She was here to help her father find a patron. Nothing more. As the Prince and Principessa, they could sing her father’s praises incognito, secure a patron and disappear, resurfacing for the patron as themselves. The patron need never see the Italians again. Sutton Keynes’s attentions made the latter harder to do. If he fixed his attentions on her, disappearing became not only a difficult feat, but a potentially dangerous one.
Perhaps she could blame tonight on the red dress and Rosie’s artful design of braids. She’d hardly recognised herself when she’d looked in the mirror. That woman had been stunning—sophisticated, self-assured. That woman could charm a patron and she had. She could not have done otherwise. She needed the gown, the hair, and the cosmetics to charm the table, to do her duty to her father and to herself. Their survival through the winter would depend on their success here. The gown had succeeded admirably in that regard. Men had been hard pressed to look away. Apparently, even Sutton Keynes, despite the fact they’d been seated on the opposite side of the ballroom.
Yes, that made sense. Tonight was all because of the dress. Without the red dress, she would likely have been invisible. Tomorrow, dressed in pastels like the other girls, she would not stand out and Keynes would forget about her. Elidh closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, starting to feel better. She would give herself just a few minutes more of solitude and she’d go back to the party. She was seeing trouble where there was none. She’d conjured a crisis when the man hadn’t even crossed a room to meet her. He hadn’t even spoken with her yet and it would stay that way.
‘I thought I might find you out here.’
Elidh stiffened at the low voice in the dark. She was alone no longer. She opened her eyes slowly, careful not to jump or to show signs of being startled, careful to buy herself time, time to remember her role, time to hide her fear. A princess was never startled. A princess had the right to be wherever it was she wanted to be. Only guilty people startled when they were found in places they weren’t supposed to be in. But there was no hiding the surprise from her eyes when she saw who was standing there: Sutton Keynes in all his restless-eyed glory.
‘You’ve picked a beautiful place to hide. The view is lovely in the evening with the moon out and the lanterns lit.’ He was so much taller close up. His shoulders broader, his face more handsome, his mouth friendlier than it had been at a distance, the woodenness of him gone, perhaps because now he was smiling. At her and it was dazzling. He bent forward in a bow. ‘A rose for a rose,’ he said gallantly, offering her his plucked offering, liberated from one of the centrepieces that decorated each table. ‘You are a veritable rose in bloom tonight. I apologise for not introducing myself sooner.’
That was her invitation, her cue. Dear lord, it was show time, the curtain was going up on the next scene of this foolish play her father had crafted, and she wasn’t ready: not for the azure eyes that sparked like flames in the dusky hall, or the commanding height of him, or that smile. She’d expected an arrogant man and she’d planned on not being attracted to him, because she couldn’t be. She would garner a patron for her father and leave. She was not playing the same game as her host and as such, she was not prepared for this. She was a two-week wonder, nothing more. And yet, she could not deny the thrill that coursed through her as she took his rose. Perhaps this was how Cinderella felt in the story when the Prince had approached her at the ball—delighted, even knowing that the moment couldn’t last, but excited at the idea of it all the same.
Elidh gathered her wits. This was no fairy tale. Later, when this scheme of her father’s was finished, she could look back on the encounter and indulge in it. But not now. Now, she had to think and act like a princess. A princess wouldn’t sit here and gape as if a handsome man had never spoken to her. A princess would take his attention as her due. ‘Shouldn’t you be in the ballroom with the others instead of playing truant in the hall?’ she teased, once more the vivacious, confident woman from the table.
‘Shouldn’t you?’ he responded easily, his blue-flame eyes turning merry. ‘I think your table finds itself duller for the lack of your company.’ So he had noticed. She’d not imagined it.
The hallway suddenly seemed overheated. Elidh flicked open her fan. Perhaps she could appear cool if she felt cool. ‘My table will survive. You will be missed. I will not be. I dare say the ladies in the ballroom would be glad for one less woman in the room.’
