“I’ll take you to meet the horses.”
Amelia follows me across the decking, checking out the terracotta urns overflowing with flowers, and the walled garden to our left.
She’s so distracted that she stumbles over the edge of the decking, and I catch her before she hits the ground on her knees.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” I hold onto her arms, dragging out the moment, too distracted by the gold and black flecks in her brown eyes to let her go.
She peers straight back at me, lips parted, a light flush on her cheeks which could be embarrassment at tripping in front of her new boss. “Thank you. I’m not normally this clumsy.”
“It’s been a long day.” I step back, my arms reluctant to lose contact. “We can go to the stables another time.”
She nods. “It might be safer.”
I leave Amelia in the kitchen with Orla who is preparing the evening meal.
In my study, I sit at my desk and pour a large slug of brandy into a crystal tumbler. The first shot doesn’t even touch the sides.
My brain is churning around Amelia’s presence in my house. The timing. Eoghan, my youngest son, has just met a young woman from New York. Emily. The housekeeper’s role opening up is purely coincidental, of course.
And then there’s Amelia’s announcement that her father is Michael Morran. This worries me perhaps a whole lot more than it should. If she finds him… If she discovers her lineage and then decides to approach him… She has no fucking idea what she’ll be getting involved in. No one fucks around with Monster Morran, and I can’t sit back and watch it happen.
But it’s the rabbit hole that my thoughts are spiraling into that bothers me the most.
Amelia is young enough to be my daughter.
I down my brandy and refill the glass.
Nope. My brain is still picking up where it left off like an itch demanding to be scratched.
Amelia is younger than my youngest son. I can’t believe that I’m even considering this, but I know how I felt when I caught her in my arms on the decking. I thought we could co-exist in the same house, boss and housekeeper, and never get close to one another, and yet, within hours of her arrival, I’ve already held her in my arms.
I already know how it feels to want to protect her. Toneedto protect her. To keep her safe, watch her smile, make her happy.
And for Amelia’s sake, I know what I must do.
I’m going to contact the recruitment agency and retract the offer of employment. I’ll transfer twelve months’ salary—enough to cover the initial contract terms—into Amelia’s account. I’ll send her back to the States in our private jet.
I can’t let her get close to her father.
I can’t let her get close to me because I’m frightened of what will happen if I let her stay.
3
AMELIA
I soon figureout that Orla is my best source of information when it comes to Declan. I’m guessing that she is in her seventies, with thick, silvery-white hair and papery skin, but she has endless energy, even if her joints don’t allow her to move as quickly as she would like.
When I come downstairs the next morning, the coffee machine is switched on, the laundry is in the machine, the welcoming aroma of homemade bread is wafting from the Aga stove, and Orla is sitting at the huge pine table with a mug of tea in front of her, and a bag of knitting in her lap.
“You made bread?” I pour coffee and take it to the table to join her.
“I can show you how tomorrow.” She pauses. “If you set your alarm a little earlier.”
I smile. Orla is the kind of woman who wouldn’t pull her punches. Carol would love her.
“You make bread every morning?”
“Aye, that’s right. What doesn’t get used gets taken into the village.”
