Taken by the highest bidder Page 6

  His eyes, dark in the firelight, met hers and for a long unblink­ing moment he just looked at her, as if he could see into her. "We all make mistakes," he said at last.

  Something in his voice nearly moved her to tears. He sounded almost sympathetic and that was unbearable. She bunched her hands in her lap, fighting emotions she didn't know how to man­age. Her life, like Gabby's, hadn't been easy, and in her life there had been few people looking out for her. Just Charles, and then Charles was gone as suddenly as he'd come into her life.

  "Whatever happens," she said hoarsely, thinking she shouldn't have come back to the Rookery, shouldn't have re­turned here at all. "Do not pity us. We don't need your pity."

  "I don't think I mentioned pity."

  Her teeth scraped together. She dropped her voice lower. "Maybe not. But I can see what you're thinking."

  He dropped his voice even lower and leaning forward, he caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his. "Then I need to buy you some glasses, Samantha, because apparently you can't see a damn thing. You can't see what's in front of you— good or bad—and that's a problem. Not just for you, but Gabriela."

  His hand burned where it touched her chin, her skin flaming hot, hotter. His touch was firm, sure, a finger at her chin, his thumb beneath, close to her throat She shuddered a little. Everything was wrong. Nothing was right anymore. Her entire world had upended and she felt as if she were standing on top of her head. "I didn't think you cared about Gabriela,"

  Abruptly he released her, sat back. "It's late," he said shortly, "nearly two in the morning. We'll talk more in the morning."

  She nodded, confused by his rapid mood change but too wor­ried about antagonizing him to ask for an explanation. "There are two bedrooms, but they'll both be cold."

  "Are the beds made up?" he asked, standing.

  "Yes. There are extra quilts in chests at the foot of each bed."

  "Which room is yours?"

  "It doesn't matter. I'm just going to sleep in here near Gabby,"

  He started to leave and then stopped in the shadowed hall. "Maybe you weren't the wife you hoped you'd be, but surely Johann wasn't the husband you'd hoped for, either."

  Sam's eyes burned. She'd never admit it to Cristiano, but she hadn't really expected much from Johann. She'd worked for him before they'd married. She knew who he was, and what he was, and maybe that's why she accepted his proposal. It was a paper marriage, was meant to be a loveless marriage. She knew she'd never love anyone the way she'd love Charles...and quite frankly, didn't think she deserved love after losing Charles.

  "Isn't there a saying," she said softly as the fire fizzed and popped, "be careful what you wish for?" Sam looked up, met Cristiano's hooded gaze. "It's true. I learned that one the hard way, too." She grimaced, wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. "Anyway, it is late. Good night. Sleep well."

  Cristiano was right, morning did come early, but the fire never died out and Sam found out later, when she woke, it was because Cristiano had gotten up repeatedly during the night to add more logs to keep the cottage warm.

  Gabby, for her part, was delighted to discover they had com­pany. "You!" she said, bounding out of her bed on the couch as she spotted Cristiano entering the house, carrying a stack of firewood. "You came to see us in England!"

  "I did."

  Gabby grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around her shoulder as he stacked the split logs next to the hearth. "You played cards with Papa."

  Sam turned sharply towards Gabby. "How do you know that?"

  "He did, didn't he?" she asked innocently. "And he took Papa's money, too”

  "Gabriela!"

  The girl looked from one to the other. "Didn't he?"

  Cristiano tossed a log onto the fire. "Yes," he said bluntly as sparks hissed and shot from the fire, "He wasn't a very good card player."

  Gabby nodded thoughtfully and she chewed her lip. "That's what Sam says, too," And then her expression cleared- "Maybe you can play some cards with me."

  Sam nearly choked on her tongue. "I don't think he plays the kind of games we play, Gabriela."

  "I can teach him," Gabby answered- "Go Fish and War is easy"

  "I think I remember how to play." Cristiano smiled faintly as he brushed his hands off. "In fact, I used to be very good at Wan"

  "Really?" Gabby's tongue poked out, touched the corner of her mouth giving her a slightly naughty look. "I bet I'm better than you." She leaned forward, said in a stage whisper, "I beat Sam. I beat everyone."

