Second Chance with His Cinderella Read online

  ‘This was my grandfather’s house. He died six months ago and I inherited.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, not at all certain she did or even wanted to.

  ‘He and I did not see eye to eye,’ he said. ‘He was somewhat of a tyrant.’

  A tyrant. Her own grandfather was kind and thoughtful. She couldn’t imagine having a tyrant for a grandfather and she itched to know more about Sebastian Delfont’s fascinating family. But Claudia would be here any moment for their final wrap-up of this job. Enthralling as she found this discussion, she had to quickly change the subject. The conversation had definitely strayed way too far into the personal.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to sound practical and professional. ‘This beautiful old house will need a lot of maintenance,’ she said. ‘Have you got all your household staff in place?’ Imagine having a place where you needed household staff. It was a world she was getting an outsider’s glimpse into.

  ‘Not yet. There was a mass exodus after my grandfather died.’

  ‘They were loyal to him? To someone his own grandson calls a tyrant?’

  ‘Whatever his other faults, his staff were loyal. They wanted to retire. The live-in housekeeper was here for as long as I can remember. She was practically fossilised.’

  A housekeeper. Kitty’s imagination sketched images of a stern lady dressed all in black with the keys to the household kept on a chain around her waist, or someone round and jolly but with a firm hand, presiding over a ‘downstairs’ domain. She had no real-life experience of a housekeeper. Friends with busy careers had household help, but no one she knew had an actual live-in housekeeper.

  ‘Your grandfather must have paid them fairly.’ She knew only too well that loyalty could be bought.

  ‘The salaries seemed above board, and they each retired with a good pension.’

  In that case, if the staff were looked after properly, perhaps she could help. It wasn’t the first time a client had moved into a new home and felt overwhelmed at the thought of getting it in shape. ‘I can recommend Maids in Chelsea if you’re looking for staff. They’re an excellent agency. Quality people, credentials all checked.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll note that.’

  She glanced down at her watch. ‘If there’s nothing else, I’ll finish up.’ She paused, knowing there was no scope for a personal goodbye. ‘Thank you for giving PWP the business. It’s been a great assignment for us.’ She wouldn’t forget Sebastian Delfont in a hurry.

  ‘You’ve exceeded all expectations,’ he said.

  She looked up at him, and for a long moment she met his steady grey gaze. Was there a hint of interest in her there, echoing her own interest in him? She felt overwhelmed by a pang of melancholy for something she could never explore, not with this man.

  Flustered, she dropped her gaze, risked another personal comment, talking too fast, tripping over her words. ‘I’m going to go home and reread my gran’s Marisol Matthew books. She would have been thrilled to know I’ve met the author’s son.’

  ‘As my mother would have been thrilled to have such an avid fan. You have your grandmother’s books at home?’

  ‘I actually live with my grandfather and all her books are still there.’ It was only a year since Gran had died and neither she nor Gramps could bear to change anything that would eradicate her presence.

  ‘You’re not married?’

  Kitty choked on her surprise. ‘Er...no.’ And not likely to be any time soon. This was the first time she’d experienced even a twinge of attraction to a man since the disaster with Neil.

  ‘Children?’

  ‘I’ll say no to that too.’ She was twenty-eight; there was time for that yet. If she ever got the man right, if she ever trusted someone enough to commit. ‘What about you? Are you married?’ There had been no evidence of a wife or children in either of his residences, but you never knew.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No ties.’

  Again Sebastian held her gaze. A tremor of excitement rippled through her. Was he going to ask her out? She’d say no. Of course she would. It was impossible. He was a client. They came from different worlds. But he was so attractive. Surely rules were meant to be bent? Especially when she’d been the one to impose them.

  ‘The reason I ask—’ That voice! So deep and, well, yes, sexy.

  Kitty felt herself swaying towards him in anticipation. She held her breath, was conscious of her heart beating so fast he could surely hear it. ‘Yes?’

  ‘—is I’m in dire need of an excellent housekeeper I can trust, and I think you’d be perfect. I’d like to offer you the job.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  SEBASTIAN THOUGHT HIS off-the-cuff idea to offer Kitty Clements the housekeeper’s job had been an excellent one. Not only had he realised he needed help with this house, the idea had been a spur-of-the-moment brainwave to ensure he would see her again. However, as soon as the words left his mouth, he realised he might have made a very big mistake. In fact she might have taken his well-intentioned offer as an insult.

  Kitty’s blue eyes widened as she stared up at him for a long moment. ‘Me? A housekeeper? Are you kidding?’ Her tone was more abrupt than he might have expected. ‘I’m not known for my housewifely skills.’

  He frowned. ‘But you’re brilliant at packing.’

  ‘Different skill set altogether.’ She started to say something then stopped. ‘You really don’t want to know about the fuzzy things growing in my refrigerator. Or the fact I’ve been known to go out and buy underwear because I’m so behind on my laundry. Or—’ She smiled but it seemed forced. ‘I’ll leave it there.’

  Sebastian was glad she had. He didn’t want to think about Kitty in her underwear. More to the point, if he let his thoughts stray that way he might think about Kitty without her underwear. Specifically, about him slowly peeling off said underwear, exploring the curves teasingly concealed by that long, baggy T-shirt.

