Miss Wright wore jeans and a pretty sweater, her dark blond hair blowing in the breeze. She couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two, far too young for him.
Not too young forhim, too young to be a nanny. Too young to trust with his niece. Except the more mature one he’d hired had been incompetent.
Miss Wright straightened her shoulders. “I agree,” she finally said. “You were.”
Noah was so surprised by her answer—by everything about her—that he was speechless. He shifted Charlotte to his other hip, buying himself a moment to come up with a decent reply.
“It wasn’t about you,” he said finally. “I mean, it was a little. Hiring someone like you?—”
“Someone like me?” Her chin lifted. “What does that mean? You don’t even know me.”
What was wrong with him? He navigated boardrooms and high-society functions with finesse, but he couldn’t get through a single conversation with this woman.
“I meant…” He cleared his throat, acutely aware of Charlotte’s curious gaze bouncing between them. “A young, unmarried woman living in my home. Surely you can see how people might interpret that. I have reasons for needing to avoid scandal right now, and?—”
“Are you saying I’m…scandalous?” Her lips twitched, and he couldn’t tell if she was amused or insulted or something else entirely.
“No, of course not. But you’re…” He gestured toward her, taking in her tall, shapely form. He regretted that move when her eyebrows rose. “That is, you’re clearly…attractive, and I’m a single man, and people talk.”
Now, her eyes narrowed and flicked to Charlotte. “You’re a single father?”
“The agency didn’t tell you?”
“Only that you were looking to hire a nanny. I didn’t know…”
He guessed by the way her lips pressed together that she was taking in all the information she’d learned and working the problem. “So, based on my looks alone”—her words came out slowly—“you dismissed me out of hand and hired an inept grandmother instead?”
How he wished he could argue with her conclusion.
Mrs. Dechambeau had come with zero references, but she was mature, and she’d babysat her grandkids for years. A sixty-three-year-old widow, she’d posed no threat of wagging tongues.
“Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “The ‘inept’ part was, admittedly, less than ideal.” He’d been so focused on protecting himself from scandal that he’d failed to protect his niece from real danger.
Charlotte tugged on his shirt collar and whispered in his ear. “I like the pretty lady better than the mean lady.”
He looked down at his niece, whose blue eyes were fixed on Miss Wright with obvious adoration. “Was Mrs. Dechambeau mean?”
She shrugged one shoulder but didn’t elaborate.
So far, he was doing this parenting thing all wrong.
Miss Wright smiled at his niece, and in that moment, all her defenses seemed to fall away. She was beautiful, yes. And kind and tenderhearted. If she weren’t so attractive, she’d be perfect.
But this wasn’t about him.
“If you would consider?—”
“I’m sorry. Of course I accept your apology.” Her gaze shifted back to Charlotte. “It was nice to meet you, Charlotte.” She swiveled and walked away.
“Daddy, please.”
Daddy?
The word was a gut-punch. He needed to correct her, remind her that he wasn’t her father. And he would, later.
His niece’s plea got his feet moving. He fell into step beside the stubborn, beautiful woman.
She slowed, glancing his way. “Did you need something else?”
