His Cinderella Mistress

She turned back to Max, to see him looking interestedly around the room, her father’s brush and comb set still on the dressing table, along with several paperback books, a photograph of the three sisters taking pride of place beside the clock on the bedside cabinet.

Max reached out to pick up the photograph, studying it for several long moments, before putting it carefully back in place. ‘Cute,’ he murmured.

January turned away. She had been feeling awkward with him all evening. As the four of them had eaten dinner together. As they’d turned the television on later that evening to listen to the weather forecast and heard that the blizzard had now spread over most of the country. The warning had been repeated about not travelling unless it was absolutely necessary, accompanied by several scenes where people hadn’t heeded that warning, showing dozens of vehicles that had had to be abandoned.

The least she could do, January had decided, was to offer to make up Max’s bed for the night.

‘I hope you don’t mind?’ She indicated the bedroom. ‘The only other bed we have available is in the small bedsit we had converted over the garage—and that hasn’t been used since the summer.’ She grimaced.

Max looked at her with narrow

ed eyes. ‘That would be the accommodation used by the help you had staying last summer?’

January gave him a sharp look. How did he—? Of course, she and May had discussed that in front of him earlier today. Although she sensed more than casual interest in Max’s remark…?

‘Yes,’ she confirmed slowly, watching him warily now.

His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you would particularly care whether or not I froze to death over there.’

Of course she cared. Too much, as it happened.

She shrugged. ‘That may be a little difficult to explain to anyone who comes looking for you,’ she returned tartly.

He grimaced. ‘That’s always supposing that someone did.’

January gave a humourless smile. ‘I’m sure Jude Marshall would wonder what had happened to his lawyer!’

Max had once again picked up the photograph of the three sisters, glancing across at her. ‘He just might at that,’ he conceded dryly. ‘You were very young when this photograph was taken.’ He frowned down at the image.

‘About two and a half.’ January nodded, strolling over to look down at the photograph. ‘March was three and a half, May a little over four.’

‘Three peas in a pod,’ Max drawled, referring to what January had said was her father’s description of them. ‘There seems to be someone standing behind you,’ he continued frowningly. ‘There, you see.’ He pointed to the hand resting on May’s left shoulder and another on March’s right, January sandwiched between her two sisters. ‘Your father?’ he prompted interestedly.

She shook her head. ‘My father took the photograph.’

Max looked even more puzzled. ‘Then who—?’

‘My mother,’ she told him abruptly, taking the photograph out of his hand and returning it to its original place on the bedside cabinet.

Max looked at her frowningly. ‘Your mother? But—’

‘Can I get you anything else before I go to bed myself?’ January cut in briskly. ‘A cup of coffee? Something else to eat?’

‘No, thanks,’ he answered slowly, once again looking at the photograph of the three sisters. ‘Isn’t that a little strange?’ he murmured softly. ‘Why would your mother have been cut from the photograph? Surely it must have been one of the last pictures your father had of the four of you together?’

‘Probably, yes,’ January confirmed sharply, not welcoming his questions.

Because she had asked her father the same question once. His answer that the photograph wouldn’t fit into the frame if it wasn’t cut down had seemed very strange, even to an eight-year-old. But the look on her father’s face, almost of bewilderment, had been enough for her never to ask about her mother again.

Max was looking at her searchingly now, his brow clearing as he answered her previous question, ‘I really don’t need anything else, thanks,’ he repeated lightly. ‘And don’t worry, January,’ he added dryly. ‘I promise I’ll be out of your way as soon as the weather breaks.’

‘That’s good,’ she answered distractedly, her expression instantly becoming stricken as she realized exactly what she had said. ‘What I meant—’

‘I know what you meant, January.’ Max laughed softly, moving to stand in front of her, blue eyes gleaming with laughter. ‘You meant exactly what you said!’ He shook his head. ‘And I can’t say I exactly blame you,’ he added ruefully. ‘If I were in your shoes I would feel exactly the same way!’

This wasn’t helping January in her efforts to dislike him! Neither was his close proximity!

But maybe May had been right after all; maybe getting to know them all personally—some more than others, January acknowledged with an inner wince!—was making this as difficult for Max as it was for them? She certainly hoped so!