  Sam blushed with embarrassment but Cristiano laughed, a deep masculine sound that rumbled from his chest,

  "You are your father's child, aren't you?" he said, but he wasn't looking at Gabby as he spoke. He was looking right at Sam.

  And suddenly Sam understood even though she didn't want to. Last night she'd ignored the facts, but this morning she couldn't play ostrich. It was all beginning to make sense. The card games, the high stakes, the ruthless moves, the seizing of family and assets...

  She was forced to ask questions now, forced to piece it to­gether bit by bit.

  Perhaps this wasn't just a gambler's impulse move...

  Perhaps all along Cristiano had ulterior motives...

  Perhaps Cristiano, not Johann, was Gabriela's father...

  But those fragmented thoughts were forgotten as Gabby scrambled to the window and announced, "Someone's coming! It's a lady and she looks mad,"

  Sam tucked a blond curl behind her ear and exchanging swift glances with Cristiano, headed for the door. But on opening the door, Sam froze as she caught sight of the white-haired woman bundled in a thick gray wool. "Mrs. Bishop," she whispered, rooted to the spot.

  The elderly woman looked equally stunned, her annoyance giving way to shock. "Samantha?"

  Sam closed the distance and gave the older woman a swift hug. "What are you doing here?"

  Mrs. Bishop clasped her hands on Sam's shoulders. "I should ask you the same! You gave us all quite a scare. I'd heard there were lights here last night, and I insisted Gilbert, my son-in-law, drive me over." She paused, tilted her head back, and searched Sam's face. "If s been so long, my girl. Where have you been?"

  "Away." Sam tried to smile but couldn't. Suddenly the past was rushing back, painful memories she didn't want, couldn't bear. Charles had died eight years ago and yet suddenly it seemed as if it were just yesterday. "How is everyone? And where is everyone? When did the Rookery close?"

  "Not long after you left."

  "I see." Sam bit her lip, and she did see, she knew exactly what had happened. Without Charles to run things there proba­bly wasn't funding, or the management, to keep the orphanage open. "Would you come in?"

  Mrs. Bishop nodded, and followed Sam back into the cottage but her expression fell as she took in the cottage's deplorable con­ditions. "You can't possibly mean to stay here. The cottage is a wreck. There's no water, heat, plumbing. What are you think­ing?"

  Sam smiled, but tears filled her eyes. "I don't know."

  Mrs. Bishop saw the tears and shaking her head, clucked, "It's not been easy, has it, my girl?"

  Mrs. Bishop's kindness would be Sam's undoing and yet Sam knew she couldn't break down here, not in front of Gabby, not with Cristiano standing just a stone's throw away, listening to everything being said. Which reminded her. she ought to make introductions. She couldn't very well pretend Gabby and Cristiano weren't here.

  But Mrs. Bishop had spotted Gabby already. She clapped her hands, bent low. "And is that your little girl?"

  Gabby scampered to Sam's side. "Um, yes." Sam put an arm around Gabby's shoulders, "I'm her...her...nanny."

  "And my mum. My step mum," the little girl corrected. "You see, she married my dad. Johann van Bergen. But he left us. There were problems with money."

  Mrs. Bishop's head shot up and she stared aghast at Sam. "Is this true?"

  Sam flushed- "More or less."

  "And is that why you're here?" Mrs. Bishop continued worrie
dly. "You've nowhere else to go?"

  Put like that it sounded absolutely appalling- A desperate Sam dragging a little girl across the continent to a derelict or­phanage in Cheshire.

  Her mouth opened, her throat worked, but there was no ready answer- Just the sting of tears she wouldn't cry, and the bite of memory, the ache of heartbreak.

  She'd grown up here, gone to school here, and would have lived here as Charles's wife if he hadn't died. No wonder she'd run here when she didn't know where to go. Until she was eigh­teen, the Rookery was her entire world,

  "We're in transition," she said, finally finding her voice. "But I thought until we were more settled, it'd be nice to visit"

  Mrs. Bishop's light blue gaze, though watery, missed little. "Are you in trouble, my girl?"

