mr Carmichael is asking me to asking you not to call any more.’

  ‘Oh.’ I grip the phone tighter. ‘Helen Carmichael said—’

  ‘Mr Carmichael the boss,’ says Tanya. ‘He the man with the wallet. And he asking that you not call.’

  My heart feels stony and cold. I want to cry. ‘But the girls – they need to know I still care about them. I miss them. Please. Please tell them that I called.’