Stunned by being pressed against him by a firm hand in the small of her back, Sara blinked hard, swallowed down a gulp of shock and paid attention. ‘We have a song?’ she asked, then looked up from his shoes to find him smiling deep into her eyes.
‘Of course.’ He grinned and stepped forward with his right foot, then shifted onto his left, carrying her with him onto the wider part of the terrace. ‘Just listen,’ he whispered into her ear, and moved gracefully from side to side.
It was a waltz. A dreamy concoction from a long gone world of Viennese dancing in crystal ballrooms, captured for ever on celluloid and movie soundtrack albums so that she could listen to those soaring strings in a country garden in England, through the open patio doors of a party. And it took her breath away.
Sara was so entranced that it took her a second to realise that her feet were moving instinctively into the waltz positions she had been taught at school all those years ago.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ her dance partner whispered and she opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her. ‘Is the Danube really blue? And are there woods in Vienna?’
‘Ah. Caught me out,’ she tutted back, suddenly grateful that he did not know what she had actually been thinking, which had a lot more to do with just how close their bodies were pressed together.
‘I do have one question,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Don’t you find it difficult to go back into the house as just a normal guest?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she answered as truthfully as she could. ‘But I couldn’t miss the chance to catch up with Helen for a few hours. We lead such busy lives these days.’
And then Sara tilted her head and looked up at the tall man whose eyes had rarely left hers for the whole time that they had been out on the terrace.
‘And how about you? How do you know Caspar? I noticed you chatting when you came in and, no offence, but you don’t look like a lawyer.’
The corner of his mouth turned up into a small smile which even in this light seemed to illuminate his face and soften the harsh contours, making it even more handsome than it was before.
‘None taken,’ he replied and pursed his lips. ‘Caspar used to date my younger sister. And I think it’s time for a twirl.’ He stepped back as the music soared to a crescendo and lifted his left arm high above her head, just far enough so that Sara could turn around in probably the worst twirl under the sun, but they were both laughing at the end of it.
Judging by the applause and cheers that burst forth from the party, they had not been the only ones who had tried to match the music with some dancing.
Instantly the music shifted to a loud song from a children’s cartoon sung by dancing kitchen utensils and her vampire looked at her and shrugged.
‘I agree,’ Sara murmured and shook her head. ‘I think that’s my signal to sit the next dance out. But thank you, kind sir. And now it is my turn for a question. Isn’t that a little awkward?’ she asked as his hands released her and she felt in desperate need of a distraction to fill the growing space between them. ‘Seeing Caspar with Helen? You do know that they adore each other?’
He raised an eyebrow and chuckled as he leant back against the railing. ‘I certainly hope so since I have been invited to their wedding. But no, it isn’t a problem. In fact I’m pleased for him. It was years ago, my sister is happily married and quite pregnant and Caspar has found someone who loves him. Good luck to them both.’
Then he turned sideways. ‘You dance beautifully. And in fact I should be thanking you for helping me to make a lucky escape.’
He chuckled loudly and thrust both hands deep into the trouser pockets of his tuxedo trousers. ‘The lovely Helen had set me up on a blind date! Can you believe it? I am sure her old school friend is absolutely charming but there is no way that I intend to date a country girl who needs Helen’s help to find an escort for the evening. Thank you but no. I don’t do country. Never have, never will.’
Sara very slowly and carefully moved closer to the handrail so that she could gaze out over the lawns without looking at the vampire. Was it possible? Was this the famous Leo that Helen was trying to set her up with? Caspar’s friend?
She almost groaned out loud. Of course! Who else would it be?
Sara’s cheeks burned with humiliation and embarrassment. How could she have been so stupid? She was never going to live this one down.
Now what did she do? Tell the truth? Try and laugh it off and save them both the embarrassment? What were the alternatives? After all, she already knew that he would be an usher at Helen and Caspar’s wedding, so there was no escaping him. But right now at this minute he had no idea that she was the country bumpkin in question.
She glanced up at him and instant regret fluttered through her.
Just when she was enjoying this man’s company, there was a sting in the tail. He was handsome, generous and a good listener. Those were good credentials for any date. Helen certainly did good work except for one tiny thing. This man had no intention of going out on a blind date with her, just as she had no intention of going out with him.
Suddenly all the enjoyment of her waltz in the moonlight seemed to drift away into the air like smoke in the wind. Every spark of energy and enthusiasm was extinguished, leaving behind a sad and pathetic girl whose friends took pity on her.
Dracula was right. She had become the country girl he so clearly despised, just as her mother had predicted she would. Clumsy, gauche, uncultured and unattractive. Destined for a life alone because no decent man would look twice at her. She could just hear her mother’s voice, drenched with disgust and disappointment, on the day after the funeral when her ex-boyfriend had dumped her and taken off back to London as fast as his sports car could take him.
Well, it looks like you were right, Mum.
Suddenly the enormity of everything that was happening in her life seemed to crash down on her, and Sara shivered in her sleeveless shift dress. There was no way that she could go back into the party now.