‘They will understand that I am the host and it’s my duty to greet all my guests. If I am out here in the hall chasing you down, it’s because you’ve eluded me, or is it that you’ve avoided me, Principessa?’
Elidh fluttered her fan, managing a look of sophisticated amusement. ‘Allora, an introduction is superfluous, then. You already know who I am and I already know who you are.’
‘You have not answered my question, Principessa. Are you avoiding me?’
‘You are already surrounded by so many admirers, you hardly need to add one more.’ Elidh snapped her fan shut and speared him with a piercing stare full of haughty, royal contemplation. ‘So, I will hazard another reason for your presence in the hall. You don’t want to be in there. It’s been written all over your face the whole evening. You were looking for a reason to escape and I gave you one.’ Perhaps boldness would drive him into retreat.
Instead, the remark won her a laugh. ‘You are beautiful and insightful, Principessa. I can see now why my mother thought you’d be a delightful addition to our party.’ He offered his arm. ‘Come walk with me and tell me how you find our part of the world. In exchange, I’ll show you the portrait gallery, it’s just up ahead. If you’d kept going, you would have run into it.’
Her mouth went dry at the request. Any other girl in the ballroom would have craved such an opportunity. But to her, it was a reminder of how real the game had become and how fast. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ Elidh asked, but she was already slipping her arm through his and strolling down the corridor away from the faint clink of dishes and the murmur of indistinct conversation.
He arched a slim, dark brow. ‘I don’t know. Are you planning to compromise me?’ It was a wicked joke. He lowered his voice to a mock whisper of conspiracy, making fun of the game he’d devised himself. ‘I do suspect some desperate sorts might try, but not on the first night when everyone considers themselves still in the running.’ It was further proof for her claim that he didn’t want to be here, that he’d been looking for an escape. But still, how odd to have designed a scenario one loathed and then forced one’s own self to play along with it.
He leaned close to her ear and she breathed in the pleasant scent of sandalwood and basil, all man and summer. It was enough to intoxicate any girl. Even her, Elidh feared. ‘Perhaps I should tell you, Principessa, we have taken every security measure to ensure such a mishap doesn’t happen. There are guards posted outside my bedchamber so that I am not surprised upon retiring. I assure you, that’s not usually the case for most English house parties. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
His whispered confession coaxed a laugh from her. ‘A necessary but unfortunate precaution under the circumstances, I’m afraid,’ Elidh paused, remembering an incident from their travels. ‘And not quite as unique as you might think, if that brings you any consolation. There was a duc we knew who had guards posted day and night outside his daughter’s bedchamber the week before her wedding for fear of a kidnapping attempt by his rival.’ The story was true, only the implications he’d draw from it were false. They hadn’t been guests, but paid workers hired for entertainment. She gave a light laugh, enjoying too much the refreshing boldness of her role. The Principessa was a vivacious, charming young woman, so much fun to portray, so different than the self plain Elidh showed the world. It was like the inside of her had come to live on the outside. And yet, she must be cautious. Mr Keynes needed a reminder about her unsuitability.
She gave him a soft, reassuring gaze. ‘You may rest easy, Mr Keynes. Yo
u needn’t fear such antics from me. I will make no move to compromise you.’
He smiled, warm and charming, so charming she forgot to be nervous. After the woodenness he’d displayed at dinner it was surprising to find he could put a girl at ease. ‘No, not from you. Perhaps that’s why we’re strolling the portrait gallery. I have nothing to fear from you. My mother said you were here to take in the house party, nothing more. Is that true?’
Elidh sensed a test in those words. His eyes were steady on her, looking for affirmation as he continued. ‘You, Principessa, are a safe harbour in a veritable storm of female attentions.’ There was a rueful tone about him now, as if he regretted the safety of her, as if he wished she might pose more of a danger to him. If he only knew, she was quite dangerous to him, to his fortune, more danger than he wanted in fact if he chose to pursue her. But that was not her intention, to encourage that pursuit. She would keep both of them safe by establishing her distance.