  Sam's cheeks burned and she shook her head swiftly and be­fore she could stumble her way through another feeble protest, Cristiano moved forward.

  "Samantha wanted us to see her home," he said, sliding an arm around Sam, his hand resting lightly and yet provocatively, on her hip. "She thought it was important we knew where she came from."

  "Yes, of course." Mrs. Bishop was nodding and clucking again. "You've heard then all about her life. So much tragedy for one so young." She regarded Sam with a look of tenderness. "I was the head housekeeper when she came to stay with us at the Rookery. It was a very difficult time but we loved her and she adjusted, although there were many nights we heard her crying."

  'Mrs. Bishop," Sam remonstrated, going hot and cold. Mrs. Bishop’s shared memories were nearly as painful as Cristiano's arm against her lower back, his hand warm on her hip. Her body exquisitely sensitive.

  "I know it's hard, Samantha," Mrs. Bishop said, reaching out to touch Sam's cheek. "But if he loves you half as much as we do, he'll want to know everything."

  Sam shuddered. "He knows enough."

  "So you've told him all about Charles, then?" Mrs. Bishop's expression gentled even more. "Ah, that was a tragedy no one's forgotten—"

  "Mrs. Bishop." Sam's voice came out strangled.

  But Mrs. Bishop so engrossed in her memories and stories seemed oblivious to Sam's agony. "It was horrific. No one could believe it, no one knew what to do. Our beautiful Sam, a bride and a widow all in the same night"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The silence that followed didn't last long, no more than any other silence following a difficult remark, but for Sam, it felt end­less.

  She'd never told anyone about Charles, had never spoken about her brief marriage that ended less than eight hours after the ceremony-Sam stepped away from Cristiano. "With the Rookery closed, where do you live now, Mrs. Bishop?" Her voice was crisp, and she did her best to look firmly in control- Best thing to do now was quickly move forward- Act as if nothing had been said. "I know you had family in the area."

  Sam succeeded in distracting the elderly woman and Mrs. Bishop nodded- "That's right I broke my hip a number of years ago and it's slowed me so I live with my daughter, and her fam­ily now." Mrs. Bishop glanced down at Gabriela. "In fact, I have several granddaughters very close to your age. They're twins." Gabby beamed. 'I’m almost five. I'll be five February 16th,"

  "Well today is Saturday, the perfect day for a tea party." Sam smiled, smoothed Gabriela's dark hair back from her brow. "That sounds like fun. Maybe later Gabby can meet the girls."

  "Why doesn't she come home with me now?" Mrs. Bishop said stoutly.

  "We haven't even had breakfast." Sam felt the panic return, the sensation like little needles in her stomach and brain. She couldn't be alone with Cristiano, couldn't be here with Cristiano, and didn’t want Gabby gone and Cristiano looking at her, talking to her, having anything to do with her.

  Mrs. Bishop waved away the protest. "She can have break­fast with the girls, and we're just down the lane, not even a mile away. If she wants to come home, we'll call you and zip her right back."

  "Can I go?" Gabby tugged on Sam's hand. "Can I? I bet they have dolls and lots of toys."

  And gazing down into Gabriela's eager little face, Sam real­ized all over again how much Gabriela had been deprived of these past four and a half years. Not just toys and pretty dresses, but parties and playdates. Friends. Johann wouldn't let anyone ever come to the house, and overtures made by parents at Gabriela's school had been immediately rebuffed by Johann. "You're not afraid to go?" Sam asked softly.

  "No! I'm not afraid of anything,"

  It was true. Just last summer Gabby had leaped off the high dive at a local swimming pool—a diving board so high that most nine- and ten-year-old girls avoided it—but Gabby had loved it. Gabby said when she grew up she wanted to be an astronaut, or a fireman, as long as she could go fast and jump out of tall buildings.

