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think of bobbing around in Patrick’s arms, looking up at his solid, set jaw …
    No, no, no.
    I need to forget about last night, and focus on making sure I convince Patrick I can do the job.
    Oh god. 
    The door is opening.
    I try to stand up straight, pus hing my hair behind my shoulders.
    I hate that Patrick is going to see me without makeup, all freckly and bare looking …
    Don’ t be stupid Sera. Who cares what you look like? As long as you can do the job.
    As the door creaks open, I can’t help but suck in my breath.
    There he is.
    Sitting behind a huge walnut desk.
    To my relief, Patrick has his shirt on today – a navy-blue t-shirt with an army logo on it. I don’t think I could have handled him bare-chested this morning.
    His arms are bare though, and he sits bolt upright in his chair, watching the doorway.
    His eyes flicker when he sees me.
    ‘Is your ankle better today?’ he says, his voice low.
    God. Why isn’t there anything to hold on to around here? I’m struggling to keep my balance
    His blond hair is loose and floppy around his face, but some of it is pushed behind his ears.
    And those eyes – those hunter’s eyes. They see every twitch and movement I make. I feel like he can see everything I’m thinking, and a deep blush spreads over my nose and cheeks.
    ‘Much better,’ I stammer. ‘Thank you for your … um … help.’
    ‘Don’t go night walking around the castle on your own again.’
    Beside me , I feel Mrs Calder bristle.
    ‘Ankle?’ she says .
    ‘I had an accident last night,’ I say, glancing at Patrick. ‘I sort of threw myself down some stairs.’
    ‘Which stairs?’ says Mrs Calder, sou nding cross. ‘Why weren’t you in your room?’
    ‘I needed to phone my sister,’ I explain. ‘There was no phone reception up there.’
    ‘You shouldn’t go wandering about the castle on your own,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘There are private places. Places strangers should stay out of.’
    ‘Did you want me to s tay in my room until the next morning?’ I ask.
    ‘That’s exactly what you were supposed to do. No wonder you were up late this morning,’ Mrs Calder huffs.
    ‘Late?’ says Patrick, his mouth twitching.
    ‘I … my alarm, the battery ran out.’
    Patrick runs a strong hand through his thick blond-brown hair. ‘Do you have a problem following orders, Miss Harper?’
    ‘I …’ How do I answer that? I mean, I didn’t get up late on purpose . But the truth is, I’m not good at following other people’s instructions. It’s not that I can’t listen to advice, but sometimes, especially where children are concerned, I have to go with my heart. ‘Sometimes.’
    Patrick swings his chair around to the window, and I follow his gaze, out to the beautiful green lawns. Past the lawns are the thick, wild woodlands and snow-capped mountains.
    ‘Don’t get up late again ,’ says Patrick.
    ‘I really didn’t mean to —’
    Patrick holds up a large h and. ‘That was an order, not a question,’ he interrupts. His eyes hold mine. ‘Do you like a challenge, Miss Harper?’

18
    ‘Yes,’ I say, without pausing.
    Patrick props his feet on the windowsill. He’s wearing battered boots over jeans. ‘You haven’t met Bertie yet. You might decide he’s too much for you.’ He raises an eyebrow and throws me a stomach-melting smile.
    My chest puffs up. ‘ No.’ My voice is a little louder than I mean it to be. ‘I’ve never met a child I couldn’t handle. I love children.’
    Patrick turns to me , dropping his feet, his hands slamming on the table. ‘Strong words.’ The smile stretches up one side of his face, and his jaw ripples. ‘Let’s hope you live up to them.’
    ‘I will ,’ I snap, feeling my chest burn. ‘Like I said. I’ve never met a child that I couldn’t look after. And I’ve cared for some children with problems, believe me.’
    I think about Rebecca Carmichael, who used to twist and pull her hair out whenever she got stressed.
    Used to.
    After six