“Has something happened?” she persisted. “Is dealing with your grandmother’s estate a lot worse than you thought it would be?”
It wasn’t until she’d asked, that he realized how badly he’d needed to talk all this out with someone. Someone who had no personal stake in it. He’d lived life on his own whims for so long, outside counsel was rarely, if ever, required. If he wanted something, he went after it. If he tired of something, he left it. Life, for him, was that simple. He wasn’t sure what it said about him, that regardless of Hal’s comments, or of his own confusion and doubts, much less the twist of emotions the woman standing in front of him had roiled up . . . he still wanted to return to that life with a fervor that was almost frightening.
“You could say that,” he said. And then she reached up and smoothed the hair that the wind coming off the river was ruffling. She stroked his face, her own filled with sincere concern. The need to drag her away, tuck them both in the nearest taxi, and find a quiet place to talk the night away and pour his heart out, was intensely strong. The need to pull her beneath him and work through the rest of his demons in a far more primal fashion was even stronger. But, as it turned out, not strong enough to push her to do it at the expense of her own goals and needs.
If only Hal could see him now.
“We’d better get inside,” he said before his flash of chivalry dissolved. “The Stefanator will certainly be looking for you.”
Darby searched his face, and Shane wanted to know what it was she found there, but when she smiled mischievously, he let it go. This was all that was meant for them. A pleasant, if highly sexually charged, diversion. One that he could certainly pursue through the weekend, but no longer. Because there could be nothing more.
He tried like hell not to let that thought depress him.
Darby’s smile turned sly. “Unless, of course, Vivian has him naked and staked out in the back of that coat closet.”
Now it was Shane’s turn to muffle a sudden bark of laughter. “You . . .” He drifted off as he shook his head. “Should never let Vivian hear you talk like that. The two of you might recognize a kindred spirit in each other and the world would never be the same.”
Darby cocked her head. “I’m sure you didn’t intend to, but that’s probably the nicest compliment you’ve given me yet.”
“We won’t tell her that, either,” he warned with a smile. “Or I’ll never be the same.”
Darby laughed, and suddenly Vivian and Stefan appeared in the crowd just ahead of them. Bjornsen was scanning the queue, probably looking for them. She shot Shane a look of resignation. “I guess we have to go play with the grown-ups now.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?”
Still smiling, she reached for his arm again and gave it a light squeeze as they slid back through the doors and into the throng. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Diversion, distraction. For making some micrometer of this evening fun and exciting.”
“You’re quite welcome, milady,” he said with a courtly bow. And he allowed the crowd to bump them tightly together so that he could press his lips, ever so briefly, to the nape of her neck, and whisper, “See me again. Stefanless, if at all possible, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Bjornsen spotted them at that exact moment, and the crowds parted for him as he and Vivian reappeared at their sides.
Shane didn’t want to move the respectable distance away from Darby that society dictated he should. He wanted to haul her into his arms, stake his claim for the world—and most especially Stefan—to see. Guys were like that. One glance at Stefan told him they both understood the score.
So it took a great deal more control than Darby could possibly know for Shane to remain where he stood as Bjornsen let a gleam of amused superiority seep into those damned soulless eyes of his.
He remembered then what she’d said about the blond Adonis’s concerns over who played the role of hostess. Shane wondered why it mattered. And determined right then that he would find a way to see her again. Mostly because he wanted to be with her. But also because he wanted to know what was going on. And, admittedly, partly because it would stick in Bjornsen’s craw.
An all-around good plan, then.
Vivian shot him a quick look of apology. Apparently, she’d finally met the man she couldn’t overpower. Which wasn’t at all comforting to him, either. But Shane had a brilliant idea. One that would guarantee Vivian another shot at it, and him more time with Darby. “You probably have a tight schedule,” he began, “however, if you have the time, I’m throwing a big wingding this weekend for the Belmont race.”
