Blind Date Rivals

by Nina Harrington

  This vampire was probably the best-looking man she had seen in a very long time. He had a long oval face with a strong chin and cheekbones which could have been carved by a Renaissance sculptor, backed up by light Mediterranean colouring.

  The only things that stopped her from melting into a pool at his feet were the deep frown lines between his heavy dark brown eyebrows. Perhaps he was as worried about the karaoke as she was?

  Sara blinked several times. On the other hand, perhaps mixing allergy tablets with strange cocktails was not such a good idea and she should skip that question? But there was definitely something in the way he looked at her which had her skin standing to attention and her entire body waving hello, handsome!

  ‘My fault entirely,’ he replied ‘Ah. Now it makes perfect sense. I came between a woman and her next chocolate fix. I now consider myself fortunate to have survived.’

  He bent down and picked up what was left of the chocolate leg, which was now covered with a thick layer of whatever was on the fine parquet flooring from the feet of the guests. Only he squeezed it a little too hard, and the chocolate burst to release a gooey white chocolatey sticky mess over his white vampire costume gloves.

  Sara held out a couple of napkins at arm’s length. ‘Don’t get the chocolate on your gloves—you’ll never get the stain out!’

  Leo nodded wisely, tried to wipe the fragments of melted dark chocolate from the white fabric, gave up, then picked up a fresh piece of broken chocolate from the tray with his fingertips and bit into it. ‘Might as well make the most of having messy fingers and be reckless. White fondant icing and bitter dark choc. Um…not too bad at all.’

  Leo lifted the box from the display like a waiter and wafted them in front of Sara’s nose.

  ‘Miss Golightly, please allow me to replace your crushed confectionary in exchange for a nibble. And try saying that after one of Caspar’s cocktails without getting slapped.’

  Sara laughed out loud, making him raise his head, and he gave her a warm smile, which was slightly set off by the chocolate on his teeth—but warm nevertheless, with a certain twinkle in his eye which was infectious enough to make it impossible for her to refuse.

  ‘Only if you can spare one, dear Count? How kind, thank you.’

  Sara turned her head and nodded over her shoulder. ‘All ready for your party piece? I have to warn you, Helen is relentless. Nobody will escape.’

  He looked from side to side and leant closer, giving her a free whiff of a stunning body wash. ‘Ze Prince of Darkness does not do diz party piece. No, no. It ees no elegant.’

  ‘Can’t sing for toffee?’ Sara asked in a light voice, eyebrows raised.

  His reply was a small shrug and a flip of one hand. ‘So many talents.’ Then he dropped his head and said through the corner of his mouth, ‘Every dog in the village would start howling at the moon if I started singing. Tone deaf. Tried before. Crashed and burned. Not going to embarrass myself again.’

  Sara was about to reply when a large gentleman in a huge gorilla suit joggled her arm en route to the buffet table, almost causing her to lose her dinner plate, and she had to snatch it away from catastrophe.

  ‘I have a suggestion,’ Sara whispered in her very best conspiratorial voice.

  She glanced from side to side around the room. The way onto the patio was blocked by the karaoke machine and Helen and her workmates, who were setting up some fiendish plan to persuade them all to sing. Drat! That was one exit down. Time to get creative.

  ‘What would you say if I told you that I knew a secret exit onto the garden and we could escape the karaoke machine and eat our dinner in peace?’

  Dracula’s reply was to take a surprisingly firm hold around her waist, which made her gasp, and a firmer grip on his dinner plate before he whispered, ‘I would tell you that I will follow you to the ends of the earth, my precious beauty. But make it fast. Caspar is on the prowl, looking for victims. And he has found a plastic machine gun.’

  ‘Okay, now I am intrigued,’ her fellow escapee whispered as they casually strolled along the wide terrace which ran around the full length of the hotel.

  The sound of clinking glasses, tunes from the classic musicals, really bad singing and lively chatter floated out into the summer evening through the open patio doors from the drawing room. Helen’s party was in full swing but they had escaped and enjoyed their dinner in luxurious calm—and without the hindrance of evening gloves.

  ‘How on earth did you know about that secret staircase leading down from the hall to the back door?’

  Sara looked up at him and her lips curled into a smirk before she replied, ‘Oh, I know every hidden passage and room and secret stair in that hotel. But of course you wouldn’t know… I’m a local girl. In fact—’ and at this she paused ‘—you might say I am very local.’

  Then she took pity on his confusion, smiled and leant forward before adding, as casually as she could, ‘I grew up in that house. Kingsmede Manor used to be my home.’

  She stopped suddenly, dropped her shoulders back and pointed towards the upper floor of the building. ‘Do you see the arched window with the stained glass? The room just at the corner on the left-hand side with the tiny balcony? That was my bedroom. I could lie in bed at night and watch the stars and the trees through the big picture window. It was magical!’

  ‘Now I’m really confused,’ he replied. ‘Are you telling me that your family used to own this house?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she answered with a shrug. ‘I am officially the last in the line of a family of Victorian eccentrics who built this house many generations ago. My grandmother passed away three years ago and left the whole place to my mother.’

