Mia’s jaw dropped as Thierry’s animosity made sudden and perfect sense.
Thierry shot to his feet. ‘I told you that in the strictest confidence!’
They all stared after him as he slammed out of the house.
Carla leapt up too, grabbing her handbag. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ she said to Mia, before racing after him.
Mia glanced at Dylan. Did he mean to slam out of her cottage as well?
He stared back, his mouth a hard straight line, and she realised he meant to do no such thing.
She swallowed. ‘Dessert?’
‘Please.’
Before Mia could retrieve the crème-brûlées the cottage phone rang. That phone hardly ever rang.
She lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘This is Andrew Fairweather, Ms Maydew—Dylan and Carla’s uncle. Perhaps you remember me?’
His tone of voice said, Of course you remember me.
‘Yes, sir, I do.’
‘A disturbing report has reached me claiming that you and my nephew are romantically involved. Well?’
His tone reminded her of her father. Her hands trembled.
You stood up to your father.
She pushed her shoulders back. ‘No comment.’
‘I know about your background, young lady!’
Her fingers tightened about the receiver. ‘I can’t say as I’m surprised.’ She glanced at Dylan to find him watching her closely.
‘I’m giving you a friendly warning.’
Oh, yes—very friendly.
‘Stay away from my nephew and niece or you will be sorry.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
The line went dead. She dropped the receiver to the cradle and made for the kitchen.
‘Was that the press?’ Dylan demanded.
She set a crème-brûlée in front of him and slid into her seat. ‘Have a taste.’
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but he spooned some of the dessert into his mouth and an expression of bliss spread across his face. He swore—just a little swear word—in an expression of wonder, not of alarm or anger. ‘This is amazing.’
She stared at him, her chest clenching and unclenching, her skin going hot and cold, and something inside her melted so fast she wanted to cry out loud at the shock of it.
She loved him.
She loved him utterly, but she couldn’t see how things between them could ever work out.
‘Mia?’
She straightened. ‘It wasn’t the press on the phone, Dylan. It was your uncle.’
* * *
Dylan swore—one of the rudest words he knew.
Mia flinched. For all that she’d been to jail, she was no hardened criminal.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.
She waved his apology away. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
It did matter. She deserved better. ‘He warned you off?’
‘Yes.’
He set his spoon down. ‘What did he threaten you with?’
Her lips lifted a fraction. ‘It wasn’t a threat, but a “friendly warning”.’
As if that were somehow different! He wished to God he could smile with her, but his sense of humour had deserted him. It had abandoned him when he’d walked away from her last week.
Fear had taken its place. Fear that he would never find a way to win her love.
‘And it wasn’t specific—just a general warning to stay away from you and Carla or I’d be sorry.’
‘Are you going to heed him?’
She picked up her spoon and pressed it gently to the crust of her crème-brûlée until it cracked. ‘Surely you and Carla have some say in the matter?’
He stilled. That felt like progress. ‘You’re not going to buckle under to his bullying?’
‘Your uncle reminds me of my father. I stood up to my father and the world didn’t come crashing down. Mind you—’ her sigh arrowed into his chest ‘—it didn’t do me any good either.’
The smile she sent him made his eyes burn.
‘I suspect that if he chooses, your uncle could cause trouble for me.’
‘And all you want is a quiet life?’
She lifted her eyes heavenward. ‘I crave a quiet life.’
Life with him would never be quiet.
She brought her spoon down on top of her dessert again, shattering the toffee crust further. ‘But me standing up to your uncle isn’t going to be enough for you, Dylan, is it?’ She met his gaze, her eyes troubled. ‘You want more from me, and I don’t know if I can give it to you.’
He straightened I don’t know was a monumental improvement on No chance at all.
‘You want our relationship to become physical, and you assure me you can keep that news under wraps from the press. I’m even starting to believe you. But can you promise me—?’
He leaned across and pressed a finger to her lips. ‘First things first.’ He needed to remove a significant problem before focusing on the reasons behind her softening. ‘You think my uncle can cause problems for you at work with Gordon?’
‘The thought has crossed my mind.’ She stabbed the spoon into her dessert. ‘I liked my plan—gain a useful qualification that’ll keep me in employment—but I think it’s time to say goodbye to it.’
He removed the crème-brûlée from her grasp and placed it out of reach before she totally mangled it. ‘You have a new plan?’ Even though he knew it was a long shot, he couldn’t help hoping he featured in this Plan B of hers.
‘I think I’d better start looking for unskilled work—factory work or waitressing. At a pinch I suppose I could join the fruit-picking circuit.’
A hand reached out and wrung his heart. ‘No!’
Her raised eyebrow told him he had no say in the matter.
‘I won’t leave you worse off than I found you. I won’t be responsible for that.’
Too late.
The words whispered through him, leaving a bitter aftertaste. ‘I promise to do everything in my power to ensure you keep your job at Plum Pines.’
He could see that while she believed the sincerity of his intention she didn’t think he’d be able to achieve the desired outcome. She had a point. His uncle held a lot of sway.
He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Right. If that doesn’t work... Look, I know you don’t want to work for FWE, but you could still do a traineeship with the company.’ He drummed his fingers harder as his mind raced. ‘I’d put you under one of my managers. You’d hardly see me. Our paths would barely cross.’ He’d make sure they didn’t if it would help her accept his offer. ‘After two years of working for FWE, you could get a job anywhere in the industry. Job security would never be an issue for you again.’
‘Dylan, I—’
He held up his hand. ‘This is only a fall-back plan, in case you’re