“Wingding?” Bjornsen questioned, and Vivian seized the moment to move in and explain it to him, temporarily allowing Darby and Shane to exchange another sentence or two alone.
But Darby was already smiling. “And you should check your own guest list. Except, and I’m afraid this is a deal-breaker for me, the next time you throw a weekend shindig, can you do it sans the costumes?”
“Heck, we can all strip down first thing if you’d prefer,” he said, his entire mood elevating as he absorbed the news that Darby would be his guest. For an entire weekend. “Although I’m not sure Town & Country will do the feature spread they’re planning. Penthouse, maybe. I’ll have to look into that.” It was ridiculous, but he felt almost giddy with relief.
Darby leaned closer. “Tell me honestly, does everyone dress up? Because I’m having a hard enough time in this getup.”
“And I forgot to mention that for a woman who looked damn fine in jeans and boots, you do clean up nice.”
She just gave him a look.
“What? I mean it. And I have no idea about the costume thing, but if you don’t want to wear it—well, wait a minute, does your outfit include corsets and other interesting underthings, because—”
“You are such a guy.”
“And I’m thinking that’s what you like best about me.”
“You’d be thinking right,” she laughed, then quickly smoothed her grin into a cool smile as Vivian once again lost the battle to dominate every particle of Stefan’s attention.
Shane wondered how much of their interplay he’d observed, and not knowing all the details about the man or why he was here, realized that he should make it a point to find out more about all that before he continued with Darby in any public way, for her sake more than his.
Hell, having power ought to be worth something, right?
Cinderella Rule #10
You will deal with others who wear smiles on their faces but carry malice in their hearts. The difficulty is in deciding when your distrust is warranted. Just as you can make a bad first impression on others . . . oth-ers may be simply making a bad first impression on you. Trust your instincts . . . but wear a smile yourself. Just in case.
—MERCEDES
Chapter 10
As it turned out, it did involve corsets. Darby scowled as she lifted the additional garments from the flat white box that sat open on the padded bench at the foot of her bed. All this went with the dress? She glanced at the flounced and flocked gown hanging from the back of her door . . . to the contraption of crossed laces and skinny little stays that dangled from her fingers. “You have got to be kidding.”
She laid the cream silk torture device on the bed and scooped up the pile of fluff that lay in the box next to it. Petticoats. Layers upon layers of them. She was so not a frilly person. She laid them aside and picked up the final piece of folded woven linen. It was filmy and soft. What in the hell is it? she thought as she shook it out. She turned it this way and that, noting the ties at the tops and bottoms and finally realized they were underdrawers, in the most traditional sense. Ones you tied at the waist . . . and at the knee . . . she lifted the fabric . . . and which had no closure between the legs.
So . . . it was the Spanish Inquisition from the waist up . . . and Playboy centerfold from the waist down. Every man’s fantasy. She tossed the pantaloons on the bed. “But
it’s definitely not mine.” No way was she wearing this getup. She’d officially been on the job for twenty-four hours and already she’d been pushed well beyond the call of duty. Dealing with Stefan the Stupendous at the charity event last night had forced her to call upon every resource Glass Slipper had provided her, and then some.
Unfortunately, she’d been separated from Shane almost at the moment that they’d entered the main hall, as their seating had turned out to be as far apart as possible. Something Bjornsen hadn’t minded in the least. At the time, even Darby had been a little relieved. Shane had an effect on her that got stronger with every meeting. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to juggle the cavalcade of emotions he seemed to elicit within her so effortlessly, with, well, the response that the enigmatic Stefan managed to stir up a bit as well. A few more minutes fighting the Alpha Wars and she’d have likely cracked and told them both to take a hike.
Two men vying for her attention; two gorgeous, confident, wealthy men who stirred her blood, amongst other things. And she was whining. Pepper, on the other hand, would have been in hog heaven. “Well, then,” she said, staring at the pile of whalebone stays and crotchless pantaloons on the bed, “she should be the one dressing up like a turn-of-the-century slutty governess.”
