He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [41]
‘I wasn’t.’ She eyed him as he wandered over to her unicorn poster and stood staring at it with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Beneath the thin white knit of his cotton T-shirt, the set of his shoulders was tense and irritable.
‘She is their mother,’ she added, with a little glint of anger growing in her eyes at his words, his tone, and because he was tired and cross and there was nothing she could do about it.
‘And you’re their stepmother.’
‘In name only,’ she murmured with her own irony. ‘But even so, even if I were real, I’d have left them alone.’
‘You’re very full of wisdom and serenity tonight, Nicola,’ he said with a faint undercurrent of sarcasm as he turned to gaze at her. ‘I can’t help wondering if it has anything to do with Richard Holloway’s declaration.’
‘I thought you might have heard—’
‘Oh, I heard.’
‘Then you might at least,’ she said swiftly and coolly, ‘credit me with having absolutely no control over something that happened before I’d even been introduced to the man!’
‘I believe we’ve discussed this before,’ he shot back.
‘No, we haven’t!’ she cried frustratedly, and jumped up.
‘If you’re contemplating slapping my face again, Nicola, don’t,’ he warned, and when she ground her teeth he smiled dryly and continued, ‘I meant, we’ve discussed the fact that men tend to take one look at you and be instantly attracted. That does not necessarily mean they’ve fallen in love with you.’
‘Well, at least he thinks he is,’ she said passionately, ‘whereas all you’ve offered me is a lot of plusses—like a checklist. Tick, tick, tick!’ She gestured graphically.
‘You’re being childish, Nicola.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘A moment ago I was being wise and serene. But here’s something for you to think about, Brett—I don’t care what you think of me any longer. Because I intend to do what I see fit, and don’t imagine the fact that you’re my trustee will stop me.’
They stared at each other. ‘And what is that?’ he drawled finally.
‘I...haven’t decided yet.’ She met his look unflinchingly, though.
‘I see.’ His gaze slid up and down her slim figure and lingered on the shining mass of her hair. She’d washed it and dried it with her hairdryer, so it was full of bounce and vitality. ‘And very proper too,’ he murmured then, with a wicked little glint in his eyes.
‘If you’re laughing at me, Brett—’
‘Not at all,’ he denied. ‘I’m suitably impressed. However—and I’ve asked you this before—may I expect you to maintain the status quo until your twenty-first birthday?’
Nicola considered this with a frown in her eyes. ‘I don’t see—that’s only a date. What difference does it make?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s looked upon as a milestone in most people’s lives for some curious reason, I agree, but perhaps, as a social custom, it does mean more than an excuse to have a party.’
‘Are you proposing to give me the key of the door?’ she asked, somewhat sceptically.
He paused. ‘On behalf of your father, Nicola,’ he said at last, ‘in a manner of speaking.’
There it is again, she thought dismally. We always seem to come back to my father. She sighed. ‘All right. It is only a week away—although I still think it’s...’ She opened her hands.
‘He would be relieved to know you hadn’t made any momentous decisions before then.’
Nicola blinked and sniffed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Brett said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to make you sad.’
‘It’s all right.’ She brushed at her eyes. ‘How are the kids? Is Marietta still here?’
‘No. But she sang them to sleep. She’s coming back tomorrow morning.’
‘With...?’
‘Yes. Another big day.’ He grimaced. ‘Mind you, as mistress of the house, you were—perfect, earlier.’
Nicola tried to stop herself, but to no avail. She started to smile, then she started to laugh, and when he took her hand in his she didn’t resist. ‘Have you ever seen two people take such an instantaneous dislike to each other?’
‘No,’ he responded with a look of rueful amusement, and kissed her knuckles. ‘Will you sleep all right now?’
She looked up into his eyes, and the smile on her