  ‘What exactly is the skill set required for a housekeeper?’ he asked.

  Kitty shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue. I’ve never been fortunate enough to have one.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’ Her eyebrows rose in obvious disbelief. ‘What about the housekeeper here who retired?’

  ‘My grandfather’s housekeeper. Employed by my late grandmother heaven knows how long ago. The only thing I needed to know about Mrs Danvers—that was my father’s name for her—was how to stay out of her way. I visited this house on and off through my childhood, actually lived here for a while when I was nine years old. She didn’t appreciate having an active little boy underfoot. I found her terrifying.’ When he thought back to his time here, the house had been full of scary old people. No wonder he’d hated it.

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘Never. For one thing, they couldn’t afford a housekeeper. My parents married very young, against my grandfather’s wishes. Her family weren’t happy about the marriage either. They struggled in their early years.’

  ‘I see,’ Kitty said.

  Of course she couldn’t possibly understand. Like others, she would see the trappings of his wealth, both earned and inherited, and make assumptions. But he’d shared enough of his family history. ‘For another, my mother would have seen employing one as an affront to her housekeeping skills. And she made certain my father and I pulled our weight with household chores.’

  ‘Just like an ordinary family,’ Kitty said. ‘I mean a family who doesn’t live in a house like this.’ She indicated the grandeur around her with a sweep of her hand. ‘You could hardly call this ordinary.’

  ‘But not mine,’ he said. ‘At least not until recently.’

  Her eyes narrowed. Suspicion looked cute on her. ‘What about your fabulous apartment in Docklands?’

  ‘Mine, yes.’

  ‘I didn’t see so much as a spot of dust when we were packing. Did you do the housework yourself?’

  ‘A team of commercial cleaners once a week. Efficient and anonymous.’

  ‘The kitchen was pristine. The plastic wrapping was still on the oven door.’

  ‘Why bother to cook when I was surrounded by restaurants and food delivery services?’

  ‘Same in Chelsea,’ she said. ‘Restaurants galore.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But my life will be different here. More obligations. I’ll be expected to entertain, to live a more public life.’ A life he had never sought, but had promised his grandmother, practically on her deathbed, that he would take up. ‘And the house needs to be brought up to date.’

  ‘I know what you mean about the house.’ She looked around her. ‘It’s beautiful but a touch...not outmoded—that’s not the right word—not gloomy, that’s not the right word either.’

  ‘An old person’s house?’

  ‘Not that either, although I know what you mean. But the rooms I’ve seen are so elegant and spacious, the antique furniture so timeless, maybe it simply needs to be lightened up.’

  ‘What would you do with the house?’

  ‘Me?’ She looked startled. ‘I’m no interior designer.’

  ‘But you must see inside a lot of houses in your line of work.’

  ‘To be honest, your house is one of the most beautiful I’ve been in. You wouldn’t want to ruin its character by modernising it too much. Perhaps change the curtains from heavy dark velvet to linen or silk. Replace some of the wallpapers. Swap out the dark carpets for something fresher. That would make an immediate difference.’

  ‘How would I go about that?’

  He honestly didn’t know. The Docklands
apartment had been brand-new when he’d moved in. All he’d had to do was order the furnishings and make sure there was a place for his cherished possessions. He’d easily replicated that library here by giving measurements and photos to a decorator recommended by his father’s lawyer, who’d been unimaginative but good at following orders.

  He’d never allowed himself to get attached to places, or people for that matter. Too often as a child, as his parents followed seasonal work, he’d been torn away from rooms he’d settled into, a school where he’d made friends, a neighbour’s dog he’d grown to love. As an adult he’d had more control over his life and this library, in some form, had gone with him—to his room at his uncle’s house when he’d moved for university, to the rented apartments where he’d lived until he’d bought in Docklands. His obsession with keeping it just so had been a source of cruel amusement for Lavinia—which had only made him more obsessive about it, about his other possessions that had significance.

  ‘Employ an excellent interior designer who would respect the history of the house,’ Kitty said. ‘You should get them to update the kitchen and bathrooms too.’

  He nodded. ‘You mean put my own stamp on the house?’

  ‘Rid it of your tyrant grandfather.’ Again that understanding from Kitty that he didn’t expect.

  ‘There is a lingering sense of his presence,’ he conceded. The Spanish side of him felt something the pragmatic English side of him couldn’t really acknowledge.

  Kitty paused. ‘I haven’t got a psychic bone in my body and don’t feel any kind of presence. Except that feeling of the lives who have gone before us you find in any old house.’

  ‘That’s reassuring,’ he said, not sure whether to take her seriously or not.

  ‘But, just in case, you could have a smoking ceremony. I believe you burn sage and wave it around to dispel lurking malevolent spirits.’

  A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘He was ghastly, but I don’t know that I’d describe my grandfather as lurking and malevolent.’

  ‘But you want to banish him just the same. While at the same time preserving the heritage of the house.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Think about the sage,’ she said with a half-smile.