Surely not everyone attending was playing dress-up for a horse race. She sighed, knowing she’d be expected to dress for the main event tomorrow and would have only herself to blame if she didn’t try on the getup now, so she could have it altered if necessary. “I can alter it all right,” she muttered, then sighed and slumped into the high-backed chair in front of the fireplace that dominated her room.
At least in a few hours she’d get to see Shane again. She wondered if he’d dress up for the party tomorrow. Most likely, he’d look dapper and dashing as an early twentieth-century racehorse owner, or some such. And she’d be excruciatingly aware, every second she spent in his company, that all he had to do was push her into the nearest alcove, lift her skirts and—
Swearing under her breath, she shoved herself out of the chair and stalked to the bathroom. Dammit, she was horny and frustrated, and pissed off at being saddled with playing baby-sitter to a Swedish studmuffin, when she’d rather be spending the weekend with the first man who’d truly intrigued her in, well, forever. With Shane, playing dress-up might even be fun. In fact, if anyone could make it interesting, it would be him.
She wondered if Stefan had tried on his outfit. The boxes had been delivered to their rooms while they’d been out the night before. She didn’t want to think about what he’d look like in period clothing. Quite likely, the effect would be downright stunning. She could only hope some other belle of the ball would catch his eye, and give her a bit of a reprieve from the disconcerting way he watched over her every move and breath. Give her time to search out their host.
She frowned. She hadn’t thought about that part. Even if she did manage to sneak away, there was little chance that Shane would find time for her. As host, he would be very busy, and missed if he were to disappear.
“Figures.” All thoughts she had of having a very sexually satisfying weekend fled. Shane had to play cruise director to the Washington social scene. “And I have to do the arm-candy thing with the Stupendous One.”
She’d rather do Shane.
There was a light tap on her door. “Miss, your breakfast is ready.”
Okay, so there were one or two perks to the world of the rich and famous that she could get used to. Not crawling out of bed before dawn to make her own coffee and toast was definitely near the top of her list. She crossed the room and opened the door. “Thanks, Raj,” she told the young room steward, who looked surprised that she’d remembered his name. She supposed it was years of dealing with ever-changing ranch hands, barn help, and horse owners, but she was pretty good at remembering names. She took the tray from him. “I can handle it.”
The young man gave her a shy smile and nodded, then quietly stepped back. Darby went to kick the door shut with her heel, then stuck her head out in the hall. “Hey, Raj.”
He spun around. “Yes, miss?”
“Is you-know-who up yet?”
His dark brows quirked for just a second, then a flash of a playful smile curved his lips. “Yes, miss. Several hours ago.”
Darby thought that if she ever was forced to run a household like her father’s, one that required a staff just to turn on the lights in the morning, she’d insist they all have a sense of humor. And use it. “Several hours?”
He nodded. “Yes. I believe he went out for a bit. A cab came for him just after seven.”
Darby worked not to frown. After all, what difference did it make if Stefan wanted to wander around town alone? But something about it bothered her anyway. “Why didn’t he take our car?”
Raj looked momentarily stricken. “I couldn’t say. We would have offered, but he’d already placed the call before we—”
She waved a hand. “It’s not important, really.”
He looked relieved, then added, “He rang for coffee shortly after his return. He’s in his rooms now, miss. Would you like me to—”
“No, no, that’s quite all right.” She lifted the tray in her hands. “Thanks for hauling this up here. I appreciate it.”
He looked at her like she’d sprouted two heads, then glanced over his shoulder before shooting her a quick grin. “It comes up on the dumbwaiter. It’s not that big a deal.”
Darby grinned back at him. “Right. Well, it’s appreciated no matter how it got here. Tell the cook that I said thanks for the extra pot of jam.”
He looked surprised again, but quickly nodded and gave her a sincere smile. “Yes, miss. It was the morning kitchen maid, miss. But I’ll be sure to tell her.”