She faced him with another soft smile, making the implication of her words sound reassuring instead of cruel. ‘It seems we are in agreement, then. You are safe for me as well.’ Sutton Keynes would know precisely what she meant by that safety, that a title as lofty as hers could not be courted by a man who had only a fortune to offer. The Keynes were wealthy gentry and soon to be even wealthier, but they were not titled and they were not Italian. Her father would be reeling if he knew how the ruse he’d designed to attract the wealthy bachelor was now being used to push him away.
But subtlety was not her friend. If Sutton Keynes knew what she intended in that message, he did not let on. Instead, he held her gaze with blue eyes that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. ‘What do you mean by that, Principessa?’
She was going to have to be blunt, and she would be, right after she calmed those butterflies. Elidh looked down where her gloved hand lay on his dark sleeve. It was not hard to feign a moment of awkwardness. Other than on stage with people who’d been like family to her, she’d never been this close to a man before, never flirted on her feet. She’d always had a script telling her what to do. But she was on her own in the hallway. ‘Surely you already understand, I could never consider entertaining an offer such as the one you need to make at the end of the party.’
There. The words were out, gently spoken, and all the tawdry unspoken implications that went with them: that aside from the difference in their stations, his search for a wife in this manner was scandalous to a well and high-born girl of her rank, and that the conditions surrounding the attainment of his money were even more so. She was firmly waving him off, knowing that any girl in the ballroom would gasp at treating the rich Mr Keynes in such a manner. Then again, they’d come to play his game. She had not.
To his credit, Mr Keynes took the rebuke smoothly, as he apparently took all things, except ballrooms full of girls he’d invited but appeared not to want. ‘Of course not. I would not think to presume. I appreciate the clarification.’ He cleared his throat. ‘May I ask, Principessa, are you always this plain-spoken?’
She glanced up with a coy smile on her lips. ‘A necessary measure for one in my position, Mr Keynes. I find it prevents unpleasant surprises, much like your bedroom guards.’
‘Touché.’ He pressed his free hand over his heart in an exaggerated gesture, his eyes laughing as if to reassure her she had not truly hurt his feelings. ‘Now that’s settled, we can move on with our evening. Might I persuade you to call me Sutton?’
‘Familiarity is dangerous, Mr Keynes. I thought we had established that,’ Elidh cautioned.
‘We’ve already established there is no danger here. We said nothing about first names,’ he countered easily. ‘Besides, I’m about to show you my...ancestors. Surely one can’t get more familiar than that.’ He was a dreadful tease. For a man who gave the appearance of eschewing crowds, he was extraordinarily confident and funny when he was alone. Yet one more thing she could add to the list of items she knew about Sutton Keynes. He was a charming man possessed of a sense of humour, who’d arranged a party he didn’t want. There was a mystery in that. If she was smart, she would leave it alone. To solve it would be to know him and to know him might lead to other things she’d not come here for. She’d do best to leave the mystery alone, make her excuses and walk back into the ballroom. But that’s not what Cinderella had done and it wasn’t what she was going to do either. This was a moment out of thousands. Surely it would not endanger her masquerade entirely if she prolonged that moment, just this once.
Elidh laughed up at him. ‘Well, if we’re about to view your ancestors, you should call me Chiara.’ She would take the middle ground and enjoy this interlude now and worry about it later.
He led her through the gallery, narrating with dry humour as they went. ‘Shall we start with my uncle, the man who’s caused this whole mad tangle? That’s him right there just to the left, Sir Leland Keynes, my father’s brother. He was knighted for establishing a British presence in the extremely lucrative Soojam Valley of Kashmir, a place noted for its sapphires. Too bad he hadn’t found some more. He might have been made baron and this whole fiasco could have been avoided.’
Elidh furrowed her brow. ‘How so?’