  Sara tilted her head and was grateful for the darkness in their corner of the garden so that he could not see the glint in her eyes. Talking about those sad times still hurt. ‘Mum didn’t want to live here—there were huge debts to clear and I’m sure you can imagine how expensive this house would be to run as a holiday home.’ Sara waved one hand, then let it fall as she turned back to face him. ‘And now it is this lovely hotel.’

  ‘Wow,’ he replied, with a look of something close to awe in his face. ‘Are you serious? Did you really grow up in this amazing place?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she answered with a tiny shrug. ‘I was sent to boarding school at the age of eight but this was the place I came back to every school holiday. We didn’t have much money to spend on luxuries but it was paradise for a child.’

  She stopped talking and stood still for a moment, her eyes scanning the whole front of the building. ‘I have wonderful memories of my life here.’ She turned back to him with a smile and raised her eyebrows to ask with a lift in her voice, ‘How about you? What is your old castle like back in Transylvania?’

  ‘Oh, the usual problems of living in a dungeon,’ he replied with a sniff. ‘You just cannot get the staff these days. Draughty. Cold. There is a lot to be said for central heating.’

  ‘Oh, I so agree,’ Sara said with a nod. ‘The modern vampire needs his central heating.’

  ‘Even so,’ Dracula said, leaning against a wrought-iron balustrade at the edge of the terrace and peering out across the grounds in front of the house, ‘I envy you growing up here.’

  Sara moved closer so that she could stand next to him with her arms stretched out on the metal railing. The cherry trees in front of the house had been strung with white party lights so the front entrance looked like a picture from a children’s fairy tale. A pergola filled with climbing white roses and multicoloured clematis in pinks and purples had been built on the western side of the house to capture the last rays of the setting sun and as Sara and the vampire looked out onto the lawns a light breeze lifted the perfume and surrounded them with warmth and fragrance.

  It was a magical evening and Sara felt her shoulders relax for the first time in many days. A new moon appeared in the night sky, which was clear and already twinkling with the first stars.

  She was suddenly ve
ry glad that she had accepted Helen’s invitation to the party.

  This was why she’d never found peace when she’d lived in London. It had never come close to this special place in her life.

  She leant in contented silence and grasped the balustrade with both hands and inhaled the warm air and the warm atmosphere drifting out from the party, which was going on quite well without them. She was also aware of how very close she was standing next to this man she had only just met. Close enough that she could hear his breathing and the way his cloak rustled in the slight breeze, silk on silk.

  This was new! It had been a long time since she had spent the evening alone with a handsome man. Especially one content to enjoy the view in silence. He seemed happy to allow her to do all the talking but she was relaxed enough in his presence to chatter on about nothing in particular.

  Of course he knew very little about her and they could enjoy the type of conversation that could only happen between strangers, unfettered by past history.

  Perhaps she should start talking about orchids and fertiliser and the poor man would run away for help? As it was, she knew Helen would soon send out a search party to track her down so that she could be introduced to her blind date whether she liked it or not.

  A twinge of guilt made Sara wince. Caspar’s friend was probably inside, feeling most neglected and rejected. She should go in and face the music in more ways than one.

  Soon.

  She would go in soon.

  She could stand here for another few minutes and enjoy herself before going back to the party and throwing herself into Helen’s celebrations. She was not going to spend her best friend’s party hiding in the garden feeling sorry for herself or mourning the life she had once known. Especially when she had such a good listener as a companion.

  ‘I don’t come here very often,’ she whispered, even though there was only the two of them on the terrace. ‘My cottage is just across the lane so I can see the house every day if I want. But this garden is for hotel guests now, not previous residents. This is a rare treat.’

  ‘That’s because you love this place so much and you miss it,’ he replied in a gentle voice and chuckled at her gasp of surprise. ‘Yes. It is fairly obvious. Especially…’

  ‘Especially?’ Sara asked in a shaky breath. She was not used to opening up to a complete stranger in this way and it startled her, and yet was strangely reassuring. Weird.

  ‘I was going to say, especially considering that your family sent you away to boarding school when you were only eight years old.’ He blew out hard and blinked. ‘Eight! That’s hard for me to get my head around. You must have been so miserable.’

  Miserable? How did she even begin to explain to a stranger the misery of leaving her home in the middle of the most traumatic time of her life? Abandoned by her mother, who didn’t know what to do with her. Worse, by the father she adored, who thought he was doing the right thing by leaving them to start a new life in South America when the life of luxury he’d thought he had married into when he’d chosen a girl with an aristocratic title and a country estate had completely failed to materialise.

  Her whole world had shifted under her feet and was still shifting now. Even after three years of living in her tiny cottage, there were some days when she had to remind herself that she had a home that no one could take away from her. She might be unloved but she would never again be homeless and rootless. She had sold everything she had and burnt her bridges to make the orchid nursery a reality—but it was hers.

  Sara blinked hard. The blur of constant activity which she used to fill each day created a very effective distraction, but even talking about those sad times brought memories percolating up into her consciousness. Memories she had to put back in their place where they belonged.

  Selling the house and most of the contents had been the price her mother had to pay for the chance for them both to be independent. But it had still been incredibly painful.