It was time to go home. And back to the insular life she had created for herself and all of the harsh realities that lay there—and definitely without this man who had treated her as an equal for an hour. He looked so handsome and clearly successful, while she was a walking advert for a mess.
‘Feeling cold?’ Dracula asked and, without waiting for a reply, he reached behind his shoulders and slipped off the scarlet-lined cape and draped it in a single swirl of his wrists around her neck so that it fell almost to her bracelets in a cocoon of body-warmed fabric. Sara inhaled the perfume of the man’s body and, despite her best efforts to resist, pulled the fabric closer around her so that his warmth penetrated her goose-fleshed arms and the shivering died away.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured but still could not look him in the eye. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head home for the evening. It has been a long busy week. I’ll make sure that Caspar returns the cape to you before you leave. Thank you for your company.’
‘Hey, wait a moment, Cinderella,’ he replied as she lifted her head and tried to walk casually back to the side gate which led to her cottage. ‘Did you say that you were staying across the lane? Please allow me to see you home. It is the very least I can do, seeing as you gave me such a lucky escape.’
And, before she could accept or decline, Dracula stepped in place beside her and they strolled side by side across the lawns and away from the house in silence. Her throat burning with humiliation, her eyes stinging. Incapable of speech.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMEWHERE in her bedroom a full symphony orchestra was playing what should have been a soothing overture to a lovely ballet. Except, to Sara’s ears, the instruments sounded as though they had been tuned in a sawmill.
She stirred and tugged the duvet farther towards her chin, then yawned loudly. The first thing on her to-do list that morning would be to retune the radio to a popular music channel.
She tried to snuggle back to sleep, but there was something uncomfortable
on her pillow.
She reached up until her fingers closed around a string of pearls.
Oh, no! She must have slept in them all night. There would probably be bobble-shaped marks all over her neck and chin.
Never mind. It was early. She still had plenty of time to recover from last night and get smartened up before her meeting at the hotel.
Last night! Ah, the party. That would explain why she felt so weary. She ran her tongue over her parched lips. Juice. She needed juice. Then tea would be good.
Her eyes flickered slowly open and both hands lifted the duvet as she glanced down.
Helen Lewis had a lot to answer for. It had been years since she had been so tired that she had crawled into bed in her underwear. Sara glanced around her bedroom and, sure enough, her black dress lay across the armchair at the foot of her bed.
Sara was still mentally shaking her head when an Abyssinian ball of fur and mischief launched itself onto the duvet and sashayed up, until Sara could scratch between his ears.
‘Oh, Pasha, you know that you are not allowed in here.’
She laughed as the rich golden brown cat purred with pleasure, then started nudging her face, the cute red nose pushing against her neck so he could play with the pearls that she was still wearing.
‘Ready for breakfast? Good. I’ll head for the shower and repair the damage before anyone sees me.’
Sara pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It took a second or two before her world stopped spinning, but at least she was on her feet and ready to get to work. She had a lot to do today and not much time to do it in.
She was still feeling dreamy and slightly dazed when her toes crushed down onto something round and hard on the soft handmade rug that had come with the cottage when she inherited it…
She dared not look down.
Oh, please, not something else her cat had brought in.
Sure enough, Pasha came sidling up to her and started rubbing himself up and down her legs.
‘Pasha, if you have been in the kitchen bin again, you are in so much trouble!’
Her grandmother’s old cat had a knack for finding something from the floor to play with. Loose screws, plant ties, paperclips—they all ended up being scooped out and played with. And Helen had brought bags of treasures with her when they played dress up before the party.
Sara knew from personal experience that all jewellery and shiny small items had to be locked securely away unless she wanted them to be redistributed around the cottage as cat toys.
‘Okay. Let’s find out what you’ve brought me this time!’
Sara moved her foot and glanced down at the floor.
And stopped breathing.
It was a button. A large black button with a silver scroll on it. The sort of button that might be used on a coat. Or a black evening cloak. The kind of cloak a vampire count might wrap around a girl’s shoulders late in the evening. For example.
Eloise Sara Jane Marchant Fenchurch de Lambert had many doubts in life, but one thing was certain.
That button had not come from any garment she owned.
Suddenly she felt dizzy and collapsed back on her bed, trying to ignore Pasha, who was headbutting her legs.
Breathe deeply. That was the secret. Inhale, and then exhale slowly. Slowly.
She clasped both hands to the top of her head.
Think. Think. Last night. What was the last thing she could remember from last night? Her eyes clenched shut.
The party. Dracula. Sharing her buffet dinner…with Dracula. Escaping onto the terrace and walking around the garden and talking and dancing…with Dracula. Then Dracula turned into Caspar’s friend Leo instead of a bat and offered to walk her home. Then? Nothing specific. Her cottage. He opened the front door for her. Lights.
Her eyes opened just in time to see Pasha playing with the button between his paws.
Of course! She had been wearing his heavy cloak on their short walk from the hotel, but she had slipped it off as soon as she was inside and handed it back. The button must have come loose and Pasha had brought it in.