He looked surprised for a moment and she worried over a misstep. Should she have known? Was the reason obvious to anyone but her? ‘Because everything would have been entailed,’ he explained, ‘Nothing could have stopped my cousin from getting his hands on it. Not even if I married the Queen herself.’ The bitterness was self-evident in his tone. She didn’t understand entirely why. The gossip column had only provided so much detail.
They started to stroll again, moving on to the next portrait, this one of a great-grandfather on his mother’s side. ‘You make it sound as if you don’t want the money.’ Elidh slid him a sideways glance. She couldn’t imagine not wanting that much money or the security that came with it. ‘Or is it the marrying you’re opposed to?’
‘Both, I suppose, but especially the latter. I doubt any one of those women in there is interested in me. I am just the living embodiment of British pound notes.’ He chuckled drily, but she could see the admission bothered him. ‘I am sure you understand.’ He sighed, his blue eyes seeking hers, two sombre flames. Oh, how that gaze seared her with its attention, its intensity, a slice of his soul on display. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. ‘It’s ironic. You are a stranger to me, entirely. But you are the only one here I can confess that to who would know how it feels to lose their humanity, to become a representation of something other than who they truly are.’
Elidh was silent. For a moment, she mistook his meaning and thought he’d somehow guessed her ruse and seen through the disguise. Then she understood and the knife of guilt twisted a little deeper. She’d not come here to mislead this man. She hadn’t her father’s nerves for deep schemes. She tried to push the guilt away. An attractive man was showering her with attention. But that only made it worse. He was showering the Principessa with attention. Sutton Keynes would never look twice at plain, twiggy Elidh Easton, a girl who knew nothing about titles and fortunes, who was, in fact, the embodiment of what he professed to hate: a representation of something other than her true self.
Chapter Six
She’d been worth leaving the party for. The promise of that red dress had not disappointed. He’d feared it might, that she might be all dress and nothing else—a red-silk illusion best enjoyed at a distance, like the other girls who had nothing on the inside or, worse, like Anabeth Morely, who’d been all kinds of soft and beautiful on the outside but cruel on the inside. She’d had no qualms about destroying a young man’s heart.
They stopped before another portrait, this one of a funny-looking gentleman with a long nose, protuberant, froglike eyes and a powdered wig, a toad of a man in demeanour and build, but highly ambitious and resourceful. ‘Randolph Sutton Keynes, my namesake of sorts. His service to King George I earned him this house. It certainly wasn�
��t his looks.’ He tried for levity and fell short. She was withdrawing and had been since his remark about being an object. He couldn’t blame her. It was hardly the sort of conversation one had with a stranger at a party, nor was it the sort of conversation he was used to having with others. As a rule, he didn’t make a habit of self-disclosing.
‘Forgive me, I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’ve taken terrible advantage of you with my maudlin sentiments.’ He was doing it again. Pouring out his thoughts. ‘It’s just that everything has happened so fast. Last week I could take refuge in my club like any other gentleman. Then the announcement came out and now I can’t step foot anywhere, my club included, without someone approaching me with an introduction, or producing another female to meet.’
What was wrong with him? He blamed it on the dark intimacy of the hallway and the emotions of the week, and her own, welcoming boldness, not that a gentleman should ever take advantage of such a trait. She’d been open with him and he had been open with her in turn. She made him feel as if he could tell her anything. Perhaps it was because she’d made it clear she was not interested in the game of the party. Or perhaps it was because she was a stranger, someone he’d never see again. Maybe, in some way, that made it easier to pour out his heart. He sensed she would never take advantage of that knowledge, never tell another soul. Whereas, if he told anyone else in the ballroom, the news would circulate within minutes. London couldn’t keep a secret if its life depended on it.
‘I don’t mind, truly. You’ve barely had time to grieve your uncle and yet there are expectations that must immediately be managed, regardless.’
Sutton shrugged. ‘I suppose you’re used to managing such things all the time. Tell me, does it get easier? Meeting others’ expectations for you?’
Tempted By His Secret Cinderella (Allied At The Altar Book 3) Page 5
