of the agreement are very specific,’ Mrs Bennet said with an air of serious warning. ‘Firstly, any benefactor of the revered Seagrave Dunworthy must speak of him in the most laudable terms. Otherwise they may lose the benefits conferred on them by the will.’
‘Oh, I’ll certainly do that,’ Sasha said with feeling. ‘He must have been a wonderful man.’
‘Highly esteemed,’ Mrs Bennet agreed. ‘And secondly, the rental conditions are very precise. The money must be paid each Friday morning, after nine o’clock, and before the grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimes the twelfth stroke of the twelfth hour at midday.’
The eccentricity of this instruction seemed to add a ring of substance to the rest of Seagrave Dunworthy’s will. ‘I can’t pay in advance?’ Sasha asked.
‘Definitely not.’
‘Ten dollars fifty,’ Sasha repeated in dazed bemusement.
‘For convenience, ten is better,’ Mrs Bennet advised. ‘Then we don’t have to worry about change.’
‘Ten,’ Sasha agreed, wondering if she had fallen through the looking glass like Alice. ‘I get all this for ten dollars.’
‘Well, if you’d like to negotiate...’
‘No, no. Ten dollars is fine. I’ll pay it first thing on Friday morning.’
‘After nine o’clock,’ Mrs Bennet reminded her. ‘Now let’s go downstairs and I’ll give you duplicate keys for the front and back doors. Then you can move in whenever you like.’
‘It will be tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine, dear.’
Sasha was in such a daze that it wasn’t until Mrs Bennet was escorting her to the front door that a niggle of curiosity slithered into her mind. ‘Does Mr Parnell know about the terms of Seagrave Dunworthy’s will?’
‘Oh, yes, dear. Mr Parnell is a lawyer. He explained all the terms of the will to me.’
A man of many parts, Sasha thought. Retired barrister, white knight, boy scout, the sexiest man she had ever met, and what else?
‘I don’t know what we would have done without Mr Parnell,’ Mrs Bennet continued. ‘We ran into terrible trouble. My husband was robbed of his business, although we couldn’t prove it in court. We lost everything: our livelihood, the roof over our heads, all the money we had saved. We had nowhere to turn until Mr Parnell suggested this place and got us settled here.’
‘He did that for you, too?’ Sasha mentally added Good Samaritan to the list.
‘Such a kind man.’ Mrs Bennet opened the front door and smiled at Sasha. It seemed to be a ‘welcome to the family’ kind of smile. ‘My husband will help you carry your belongings in tomorrow if you need a hand, dear. I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.’
‘Thank you.’
It seemed ungrateful to linger, taking up more of Mrs Bennet’s time, but the memory of all those grand rooms prompted one last question. ‘Does anyone else live here besides you and Mr Bennet?’
‘Why, of course, dear. I thought you knew. Mr Parnell lives here.’
CHAPTER FOUR
BY EIGHT o’clock on Sunday night, Sasha had moved herself and Bonnie into the Mosman mansion. She was unpacked and as settled as she was ever likely to be in this household. She didn’t know how long her occupancy was going to last, but she was going to make the most of it while she could.
Bonnie was fast asleep in the nursery. Sasha had the luxury of the nanny’s quarters to herself. She took a long, hot shower, pampered herself by putting on her peacock blue satin robe, then brushed her hair as she made a critical assessment of herself in the vanity mirror.
She had never been called pretty. Tyler had said she was elegant. Fine bones, a long neck and the straight fall of black hair to below her shoulderblades had been her main attractions to him. She wondered what Nathan Parnell saw in her, apart from her skin. She did have fine skin, but she had always thought of it as pale, not creamy, and tonight there were signs of stress and fatigue under her eyes. The last few weeks had not been easy.
Sasha put down the hairbrush and strolled into the kitchenette. A cup of coffee, then she would see what was on TV. She switched on the percolator, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction in not having to consider anyone but herself.
She hadn’t seen Nathan Parnell all day. Mrs Bennet had told her he and Matt had gone visiting; Sasha didn’t ask with whom or where. She was determined not to show any interest in him. But Mrs Bennet had told her other items of interest.
She and her husband rented the servants’ quarters on the other side of the main kitchen. Nathan Parnell employed them as his housekeeper and handyman. This very convenient arrangement gave rise to grave suspicions in Sasha’s mind.
Nathan Parnell liked convenience. He also used the law to suit himself. Seagrave Dunworthy’s highly eccentric will could very well be an invention of Nathan Parnell’s fertile mind. It had brought him the Bennets, who obviously served him well, believing they were the recipients of remarkable good fortune. With the same good fortune extended to Sasha, he might be counting on getting himself a compliant wife.
If so, he could think again. Desperate situations required desperate solutions, but Sasha couldn’t believe her situation would become so desperate she would consider marriage in any circumstances to Nathan Parnell.
The more Sasha pondered her position here, the more it seemed to her that it didn’t matter whether Seagrave Dunworthy was an authentic person or not. All she had to do was believe in him implicitly and esteem him so highly that no one could ever fault her on that score. The terms of his will not only allowed her to live here cheaply, but also independently of Nathan Parnell’s good will or humour. As long as she paid her rent within the required time on Fridays, Nathan Parnell could have nothing to complain about.
The percolator boiled.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ she called, wondering what Mrs Bennet had forgotten to tell her this time.
Sasha poured coffee into her cup, heard the door open; then realised several moments passed without a word being spoken. Surprised into looking for the reason, Sasha lifted her head and was abruptly jolted out of her complacency. Marion Bennet was not her visitor at all. It was Nathan Parnell.
He stood by the opened door, apparently as transfixed by the sight of her as Sasha was by him. He was dressed in navy trousers and a white shirt, yet Sasha was instantly assailed by a sense of dangerous intimacy and a heart-choking awareness of dangerous virility.
Her mind registered shirt buttons left undone, a deep V of tanned chest with a sprinkle of dark curls, rolled-up shirt-sleeves, muscular forearms, the damp sheen of hair freshly washed, electric blue eyes that sent sizzling sensations pulsing to sensitive places.
She was suddenly, flamingly conscious of her nakedness under the silk of her robe. Her skin sprang alive with awareness. Her nipples tightened. She searched frantically for something to say, anything to disrupt the current of serious sexuality flowing between them.
‘I thought it was Marion Bennet.’
He didn’t seem to hear. She needed something less obvious, more earth-shaking. Nothing came to mind.
‘How striking you look in that vibrant blue.’ His deep baritone voice seemed to throb through her. His mouth slowly curved into a whimsical smile that was somehow loaded with sensuality. ‘I don’t suppose you’re wearing it for me.’
‘No.’
‘What a waste.’
Sasha desperately gathered her wits, determined not to be drawn into anything she didn’t want. ‘I have to thank you for suggesting this