A great whoosh of relief came out of Sara’s mouth and her shoulders dropped six inches.
Sara reached forward and snatched the button away from her cat before it was completely clawed to pieces.
‘Sorry, Pasha. I need to give this back to Caspar so he can return it to his vampire friend.’
Shaking her head, Sara pushed herself off the bed and across the corridor to her plain white-tiled bathroom. This was going to be a two coffee morning if she had any chance at all of impressing the Events Manager at the hotel. It had not been easy to arrange a meeting on a weekend, but this was her one chance to convince him that Kingsmede Manor should choose Cottage Orchids for all their flower displays.
Of course she had made light of her business plans in front of Helen—her friend was getting married in a few weeks and she didn’t want to worry her with finances, but a regular contract with the hotel would make a difference to her investment plans. She had so many exciting ideas for the next twelve months! It would be wonderful if she could transform at least some of them into reality.
No pressure then. Oh, no.
The Venetian glass mirror with its silver surround had been her grandmother’s—and one of the few precious things her mother had allowed her to bring from the old house, only because the hotel did not want it. There was a chip in the frame where the mirror had once fallen off the wall when the plaster had got too wet to take the weight, but Sara didn’t mind.
She brushed her hair out and peered at the glass. Not too bad considering she had slept in her make-up. The red lipstick was gone, probably onto the pillowcase. Time to hit the shower; she needed to be sharp this morning and it was already… Oh, what time was it?
And then Sara made the mistake of looking for her wrist watch. Which she had left on the basin the evening before. Same as always.
Only it wasn’t there.
Her watch had been lifted away from the basin and any potential splashes onto a higher shelf. And in its place next to the soap dish was a solid white metal ring with a solitaire diamond in the centre.
Her fingers were shaking as she reached out and lifted the ring onto her finger. It was huge, just fitting her thumb. It was a man’s ring.
She slowly turned around and looked left, half dreading what she might see.
The dressing gown she had left on the side of the bath the night before when she was rushing to get changed for the party was hanging up behind the bathroom door. And her fluffy hand towel was hanging from the towel rail so that the lavender embroidered design on the bottom was straight and parallel to the floor.
This was very nice, except that when she used the hand towel it usually ended up being tossed over the side of the bath or the basin. In fact, it was a standing joke that if you wanted to find a towel in Sara’s house you had to look anywhere but on the towel rail.
Someone had hung up her dressing gown and used her hand towel. And that someone was not Helen, who was so used to Sara’s quirky habits that she had long since given up clearing up in her wake.
The only thing that had not been moved in her bathroom was the indoor drying rack across the top of the bath. Her smartest lace bras and panties were still stretched out to dry, complete with frayed edges, re-sewn straps and labels which had been washed so many times that the print had worn away.
And then she saw what had been staring her in the face the whole time.
Her toilet seat was up and standing to attention.
Two seconds later, the scream that came from Sara’s mouth drove Pasha through the bathroom and under the bed.
‘Leo, you idiot! When was the last time you saw it?’
Leo Grainger groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. There were very few people in this world who knew him well enough to call him an idiot to his face, but Caspar was one of them, and this time he could well be right.
&nb
sp; ‘I know I was wearing it before I put the white gloves on to go out to the party, and then in the hotel bathroom when I took it off to wash my hands. After that. No clue.’
‘The bathroom?’ Caspar shrugged and stared at his friend in amazement. ‘Who takes their ring off when they wash their hands?’
‘I do. Always have. You know that ring is one of the few things I have left from my dad, so I take care of it. Okay?’
‘Okay, okay.’ Caspar raised both hands in submission and helped himself to more toast. ‘What about after the party? I noticed you escaped the karaoke by taking off with Sara Fenchurch. Any chance you lost it in the gardens…? What? What did I say?’
Leo dropped his head to the table and knocked it twice on the breakfast tablecloth before groaning and sitting back with his eyes closed, grateful for the fact that Caspar had come to Leo’s hotel room for room service breakfast.
‘Sara? As in blind date Sara? That was the girl in the black dress and gloves?’
Caspar waved his buttered toast in Leo’s direction. ‘Sure. I saw you chatting at the buffet and the next thing I knew you were out on the terrace and…’ The truth slowly dawned on Caspar and he sighed out loud. ‘You did know that the girl you were feeding chocolates to was…’
Leo shook his head from side to side and closed his eyes.
‘Ah. Right. So Helen hadn’t introduced you after all.’
And then Caspar cheered up and leant across and thumped Leo on the arm.
‘Does my lady love do good work or does she not? I told you that Sara was a great girl! Helen will be ecstatic. She adores Sara and apparently the girl went through a rough time before we met but, hey, good on you both. What? What?’
Leo stared cold-eyed across the table at Caspar. ‘Do you think that Sara knew who I was? Before the party?’
‘Of course,’ Caspar replied, rolling his eyes and reaching for the marmalade. ‘Helen always gives her friends a full colour dossier on any bloke she wants them to hook up with.’
Blind Date Rivals Page 4
