Ivory Innocence (2 page)

Head held high, she stepped into what turned out to be a sitting room, furnished in gold and blue with much rich brocade and gleaming mahogany. Sunlight streamed in, darkening the tall figure who stood by the open French windows. Beyond him, Ivory glimpsed a terrace and a stretch of daisy-starred lawn; then the man turned, drawing her full attention.

Although her face showed only polite interest, she was startled by her first sight of Matthew Kendrake. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, a lean, rangy man wearing tailored slacks and a thin woolen sweater. As he walked toward her, away from the bright sunlight, she saw a deeply tanned face with hard contours, topped by dark hair that seemed windblown into tousled waves. But it was his eyes that most surprised her, eyes of an amazing forget-me-not blue—like the flowers that grew in his woods.

No, not
his
woods, Ivory amended the thought:
Meldrum
woods. By rights this whole estate was Mel-drum property. But she kept her expression noncommittal and her eyes steady on the dark-faced man.

He paused a few feet away to look her over from head to foot, then said, "You're younger than I expected."

"I'm almost twenty-two," Ivory replied levelly. "In your letter, you didn't specify any age."

"No, I suppose I didn't," he said, a crease forming between his dark brows. "I don't suppose it matters, if your qualifications are as good as you claim."

Opening her handbag, Ivory drew out the large envelope that contained her certificates and letters of recommendation from college. She had no doubt they were impressive; she had been a good student and gained high marks in her final exams less than a year before, despite the fact that she had been numb with grief.

Matthew Kendrake took the envelope, gesturing her into a chair. "Have a seat, Miss Andersen."

"Thank you." She sank down among brocade cushions, coolly surveying the bent head of the man who was her adversary. He sat opposite her, perusing her documents as if trying to find some flaw, and Ivory wondered what he would do if he guessed her purpose. She viewed him with detachment. Broad shoulders filled out the sweater that was the same bright blue as his eyes; long legs sprawled across the deep carpet, clad in slacks with knife-sharp creases; and his hair was so dark brown as to be almost black, curling untidily round his ears and down his neck.

She almost flinched when he suddenly lifted his head and fixed her with his forget-me-not eyes.

"These are very good," he said. His voice was a deep drawl, and Ivory wondered where he came from. Not that it made any difference. By the time she had finished with him, he would gladly slink off back to the place that had been his home before.

"Thank you," she replied, lowering her eyes so that her thoughts wouldn't show.

"But you still haven't been able to find a job?" he asked.

Sighing, she allowed her candid gaze to meet his again. "I'm afraid not. Things are very difficult for teachers at the moment. I've been filling in by working for some friends who own a restaurant, though that hasn't stopped me from applying for teaching posts."

"Which is why you want to tutor my daughter," he said.

"I'd rather use my training than do other work," Ivory replied. Her grandmother had struggled to allow her to attend college and to waste those years seemed a betrayal. The fact that this particular job meant living at Hedley Hall was a bonus she had not planned for.

"I'm intrigued to know how you found out I needed a tutor for Janey," Matthew Kendrake said, lounging back in his chair.

Ivory sat primly, her knees together and hands folded in her lap, her severe hairstyle and sensible clothes making her the picture of the perfect teacher— formal, correct, and just a little old-fashioned. It was an image she had chosen carefully.

"I have friends in the village," she explained. "They happened to mention that they had heard you were thinking of hiring a teacher for your daughter."

"And how did your friends find out?" Matthew Kendrake asked. "I haven't yet got round to advertising the post. All I've done is talk about it, in the privacy of my own home."

"Village grapevines are notorious, aren't they?" Ivory said demurely. "But you do realize we should have to ask the permission of the Local Education Authority? If a child has to be educated at home, they usually supply a teacher."

"So I'd heard. But I want a little more than just a teacher who would come in for a few hours each day. My daughter needs a companion, too. She's not a strong child. Recently she has spent some months in the hospital; before that she missed a good deal of schooling for one reason and another, but the doctors tell me she's ready to take up school again. Unfortunately, my business interests take me away frequently, but it would be unfair to ask Mrs. Barnes to have charge of Janey on any permanent basis. If I can organize it with the Local Authority, I assume there'd be no problem from your point of view about coming to live here?"

