The Spaniard's Woman

‘It’s all right for some!’ Sharon grumbled through a mouthful of sausage and egg. But the appreciative look in her heavily made-up eyes had Rosie laying down the single slice of toast which was all she’d said she could manage. Glancing through the kitchen window in the direction of Sharon’s gaze, she saw Sebastian approaching through the fields and her heart jumped up into her throat. He was so gorgeous, no wonder the other girl was staring. Jeans and a chunky sweater only served to emphasise his powerful physique and his stride, in those walking boots, looked really purposeful.

Her stomach performed an alarming series of acrobatics. Ever since she’d steeled herself to present herself for breakfast her stomach had been misbehaving. Nauseous at one moment, as if she were already suffering from morning sickness, squirming with electrical charges at the memory of last night in the very next second.

‘You’ve got to admit it, he’s a real hunk,’ Sharon pronounced, reaching for the toast and marmalade.

Madge said prosaically, ‘The Senor will be hungry,’ and stood up from the table.

And I might be pregnant, Rosie thought, and wondered why the idea didn’t seem quite so alarming as it had done, then felt her face drain of colour as a horrible premonition crept into her mind. If history was going to repeat itself exactly then—‘Is he married?’ she heard herself blurting, although framing that question out loud hadn’t been her intention.

Putting bacon and tomatoes ready for the grill, Madge gave a wry chuckle. ‘Not that one! Once, when I told him it was time he settled down, he asked me why he should be satisfied with one flower when he could have a whole bunch. Still, I dare say the time will come.’

‘Fancy your chances?’ Sharon settled back in her chair and grinned unrepentantly. ‘Forget it. If I thought there was any chance he’d go for one of the common herd I’d be in there, strutting my stuff! When he does marry, she’ll have to be drop-dead fantastic, with a pedigree going back to the Ark and a sackful of dosh. His type wouldn’t settle for anything less.’

As if she needed reminding! Rosie made her excuses and fled.

Sebastian entered the house via the service area, shed his walking boots and pushed his feet into an old pair of loafers. His timing was spot on: breakfast was in progress, he could smell grilling bacon from here. But when he walked through into the kitchen the stab of disappointment that speared through his entire body was so out of character that he feared for his sanity.

No sign of Rosie. Just a plate with a crumbled piece of toast where she must have been sitting, Madge making fresh coffee, Sharon reaching for the last slice in the rack, the seams of her brown overall straining.

Even in her over-large overall Rosie managed to look both endearing and nerve-tinglingly sexy, he recalled, as his common sense finally overrode his disappointment at not finding her here. The announcement he’d intended to make was burning his tongue but it could wait until they all met up for lunch.

‘Jump to it, Sharon,’ Madge ordered as she turned back to the table, cafetiere in one hand, a fresh rack of toast in the other.

‘Rosie’s already hard at it. And I don’t want to come up and find you gossiping and wasting time.’

Sebastian suppressed a grin as Sharon rolled her eyes and reluctantly hauled herself to her feet. Her jaw was set at a pugnacious angle as she stated, ‘I’ll work this week out, then I’m jacking it in. It’s boring, and I ain’t used to being treated like a kid. My boyfriend wanted to go clubbing last night, only we couldn’t. He said to get locked out, see if I cared, I could stay over at his. He said to give you the elbow. But I told him I wouldn’t get paid if I didn’t work the week out, and I ain’t scrubbing floors for nothing. Not for no one.’

She turned her angry reddened face to Sebastian, as if, he thought, as he poured his coffee, she was looking for his support. But her departure at the end of the week suited his plans just perfectly. He needn’t make that semi-formal announcement after all.

He said smoothly, ‘We’ll be sorry to lose you, Sharon. Your mind’s obviously made up so I won’t ask you to change it.’ And waited for her to stump out of the room before giving his attention to Madge. Who was fuming.

‘That girl’s as unreliable as the rest of her family! Now what are we going to do? Sir Marcus expects the house to be sparkling for when he brings that—his fiancee here. Rosie’s a good worker but she can’t do it on her own, not even with what help I’ll be able to give her. And it’s too late to go advertising again.’

‘Relax, Madge. Sit down, won’t you?’ He waved her to a chair on the opposite side of the table and began to eat his bacon, surprised at his keen appetite after the demons of remorse and self-loathing that had been his companion in the early hours of the morning.

But he’d faced those demons, faced the possible repercussions of those heady hours when he’d slaked his lust on Rosie’s tormentingly responsive, gorgeous body. It had been a reprehensible mistake on his part and the excuse that he had completely and quite uncharacteristically lost his head was no excuse at all.

But at least he now knew what he had to do.

Looking into his old friend’s face, he said, ‘Leave everything to me.’ And he carefully spelled out the decisions he’d reached during his early-morning walk, too intent on enjoying his breakfast to note the way Madge’s brows rose to her hairline as he spelled out his plans for Rosie.

Half an hour later he exited Marcus’s study, the first part of his plan put into operation. A team of professional cleaners, based in nearby Ludlow, would be arriving first thing in the morning.

Now all he had to do was inform Rosie of the domestic alterations. She might dig her heels in, but hell, he thrived on challenges, didn’t he?

His pace determined, he mounted the stairs quickly, heading for whichever of the rooms the girls were working in, alerted by Sharon’s raucous laughter as he approached the master suite.

The door was open. He heard Sharon say, obviously in answer to a question Rosie had posed, ‘Briar Cottage? ‘Course I know it. Everyone knows everyone in this one-eyed dump. It’s an estate cottage; the head gardener lives there. Why do you ask? Someone you know?’

‘No, not really.’ Rosie’s voice was muffled, sounding slightly breathless. ‘Someone who knew I was coming to work in the vicinity just happened to mention it. Said it was a picture. I just wondered where it was.’

‘Turn right at the bottom of the drive, down the lane, first right again on to a track and you’re there. It’s OK, I suppose, if you like thatch and roses round the door stuff. Me, I’d rather go take a look at the inside of the travelling library—and that’s saying something, believe me!’

Sebastian grinned to himself. Sharon obviously had no time for the delights of rural life. He walked through the doorway.

Sharon was lying back on Sir Marcus’s dust-sheeted bed, idly examining her bitten fingernails. She shot him a sullen look and shuffled off the bed, but Sebastian had eyes only for Rosie.

She had her back to him and was painstakingly cleaning the daunting expanse of the main small-paned window, the morning sunlight giving her beautiful hair shimmering silver highlights. Unlike the lazy Sharon, Rosie was putting her heart and soul into her work, intent on earning every penny of her wages.