  She glanced down at her watch and Sebastian felt a stab of panic. It was vital he did something to convince her to work with him. Of course he could just ask her out to dinner, but that would take interaction with her to a level he wasn’t yet prepared for. His attraction to Kitty had come from nowhere. His mother had made a career out of instant attraction in her heroes and heroines. That was okay in books, not in real life.

  Sebastian had grown more cynical when it came to relationships. In real life he had to be more considered. He’d learned his lesson with Lavinia. Uncle Olly had been quite the party animal and when Sebastian had moved to London for university he had always included his nephew when he’d been entertaining. The gorgeous brunette had been part of Uncle Olly’s social set, two years older than Sebastian, seductive and sophisticated. He’d been instantly besotted—and he’d completely misjudged her motives. If he’d been more cautious he wouldn’t have found himself trapped in an engagement he hadn’t really wanted.

  He didn’t trust the sudden attraction to Kitty. He needed to test this feeling. Give it time. Get to know her. Be certain. And see if she felt it too.

  ‘On second thoughts, I believe it isn’t a housekeeper I need,’ he said. ‘It’s more of a household manager.’

  ‘Not someone to scrub the bathrooms and cook your meals? I warn you, I’m not great at housework.’

  ‘No,’ he said dismissively. ‘A person who could oversee what needs to be done, find the people to do it.’

  ‘So hire the bathroom scrubber and the cook?’

  ‘And the gardener too. Most importantly, the interior designer you suggest I need. And work with me to make sure it happens.’

  She crinkled up her nose in a way he found delightful. ‘And you seriously think that person could be me?’

  ‘You’ve proved yourself to be formidably organised and efficient. And those ideas you’ve just outlined make sense.’

  ‘But I know absolutely nothing about your needs.’

  ‘My needs?’ Needs of a kind that had nothing to do furniture or wallpaper and everything to do with this lovely woman came immediately to mind. The sudden flush high on her cheekbones made him aware her thoughts might have followed a similar path. Interesting.

  ‘I... I mean your preferences, your likes and dislikes when it comes to furnishing and decorating and food too, I guess. But it’s a moot point. I have my own business. I don’t need to be your household manager, or anyone else’s for that matter.’

  Sebastian had a convincing argument right on the tip of his tongue. He really wanted Kitty to work with him. And not just because he found her so attractive. So why did Claudia have to breeze in at that moment? He smothered a curse word. There was an exchange of glances between the two women that he didn’t understand. What did that little nod on Kitty’s part mean?

  Claudia looked from him to Kitty and back again. ‘Did I just hear you offering my business partner a job?’

  ‘No,’ Kitty said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I need a household manager and I believe Kitty has just the right skill set for it. I’m prepared to pay more than the going rate, whatever that might be. What do you think?’

  Kitty looked a touch bewildered at the speed his idea was progressing. He didn’t mean to steamroller her. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised how much he needed her in that role, wanted her in that role. Because, although he’d only known her for a few days, instinctively he trusted her. And trust didn’t come easily to him.

  * * *

  Kitty looked up at Sebastian as she considered her reply. Thank heaven she had somehow managed to conceal her utter embarrassment and searing disappointment at mistaking his intentions. There she’d been, entertaining a crazy idea that he was going to ask her out. Instead, he had placed her squarely in the ‘downstairs’ part of the ‘upstairs/downstairs’ equation. Weren’t people of his class notorious for doing that? Not that she liked to believe such a thing as class existed these days, but his accent and obvious extreme wealth seemed to place him in a different strata from her.

  The role of a housekeeper—even when cleverly worded as ‘household manager’—brought with it certain implications. The main one being a deeply ingrained imbalance of power—more so even than the office scenario of which she’d fallen foul. Her attacker had taken full advantage of the fact he’d been in a position of power over her. She couldn’t get caught in that terrifying trap again. That was the joy of being her own boss. She and Claudia had agreed when they started working together that if one of them felt uncomfortable with a client—male or female—they would not work with them. An instant out was guaranteed.

  Not that she felt uncomfortable with Sebastian. Far from it. Not only did she find him almost insanely attractive, but she liked him. Liked him more than she could have imagined liking someone on such a short and limited acquaintanceship. But she didn’t want to be at his beck and call.

  ‘I’m flattered. The job interests me. I would love to help give this house a facelift and help you, as you say, put your stamp on it. But I like being my own boss. I’m not looking to be employed ever again. And I wouldn’t let Claudia down by leaving our company.’

  ‘Let me try a different tack. I hired you to pack for me on a contract. What if I were to offer you a contract to be my household manager?’

  ‘You mean contract for Kitty’s services through PWP?’ said Claudia.

  ‘Exactly. A short-term contract. Say six weeks, with an extension to be negotiable.’

  He named a fee that made Kitty gasp. She had to disguise the gasp as a cough, so she didn’t show her hand in a possible contract negotiation. Her hand being a need for extra money. Gramps was in a rehab hospital after having fallen and broken his leg. She was working with the health service to make his house safer and more old-person-friendly for when he got home. But she was paying to remodel his dated bathroom for safer shower access. That extra money would really help.