"No, none at all."

"No family objections? Since I'm a widower, your parents may have their doubts about your staying here."

"I have no family," Ivory said. "Besides, Mr. Ken-drake, if you're worried about gossip, your housekeeper will provide a perfect chaperon to preserve both our reputations."

A glint of amusement hovered in his eyes. Ivory was aware that she was not quite what he had had in mind when he planned to employ a tutor-companion. Most probably he had visualized someone older, someone plump and homely to play nanny to his daughter. But at least he had not dismissed her as a candidate at first sight.

"This would be a full-time job," he said. "More than nine to five, five days a week."

"I'm prepared for that," Ivory said evenly. "Since I have no commitments elsewhere, it won't be a hardship for me."

While they discussed salary—which was generous— and the further details of her employment, she could not help but notice the way Matthew Kendrake's blue glance kept roaming across her face and figure. Despite himself, it seemed, he found her attractive. But she was careful not to respond to the flattering perusal and rationed her smiles, keeping her voice impersonal.

Eventually, he unfolded his long body from the chair and said, "Before we go any further, you'd better meet my daughter. Her opinion is as important as mine, since she's the one who will be spending all her time with you."

"Yes, of course." Ivory gracefully got to her feet, and Matthew Kendrake took another sidelong look at the neat jacket that hugged her figure, his glance going down to trim calves and ankles set off by high heels.

"This way," he said, and led her out through the French windows, onto the terrace.

Ivy twined shiny dark leaves around the balustrade and edged the steps that led down to the lawn where pink-tipped daisies grew in profusion. As they walked up a slight rise, the hollow in front of them opened out, and Ivory was surprised to see a kidney-shaped swimming pool nestling behind a bank of shrubs. A path led down to the pool, and on the grass to one side a playhouse stood beneath a shimmering lime tree. There a small girl sat talking earnestly to a row of dolls.

Matthew Kendrake had said that his daughter was eight, but she was small for her age, very thin, with a mop of brown curls.

"Janey?" he called as they approached.

The child looked round and got awkwardly to her feet, huge brown eyes almost eclipsing her face as she stared at Ivory.

"This is Miss Andersen," Matthew Kendrake said.

The little girl held out a hand and said faintly, "How do you do?"

Even in that first moment, something about Janey touched Ivory's heart. The child looked lost, sad, and extremely vulnerable, appealing to a maternal instinct that Ivory had not guessed was in her. Of course she liked children, but she had never met one who made her feel so instantly protective.

"Miss Andersen may be coming to look after you," Matthew Kendrake said, laying a hand on his daughter's shoulder. Ivory saw how the child flinched and then steeled herself to accept her father's touch, but all the time her liquid brown eyes were fixed on Ivory's face.

"What are you doing with the dolls, Janey?" she asked.

"Playing school," came the wary reply.

"That's good," her father said, much too heartily. "Do you think you'd like having Miss Andersen help you catch up on some of the things you've missed?" He towered over the unhappy child. "She hasn't been very well lately," he added. "But she's much better now and raring to go. Aren't you, Janey?"

"Yes," the child said.

Ivory heard the irritable sigh that escaped him. Clearly he was annoyed with his own daughter, who seemed inhibited by his presence. He was too patronizing and heavy-handed, Ivory thought. No wonder Janey seemed half afraid of him.

"Do you think Janey and I could have a few minutes together to get acquainted?" she asked.

He lifted a questioning eyebrow, but there was relief in the brilliant blue eyes. "Good idea. Yes, do that. I'll ask Mrs. Barnes to make some tea. Come in when you're ready."

Ivory watched as he strode away with athletic movements, the close-fitting slacks hugging the contours of slim hips and muscular thighs. He was, she thought, a man who would be more at home among other men than with his own motherless child, who stood obediently waiting for Ivory to make the next move.

Smiling at the child, Ivory sat down on the grass, looking at the scribbles on a pink notepad. "What's the lesson today? Ah, sums. Are they any good at sums?"

