Kingfisher morning

Emma walked faster, heart pounding. A dark figure loomed ahead. She tried to dodge, letting out a muffled cry, but strong hands grabbed her in a tight grip.
"Let me go!"
"Not a chance," the man growled.
She kicked and struggled, but he held firm.
"Hold still and let me see you," he ordered. A flashlight beam hit her face. She blinked and turned away.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Emma already knew. This had to be the chauvinist brother himself. She gave a small, stifled laugh. "I'm looking after your sister's children."
"You're not their French nanny."