Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress. Carol Marinelli

child caused something good and pure to well deep inside her. Matilda’s usual happiness, which had been stifled since Dante’s rejection, bubbled to the surface again as she witnessed her work through the eyes of a child.

      A child like Alex.

      ‘Look!’ Matilda’s voice was an excited whisper. She crouched to Alex’s level, as she had on the first day, taking her cautious hand as she had back then and beckoning Alex to new wonders as Katrina and Hugh wandered around to explore. ‘Look what’s here!’ Parting the curtain of willow, Matilda led her inside the cool enclosure, the fairy-lights she had so carefully placed lighting the darkness and creating a cool, emerald oasis, an enchanted garden within a garden, a place for Alex to simply just be. But the innocent pleasure of the moment was broken as the leaves parted, as Dante stepped into the magical space and completely broke the spell.

      ‘You could put engravings on the bark.’ Matilda’s voice was a monotone now as she addressed Dante, talking like a salesperson delivering her pitch. ‘Or hang some mirrors and pictures, perhaps put down a blanket and have a crib for her dolls…’

      ‘She loves it,’ Dante broke in, the emotion that was usually so absent in his voice rolling in the distance as he sat down on the mossy ground, watching as his daughter stared up at the twinkling lights, her hands held in the air, fingers dancing along with them. ‘It is the first time I have seen her happy in a long time.’

      ‘Not so bad for a stupido garden?’ Matilda said, and if she sounded bitter, she was: bitter for the way he had treated her; bitter for all they had lost. But because Alex was present, Matilda swallowed her resentment down, instead giving Dante the information he would need if the garden she had planted was to flourish. ‘I’ve just got to clean up and attend to a few minor details tomorrow, but I’ll be gone by lunchtime.’

      ‘By lunchtime?’ There was a tiny start to his voice, a frown creeping across his brow, which Matilda chose to ignore. ‘I probably won’t catch up with you tomorrow, but I’ll write up some instructions for your gardener and run through a few things with you now. Know that the whole garden will improve with time.’ Picking at some moss on the ground, Matilda continued, ‘Every day you should see some changes. The paths are littered with wild seeds—buttercups, daisies, clover—so you shouldn’t mow too often…’

      ‘Matilda?’

      ‘There are no sharp edges.’ Ignoring him, she continued, trying to get through her summing-up, knowing this was one job she wouldn’t be following up, knowing she was seeing it for the last time. ‘And no plants that can hurt, no thorns that could scratch, nothing that might sting—she should be perfectly safe here. This garden is what you make of it—you could pick marigold leaves with Alex to add to your salad at night—’

      ‘Matilda, we need to talk,’ he interrupted again, one hand creeping across the ground to capture hers. But she pulled away, determined to see this last bit through with whatever dignity she could muster, yet unable to stop herself from looking at him for what was surely going to be the last time. Her final instructions to him were laced with double meaning, littered with innuendo, and from Dante’s tense expression she knew he felt each one.

      ‘No, Dante, you need to listen. This garden may look beautiful now, but tomorrow when I’ve cleaned up and gone, you’ll come for another look and see its apparent faults. Tomorrow, in the cold light of day, you’ll wonder what the hell you paid all this money for, because the lights won’t be on and the bushes will look a bit smaller and sparser than they do tonight. You’ll see all the lines where the turf was laid and the sticks holding up the plants and—’

      ‘It will still be beautiful to me,’ Dante interrupted. ‘Because it’s already given me more pleasure than I ever thought possible.’ And, yes, he was talking about Alex, because his hands were gesturing to where his daughter sat, but his eyes were holding hers as he spoke and she knew that he was also referring to them. ‘Yes, it might just take a bit of getting used to, but I can understand now that in the end it would be worth it…’ She stared back at him for the longest time, swallowing hard as he went on. ‘That if I nurture it, care for it, tend it…’ With each word he tempted her, delivering his veiled apology in a low silken drawl. ‘Then it will reward me tenfold.’

      ‘It would have,’ Matilda said softly, watching his wince of regret at her refusal to accept it, actually grateful when Katrina and Hugh ducked inside the emerald canopy and broke the painful moment, because whatever Dante was trying to say it was too little, too late—even a garden full of flowers wasn’t going to fix this.

      ‘Join us for a drink,’ Hugh offered. ‘Dante’s just about to put Alex to bed…’

      ‘I’ve got too much to do here.’ Matilda smiled as she shook her head. ‘But thank you for the offer.’

      ‘I think we might have to stay over.’ Katrina pretended to grimace. ‘Hugh’s had a couple too many champagnes to drive.’

      ‘I’ve had one,’ Hugh said, but Katrina had clearly already made up her mind. Matilda was tempted to tell her that she needn’t bother, that Dante didn’t need to be guarded on her final night here, but instead she offered her goodnights and headed to the mountain of tools that needed to be sorted.

      ‘You really ought to think about finishing up,’ Dante called. ‘There’s a storm brewing and with all these cables and everything it could be hazardous.’

      She didn’t even deign a response, grateful when they left, when finally the garden gate closed and she was alone.

      Despite her utter exhaustion, working a sixteen-hour day, when finally Matilda showered and fell into bed, sleep evaded her, the body Dante had awoken then tossed aside twitching with treacherous desire. Lying in the darkness, she gazed out over the bay, watching the dark clouds gathering in the distance, the ominous view matching her mood as she listened to the talking and laughter coming from the garden below. Katrina’s grating voice telling tales about the wonderful Jasmine did nothing to soothe her and she wished over and over that she’d managed to avoid Dante tonight.

      Reluctantly she replayed his words in her mind. With total recall she remembered the look on his face as he had spoken to her, and she knew that she’d almost forgiven him, that had he touched her, she’d have gone to him.