Page 63 of Nanny and the Beast

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like you’re trying to see the good in me,” he snarls. “Because you won’t find any.”

There’s a bond between us that transcends time and space. I don’t need to say a word for him to understand me. He reads me like an open book.

I swallow. “The kids didn’t seem excited about their weekend classes.I’m sure you have their best interests at heart, so talk to them about whether they enjoy all those classes.”

We’re standing way too close to each other.

He’s scrutinizing me in a way that makes me wonder if he even heard a word I just said.

“Do you have more questions for me, Miss Turner?” he asks.

“Actually, I do,” I say.

He stares at me expectantly.

I should keep my mouth shut. But like always, my curiosity gets the best of me.

“What happened to the last nanny?” I ask.

He blinks. He wasn’t expecting me to confront him about this.

“Her name was Harper, right?” I ask. “I heard that she disappeared after a week of working here.”

“You seem to believe you have all the answers,” he replies. “What do you think happened to her?”

My heart is pounding in my ribcage now. There’s a darkness in his eyes that promises to suffocate anyone who dares to look at him for too long.

“There are so many rumors about your family,” I say. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“How about you just do what you’re paid for and leave it at that?” he says.

With every breath I take, my ribs brush against the book I’m still holding.

Maybe it will have the answers I seek.

The grandfather clock from downstairs starts chiming, letting me know that I will be late for the club if I don’t leave right now.

“I’ll be back Sunday evening,” I say, giving him a small smile.

He’s blocking the path to the door, but he doesn’t step away from me. Instead, he watches me like a predator playing with its prey before delivering the final strike.

“Goodbye, Mr. Sinclair,” I say, walking around him.

As I walk past him, our arms brush against each other. Electricity singes my skin, traveling all the way down to my toes.

He goes very still.

I glance back at him, but my eyes catch on the portrait.

His sister seems to be watching us from the portrait. It feels like her eyes are tracking me as I leave.

A disquieting feeling settles over me as I walk away from the room.

This house is cloaked in mystery. I don’t know if I will ever get to the bottom of it. I don’t know if I’ll end up being buried underneath all its secrets.

15

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