Passionate Protectors?. Maggie Cox

the house, she had only Mrs Webb’s ire to contend with, however. The housekeeper clicked her tongue when she saw Matt’s wet clothes and said, ‘Go and get into a hot shower before you catch your death.’ Then she turned on Sara. ‘You should have told me you were going out,’ she exclaimed shortly. ‘I would have warned you about the tides.’

      ‘I know.’

      Sara was contrite, but Matt chose to intervene. ‘Give her a break,’ he said, heading for the hall. ‘She’s had a shock. And, as far as getting wet is concerned, it is the middle of June, not November.’

      ‘And that water’s warm, is it?’ Mrs Webb enquired, with some sarcasm, and he sighed.

      ‘Warm enough,’ he said, not to be outdone. ‘Right. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.’

      Sara knew this remark was addressed to her, but she had no intention of staying in the kitchen until he returned. It was to avoid the housekeeper’s questions that she’d sneaked out in the first place, and although she was fairly sure Matt hadn’t told Mrs Webb who she was, she wasn’t prepared to take that chance.

      She waited until Matt had disappeared upstairs before saying casually, ‘I’ll be in my room, if anyone wants me.’

      ‘Why don’t you stay here?’ The housekeeper sounded put out. ‘Unless I’m not good enough for you, that is.’

      Sara blew out a breath. ‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she said evenly. ‘It has nothing to do with your company, I can assure you.’

      Mrs Webb regarded her grudgingly. ‘Matt says you’re staying until tomorrow,’ she remarked conversationally. ‘Have you—er—have you known him long?’

      Sara blinked. ‘Matt?’ She shook her head ‘I only met him yesterday. I thought you knew.’

      ‘I know what he said,’ declared the housekeeper narrowly, looking sceptical. ‘But he seems awfully concerned about someone he only met twenty-four hours ago.’

      Sara wished she’d left when Matt had. Whatever she felt about it, Mrs Webb was determined to get her pound of flesh. ‘I meant it,’ she said, ‘we barely know one another.’

      But she couldn’t help wondering what the housekeeper would say if she was honest. She and Matt might only have known one another for a short time, but their relationship couldn’t be judged in terms of hours and minutes. Despite the shortness of their association, he probably knew her more intimately than anyone else.

      Mrs Webb shrugged and returned to the casserole she’d been preparing before they came in, and Sara took the opportunity to get away. Favouring her uninjured leg, she left the kitchen, going as swiftly as she could up the stairs and along the gallery to her room.

      It was amazing how quickly this room had become her refuge, she thought, sinking down onto the bed. It wasn’t her room, and it certainly wasn’t anything like the room she’d shared with Max. But it was bright and cheerful, and she felt at home there.

      Which she had never done in the luxurious duplex apartment she shared with her husband. Situated in a fashionable part of the city, it had been decorated and furnished by a firm of interior designers that Max thought highly of. She’d had no say in any of it. The apartment was expensive and soulless, and she hated everything about it.

      Or perhaps she’d simply hated the life she’d lived there, she acknowledged bitterly. Like his Rolex watch, his Armani suits and his Bentley, she had been just another of Max’s possessions. The only difference had been that he had treated his watch, his clothes and his car rather better than his wife.

      Her hip throbbed, reminding her that she ought to check and see that it hadn’t started bleeding. The skin had been seriously scrubbed in places, and it wouldn’t be the first time that she’d had to repair the damage. But this time she didn’t have a convenient wardrobe of clothes to change into, and she could imagine Matt’s reaction if he saw blood on her dress.

      Lifting the hem of her skirt, she examined the injury, noticing that the skin was badly inflamed. But that was because of the way Matt had carried her, and she could hardly blame him for trying to save her life.

      Nevertheless, there was a faint trace of blood oozing from the point of her hip and she clicked her tongue in frustration. Now what was she going to do? She didn’t carry any adhesive plasters in her haversack. Perhaps she’d find some in the bathroom cabinet. It was the kind of thing people did keep in case of emergency.

      Holding her skirt to her waist, she got up from the bed and limped into the bathroom. Then, clutching her dress in one hand, she reached up to the cabinet with the other.

      ‘Sara?’

      It was Matt’s voice and she panicked. He mustn’t see her like this. All right, so he probably knew about Max’s accident, but there was no need for him to witness her humiliation. If he chose to call the police she couldn’t stop him. But she could hold onto her dignity until then.

      Pushing the bathroom door to with her uninjured hip, she called weakly, ‘What do you want?’

      ‘Can I come in?’

      Sara breathed a little more easily. She’d thought at first that he was in. ‘Why?’ she asked, suddenly remembering what he’d said about Mrs Webb. ‘I don’t need any assistance.’

      ‘I’m not offering any,’ he replied, his voice louder now. ‘I’ve brought you a gift.’

       A gift!

      Sara blinked. What kind of gift could he have brought her? Some more of his old clothes? Or perhaps he wanted to show her the newspaper where he’d read about her? That seemed infinitely more likely.

      ‘I—just leave it on the bed,’ she called, deciding there was no point in expecting him to go away without achieving his objective. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

      There was silence for a moment, and then she heard Matt’s voice just outside the bathroom door. ‘What are you doing?’ he exclaimed. ‘Is your hip all right?’

      Sara trembled. ‘It’s fine,’ she insisted. ‘What do people usually do in the bathroom?’ She closed the door of the cabinet, just in case he came to investigate, but that was a mistake. She had evidently dislodged the items inside and a tube of hair gel came clattering down into the basin in front of her.

      ‘What the—?’ Without more ado, the bathroom door was forced open, and Matt stood on the threshold staring at her with bleak horrified eyes. ‘For God’s sake,’ he exclaimed, staring at her injury. ‘Did I do that?’

      ‘As if.’ Sara managed the contemptuous rejoinder with amazing composure. But then, realising that her lacy briefs left very little to his imagination, she allowed her skirt to fall and sagged against the basin. ‘I had a fall before I came away.’

      Matt gave a disbelieving snort. ‘You do a lot of falling in your house, don’t you?’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Sara stared at him with confused eyes.

      ‘Your husband,’ he stated flatly, his eyes still fixed on the spot her skirt had now hidden from his gaze. ‘He fell, too. What a coincidence!’

      Sara’s shoulders slumped. ‘You don’t know anything about it.’

      ‘No.’ Matt agreed. ‘But I’m willing to listen if you want to tell me. I’m not jumping to conclusions here, but a simple fall wouldn’t have caused that mess.’

      ‘It did.’ Sara was desperate. ‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean it to happen. And that’s the truth.’

      Matt’s brows drew together. ‘Hey, I’m not accusing you of anything,’ he protested. His eyes darkened. ‘I’d guess it had something to do with your running away, right?’

      ‘If you say so.’ Sara spoke wearily. ‘So what now? Are you going to turn me in?’