"They're only dolls," Janey said scornfully. "They're not really doing sums."

"Well, I know that, but it's fun to pretend, don't you think? I used to play hospital and have all my dolls in bed. Do you do that?"

Janey sank cross-legged on the lawn, conceding, "Sometimes. I was in hospital. It was good fun— especially when I started to get better. There were a lot of other children to play with."

"I'm sure you'll make friends in the village before long," Ivory said softly.

"I would, if Daddy would let me go out," the child replied, sighing as she sprawled on the daisy-strewn grass.

There was very little wrong with her mind, Ivory decided, but if she had been ill that would explain her physical frailty. All she really needed was for someone to take a real interest in her. She had lost her mother, and her father was often away, he had said. From what Ivory had seen of the relationship, the father was ill at ease with the child, and Janey appeared nervous of him.

"If you come to live with us," Janey said suddenly, looking with earnest dark eyes into Ivory's face, "does that mean I won't have to go to boarding school?"

"Boarding school?" Ivory echoed.

"That's what Carla wants to do with me," the child said bitterly. "I heard her saying to Daddy that boarding school would be the answer."

"As far as I know, he's intending to keep you here," Ivory assured her.

But Janey was not convinced. "Is that what he said? What did he say your name was?"

"Miss Andersen. But why not call me Ivory? It's much easier. And if I do come, I want us to be friends, Janey."

"I'd like that too," Janey said. "At least you're not like Carla. Carla's rotten!"

Ivory was surprised to see hatred twist the child's wan face. "Who's Carla?"

"She's Daddy's friend." Suddenly she confronted Ivory with burning brown eyes. "I hate her!"

"But I'm sure your father wouldn't send you away if you don't want to go," Ivory replied, worried by the violent emotions that ran through the child.

"He would if Carla wanted him to," Janey said flatly. "I know he would!"

Leaping up, she dodged into the playhouse and closed the flap as if wanting to be alone.

Deciding not to press matters at that point, Ivory stood up. Brushing down her skirt, she said quietly, "I'm going in now, Janey. Will you come?"

There was no answer. Janey had retreated into her hurt little shell, and to probe now would only make her shut herself away further.

"Well, come and say good-bye to me before I go," Ivory called. "I'm going to have that cup of tea."

As she walked back over the lawn, her mind was on the unhappy child. She felt she could help Janey, if she was allowed a chance, though she had not expected to feel so involved so quickly.

Lifting a hand to smooth a blowing tendril of spun-gold hair, she paused on the edge of the terrace as she saw Matthew Kendrake lounging in the doorway watching her. His face expressed nothing, but she knew he had been standing there for some seconds, watching her approach.

"I was about to call you," he said. "Mrs. Barnes has brought the tea."

"Oh, thank you."

His glance swept her again, lingering near her hip. "You've got grass stains on your skirt."

"Oh, no!" She looked at the offending green smears, brushed ineffectually at them, and sighed. "I expect they'll come off."

"Yes, probably."

Alerted by a strange tautness in his voice, Ivory lifted her eyes to him, but found his face expressionless, bland. "Come inside and sit down."

Since he didn't move, she was obliged to pass close to him, his proximity making her aware of the power in his muscled body. He strolled after her and resumed his own chair, and leaned to pour tea from a silver pot into delicate china cups.

"And how did you get along with my daughter?" he inquired as he passed her a full cup. "She's a peculiar little thing, don't you think?"

Ivory's eyebrows knotted at the description so negligently expressed. She sipped the hot tea, feeling it ease her dry throat before she dared raise her eyes. When she did, she was in control of herself.

"I don't think any child is 'peculiar,' Mr. Kendrake," she said levelly. "They have their little quirks like the rest of us. Janey seems to be a trifle insecure, but that's hardly surprising."

"Oh?" His eyebrow slanted questioningly. "Why not?"

"I understand you haven't been in Hedley Magna very long," she replied, returning his look with cool gray eyes. "Children often find a move unsettling. And Janey has no mother. May I ask how long it is since your wife—"

"Six months," he said flatly.