She thought about telling him to stop with all the formality, but figured she’d already pushed it far enough. If her father came home to find all his staff corrupted into actually behaving like human beings, well . . . the horror.
She kicked the door shut and crossed to the table in front of the fireplace, wishing for a moment that it was winter, so she could enjoy a low morning fire with her coffee and croissant. Memories that had been trying to force their way in since she’d returned to her rooms late last night pushed at the mental gates she’d locked them firmly behind. But as the sun rose higher, and filled her room with a beautiful golden light, they were getting harder and harder to keep at bay.
She needed to keep busy. Pack, get ready to leave. A few more hours and she would be out of here, never to return, and all those blasts from the past could stay safely tucked away for another decade or ten. She should be thankful that she hadn’t been put up in the room she’d had as a child. Pepper had taken over her suite of rooms the day she’d finally emerged from the nursery. She was welcome to them, Darby thought, not at all upset at having her past here wiped clean.
But that hadn’t stopped her from glancing toward her parents’ wing, or what had been their wing, as the car had rolled up the drive last night. She’d spent the evening trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, and deflect Stefan’s attention at the same time. Her hormones had been jacked around just a little too much for one night and she’d decided retreat was the better part of valor all the way around. But it hadn’t been easily accomplished. Stefan was a suave, sophisticated, and very enigmatic man. People were drawn to him, as, admittedly, was she. To a point. But while her libido might have happily lambadaed the weekend away with him, the rest of her knew it would be far smarter to keep her distance. He was connected to her father, and that alone was reason enough to steer clear. She had no idea what Stefan’s motives were. Nor did she really care to know.
She’d been relieved when he’d disappeared to make a phone call, mercifully giving her a bit of a reprieve. He’d come back fifteen minutes later to regretfully tell her he had several business calls to make and needed to end the night early. She’d begged off heading back to the house with him, pretending to be caught up in the orchestra. Wh
en in fact, the moment he’d left, she’d gone in search of Shane. If she was going to do the horizontal bop with anyone, well . . . she was keeping her dance card open for him alone.
Unfortunately, the intermission crowd had been too thick and stifling and she’d eventually opted to head home early herself. Her face ached from pasting on one fake smile after another as she’d worked her way through the throng, and her head pounded from fielding questions about her father, her sister, her escort, and, of course, her surprising sudden return to Washington society. She’d like to believe she simply wasn’t that big a deal, but the number of appraising looks she’d felt directed at her back, not to mention the number of blatant stares she’d gotten face-to-face, told her otherwise.
Which made her less than enthusiastic about attending this horse-race shindig with more of the same crowd, and running the gauntlet all over again. Only this time they had two and a half days to wear her down. She shuddered just thinking about it, and went back to sipping her coffee.
Her thoughts went back to her arrival home the evening before. Stefan had retired for the night, and she’d been so relieved to be alone, she hadn’t been prepared for having too much time on her hands . . . and not enough on her mind, in a place she’d just as soon have neither. She stood now and went to the tall, mullioned windows and looked out across the grounds at the rear of the house. From here she had a view of what had been her favorite spot in the world as a child: the stables. Her father had no interest in them. He’d only built them after falling in love with her mother. So she was surprised to see a number of horses, both in the field and the paddock, along with a fair amount of activity around the stables.
She tightened her grip on her mug, fighting the sudden yearning to go down there, wander the aisles of the barns, peek in the lofts, inhale the scents. She fought it, not because it made her miss the ranch, but because it wasn’t Montana on her mind as she stared down at the grooms and exercise girls. Memories of her mother assaulted her, of the many times they’d snuck out to the stables just before sunrise, saddling up their own mounts and riding out for the trails in the woods beyond their property, trails only they knew about, because they’d been the ones to create them. Those times alone with her mother were the source of her most golden childhood memories. Ones she allowed herself to dwell on very, very rarely.
The Cinderella Rules Page 15
