Boss Meets Baby(137)

‘Fine! What would you like me to do for you first?’ Her temper helplessly simmering, Georgia tossed back her hair and waited for instructions.

Silently surveying him for a moment, she saw a distracting dimple appear at the corner of Keir’s disturbing— mouth.

‘That could take us into a whole new interesting arena if I were deliberately to misconstrue that question.’ He grinned. ‘Want to ask me again? But perhaps this time with a little less provocative passion?’





CHAPTER SIX


A SHAFT OF SUNLIGHT beamed in from a small side casement window and created a pool of light in the middle of the floor. It lit up the muted reds and golds of an old faded Persian carpet that had been unfolded there a long time ago—possibly even before Keir had been born. Round the edges of that eye-catching pool of light were some of the now superfluous remnants of his family’s past.

In one corner were a pair of discarded Tiffany lamps that had once resided in his father’s study—the— study that now belonged to Keir—and next to them an old oak dresser-cum china cabinet, long empty of any fine display of porcelain and pottery, and— now home to a generous coating of dust.

Piled around the room in general haphazard fashion were myriad cardboard boxes, splitting at the seams with books and ornaments and trinkets, and possibly somewhere in amongst all that the beloved chess set that his mother had surprisingly presented to him one Christmas when his father had been away on business. It was a gift that had often been utilised as a means of escape and distraction from James Strachan’s sour temper, and its home had nearly always been this attic.

Robbie and Keir would steal away up here as often as they could, to shut the door on their parents’ terrible— rows, and locked in the strategy of the game would briefly escape the trauma that seemed to underline their childhood. After their mother had died there’d been no more refuge in the attic to play chess.

Both boys had gone to a local public school, as their father had done before them, but they hadn’t been allowed to board like most of the other pupils. If they had, Keir sometimes wondered if the bleak-ness— of his home life wouldn’t have scarred him quite as badly—but James had seemed to take particular delight in demanding that his sons came home at the end of each school day, just so that he could remain in rigid control of every aspect of their lives and plague them further with his meanness and ill temper.

Made to do various jobs round the house as well as work on the estate, they’d also regularly had to listen to his various rants and small-minded preju-dices— over the political situation, or his belligerent belief that ‘people just don’t know their place these days,’ and that they should show the gentry more respect. When Keir had invariably started to disagree with his point of view and dared to express his own his father had demonstrated his fury with his fists…

Feeling slightly nauseous at the relentless tide of unwanted memories that washed over him—each one like a stinging cut that had never healed—Keir moved with trepidation into the room and acciden-tally— trod on something hard underfoot. Looking down to see what it was, he picked up a once lovingly painted miniature replica of a nineteenth-century Scottish soldier. For a few moments he scarcely breathed. Then, his palm curling tightly round the small toy, so that the metal edges dug painfully into his flesh, tears stabbed the backs of his eyes like dagger points.

‘Robbie…’ he murmured fiercely, a thick, merciless— ache inside his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Robbie…I’m so sorry…’

‘Georgia!Are you bringing that coffee?’ Keir bellowed.

Turning towards the thickly carpeted staircase, with— its almost Gothic carved figures on the newels, Georgia was careful to balance the silver tray she carried as she ascended the stairs. As she went, she took a deep breath in and scowled.

‘I wonder whatever happened to good old-fash-ioned— manners?’ she grumbled.

Even after the little talk they’d had earlier, her boss had been like a wounded bear all morning, and his mood was showing no sign of improving any time soon. Just as she reached the landing and approached— the study door, she saw Keir’s tall, broadshouldered— figure impatiently pacing the floor. His dark straight hair, sticking out a little at odd angles, attested— to the fact that it had taken the brunt of his impatience. Immediately honing in on her presence, he— didn’t trouble to conceal his irritation.

‘For God’s sake, don’t hover! Just come inside, will— you?’ he commanded.

Just about holding onto her own temper at his belligerent mood, Georgia reluctantly crossed the threshold into the study.