  Sam had never understood where Gabby got her thrill seeking personality from, but now it was beginning to make sense.

  Sam looked at Cristiano, hesitated. "You don't mind if she goes, do you?"

  "Not if you're comfortable," he answered evenly. "And lean give Mrs. Bishop my mobile number. That way she can call the moment Gabriela gets tired or the girls stop having fun."

  Sam nodded gratefully. "Good idea. Then we can just run down and pick her up."

  "Or I can bring her back."

  While Mrs. Bishop and Cristiano exchanged phone numbers, Sam went to locate Gabby's coat, and then using her fingers, did her best to comb Cabby's hair smooth before pulling it into a long ponytail. "Be good" Sam whispered into the little girl's ear, walking her from the primitive bathroom back to the cottage door. "Don't cause any trouble."

  Gabby flashed an impish smile. "I never do!"

  And it crossed Sam's mind, as Mrs. Bishop trundled a beam­ing Gabriela toward the car, that nothing must dim Gabriela's quick smile and bright eyes. Gabriela mustn't ever grow up quickly. She should remain a child as long as she was a child. Sam was only six when her own parents died and life had never been the same. Everyone at the Rookery had tried to step in, patch things together, but mothers and fathers were never replaced. And Sam's parents, although working class, had been solid and loving. Dependable.

  And that's what Sam tried to be for Gabby. Solid, loving. Dependable,

  As Mrs. Bishop shut her own door, she rolled down the win­dow and leaned out. "Sam I nearly forgot. I have the key to the Rookery. Why don't you stay there? It has a generator in back, and a proper kitchen with working appliances."

  "Oh, I don't know," Sam said, glancing at the cottage behind her. It was small, and rustic, but it was also quaint and cozy in a way the old rambling Rookery would never be.

  "Take the key anyway." Mrs. Bishop extended her hand, held a key ring out to her. "Just return it to me when you leave,"

  Sam was conscious of Cristiano standing behind her as she stood in the driveway watching Mrs. Bishop slowly make her way down the lane, her small blue car bouncing in the potholes just like the taxi did last night. The lane was a mess, the sides of the road a jungle of weeds and blackberry thorns, so different from how Sam remembered it as a child.

  "You don't let her out of your sight very much, do you?" Cristiano said, his voice a deep rumble,

  Sam shivered at the bite of cold air. It was chillier this morn­ing than it had been last night when they arrived. "No." Reluctantly she turned to face him, her hands burrowing in her coat pockets, fingers stiff, "I worry about her when she's gone,"

  "Why?"

  "Things have happened in the past" she said evasively, un­willing to go into detail about the kidnapping attempt several years ago that had put Sam in the hospital and given Gabby nightmares for months. It had been three years since the kidnap­ping attempt—someone had obviously thought Baron van Bergen had more money than he did—but the terror was still very real to Sam.

  She still didn't know who had targeted Gabriela, and the Monaco police had never come to any conclusions. In the end they concluded it was a random attack. They'd told Johann how lucky it was that Sam was there, and that she fought as hard as she did to def
end Gabriela, otherwise the perpetrator would have succeeded.

  But Sam didn't feel lucky. The police's conclusions did little to comfort Sam, and until the case was solved, Sam believed that Gabby remained a target.

  "What things?" Cristiano asked.

  Sam shrugged uncomfortably. She didn't like talking about bad things, didn't want to dwell on that which was frightening or out of her control. Funny, she thought, how much she didn't let herself think about, or feel. "Something happened years ago that's made me extra protective toward Gabby, Nothing's hap­pened since, but I still worry."

  Cristiano's brow furrowed and he looked down the lane where the blue car had gone and then back to Sam. "But you trust Mrs. Bishop?"

  "Oh. yes." Sam mustered a smile, knowing she was being silly and yet old habits were so hard to break. "Mrs. Bishop was like a surrogate mother to me when I lived here—she'd do anything for me. And I know she'll take good care of Gabby. She's a very kind woman,"

  "So why are you so uneasy?"

  Because I'm stack with you, that's why.