  Instinctively, she felt the man in the black costume looking at her, watching her, one elbow on the metal railing, waiting for her to give him an answer to this question.

  She turned slightly towards him and noticed for the first time, in the light from the party room and the twinkling stars in the trees, that his eyes were not grey but a shade of blue like the ocean at dusk. And at that moment those eyes were staring very intently at her.

  On another day and another time she might even have said that he was more gorgeous than merely handsome. He was certainly striking and wore the cape and costume as though it had been made for him.

  Allure of this quality did not come cheap.

  It was a shame that she had sworn off dating for at least a year or two until she had a new greenhouse up and running. Until then, she could keep her loneliness to herself and wear her happy face to the world, even if it was a struggle sometimes.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘they had their reasons. And it wasn’t all bad. I knew that I would always have this home to come back to in the holidays. My grandmother had such fun here. She loved this old house, especially the gardens.’

  ‘The gardens?’ he asked and his hand swept out towards the long stretches of simple grass lawns. ‘What was so special about the gardens? They seem pretty normal to me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed, and a great grin creased her face. ‘The gardens then were nothing like they are today. They were…extraordinary. Unique. People used to come for miles just to see the gardens of this house.’ Sara turned back to face the lawns and gestured past the cherry trees towards the beech hedges and the long drive to the lane. ‘It’s only a few minutes’ walk to Kingsmede village from here and the gardens were somehow part of the community. She used to hold the most remarkable parties here. The local village fete, of course. Then there were weddings, birthday parties and all kinds of local and family events.’

  She flicked a smile at Dracula, who was still watching her, almost as though he was studying her. ‘I can remember my grandmother’s eightieth birthday party as though it was yesterday. We started in the afternoon with most of the village turning up for afternoon tea, and then moved on to dinner with a live band with dancing and singing. Then there were fireworks. Lots of fireworks.’

  Sara shook her head but when she spoke her voice trailed away. ‘It was a magical night. The end of an era, I suppose.’ Then she looked up into the sky at the new moon and felt the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes as the memory of the event swirled through her. She was so captivated by the intense memory of her grandmother dancing in her ballgown and jewels, and the music and the fairy lights and trees, that when Dracula shifted next to her on the railing, she suddenly came crashing down to earth with the harsh reality that those moments and those parties were long gone like the gardens that used to be here.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said through a tight, sore throat. ‘Here I am, rambling on about people you don’t know and a world which has already long gone. How embarrassing! I don’t usually go on about the house like this. The hotel company own it now and there’s nothing I can do about that. But thank you for listening.’

  Dracula inclined his head towards her. ‘I got the feeling that you needed to talk. Apparently I was right. And you weren’t boring, not in the least.’

  He took a step closer in the fading light and in the harsh shadows his cheekbones were sharp angles and his chin strong and resolute. His body was tall and slim but anything but boyish.

  Just the opposite. The masculine strength and power positively beamed out from every pore and grabbed her. It was in the way he held his body, the way his head inclined just that tiny fraction of an inch as he looked at her as though she was the most fascinating woman he had ever met, and oh, yes, the laser focus of those intelligent blue-grey eyes had a lot to do with it as well.

  He was so close that she could touch him if she wanted to. In the calm tranquillity of their pergola she could practically feel the softness of his breath on her skin as he gazed intently into her eyes. Loud lau
ghter and bright music was playing somewhere in the house but all of her senses were totally focused on this man who had outspokenly captivated her.

  She couldn’t move.

  She did not want to move.

  And then he did something extraordinary. He leant forward so that their bodies were almost touching and she sucked in a breath, terrified, exhilarated and excited. Was he going to kiss her? But, with a faint smile, he lifted his chin, his eyes broke away from hers and he reached out to the climbing rose behind her head and stepped back a second later with a perfect full white rose.

  She stared, wide-eyed, as he swept his thumb and forefinger down the stem with his naked hand.

  ‘A lovely rose for a lovely lady. No thorns allowed. May I?’

  Completely at a loss as to what he was asking permission to do, Sara simply nodded and smiled as he stretched out his hand, lifted her left wrist towards him and carefully pressed the rose stem under the jewelled strap of her watch.

  ‘I never had more than a window box growing up, so I am totally clueless when it comes to flowers,’ he murmured in a smooth warm voice. ‘But I hope you will accept this small token as a pitiful excuse for a wrist corsage.’

  She smiled and bit her lower lip, and was instantly grateful for the cover of darkness to cover up her blushes. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he replied and stepped back and extended both arms, his cloak flapping behind him. ‘Well, that only leaves one more special request to complete the evening.’ He twirled his right hand in the air and gave a dramatic short bow from the waist. ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, young lady? I shall try not to step on your toes or spread chocolate on the back of your dress.’

  ‘Well,’ Sara replied with a sigh and looked from side to side on the deserted terrace, ‘my dance card is already quite full, but I suppose I could spare you a few minutes.’

  Instantly she found his right hand resting lightly at her waist, and her right hand resting lightly inside his fingers. ‘They’re playing our song.’ He smiled and drew her closer towards him so that the front of his black jacket was just touching her chest.