by Jennie Lucas
The truth was, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His hard jaw was freshly shaved, and his dark eyes wickedly bright. He looked impossibly handsome, tall and broad-shouldered in his sophisticated black tuxedo, which was obviously tailored. No tuxedo off the rack could have fit his muscled body so perfectly.
Wordlessly, Darius held out his arm.
Wrapping her hand around his hard, thick bicep, she shivered, remembering how six months ago, she’d felt his naked, powerful body over hers. Inside hers. She nearly stumbled at the memory.
He stopped.
“Sorry, I’m still getting the hang of my shoes,” she lied. She couldn’t explain that it wasn’t the stilettos that had made her stumble, but the memory of that hot February night they’d conceived their baby.
A night that would never happen again, she thought wistfully. After tonight, he’d run away from her so fast that there would be flames left on the ground, like in a cartoon.
This time, a limousine waited for them. Collins, the driver, wore his formal uniform with a peaked cap as he held open her passenger door.
“Where is the ball this year?” she asked Darius.
“The Corlandt,” he said, naming a venue that was nearly as famous as the Met or Frick or Whitney.
She gulped. It was even worse than she’d thought. As the limo took them uptown, she felt sick with dread. She looked out the window, frantically trying to build ice around her heart and get herself back into a place where she was too well armored to feel any attack.
But her newly scrubbed skin felt far too thin now. Wearing this beautiful dress, and being with Darius, she felt vulnerable. She felt visible. She felt raw.
Even though she no longer loved him, she still didn’t want him hurt because of her. She tried to tell herself it would be for his own good, so he’d realize they had no future. But she couldn’t bear the thought of what was about to happen.
All too soon, the limo arrived. Looking out at the crowds and red carpet and paparazzi, Letty couldn’t breathe. Collins got out and opened their door.
Darius went first. There was a low roar from the crowds, watching from behind the cordons of the red carpet, at seeing Darius Kyrillos, the host of the evening and currently New York’s most famous billionaire bachelor, get out of the limo, gorgeous in his tuxedo. As cameras flashed in the darkening twilight, he gave a brusque wave.
Looking at the photographers, Letty felt so weak she wasn’t sure she could get out of the limo.
Turning back, Darius held out his hand to where she sat quivering in the backseat. He lifted a challenging eyebrow.
Shaking, Letty put her hand in his.
As she exited the limo, a low murmur started amid the photographers and press waiting outside the red carpet as someone recognized Letty.
Then it spread.
There was a gasp of recognition traveling among the photographers and crowd like a rumble of thunder rolling across the ground. The camera flashes went crazy as journalists and celebrity bloggers started screaming at her.
“Letitia Spencer!”
“Where have you been for the last ten years?”
“How does it feel now that your father’s out of prison?”
“Do you feel guilty for your father’s victims as you’re coming to a ball in diamonds?”
“Are you two together?”
“Mr. Kyrillos, with all the city at your feet, why would you date a jailbird’s daughter?”
Darius responded only with a glower as he arrogantly walked past them, Letty gripping his hand tightly. He led her past the reporters and inside the magnificent beaux-arts-style granite building. Only after she’d walked up the steps and past the imposing columns through the oversize door, and he’d shut it behind them, did she exhale. Immediately, he pulled her close. Letty closed her eyes, still shaking as she breathed in his strength, his warmth, his comfort.
“It’s over,” he said softly as he finally drew back, tucking back a dark tendril of her hair behind her ear. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“You think it’s over?” She gave him a trembling smile. “It’s only just begun.”
Darius’s expression darkened, but they were interrupted as a famous white-haired society matron covered in jewels entered the foyer behind them. Her face brightened when she saw Darius. She immediately left her much younger date to come forward and give him air-kisses.
“Darius, how lovely to see you! Thank you again for hosting this important event.” She simpered. “Though I think there will be many broken hearts when they see you brought a date—”
But as the matron turned to Letty, her smile froze. Her expression changed to shock, then outrage.
“Hello, Mrs. Alexander,” Letty said bashfully. “I don’t know if you remember, but I used to go to school with your daughter, Poppy. We were both debutantes at the—”
“Stop.” The woman’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you dare speak to me.” Looking back at Darius, she hissed, “Do you know who this girl is? What she’s done?”
He looked at her coldly. “Of course I know who Letty is. We’ve been friends since childhood. And as for what she’s done—I think you have her confused with her father.”
The woman turned to Letty with narrowed eyes. “You have some nerve coming here. Your father stole money from nearly every person attending tonight.” She looked at Darius incredulously. “And you are insane to bring her. Take my advice. Send Letitia Spencer straight out the door. Or you might find that you suddenly have no guests, and your charity will suffer. For what? So you can get that little tart in your bed?” She looked pointedly at Letty’s belly. “Or perhaps you did that already?”
Letty’s cheeks went hot. She suddenly felt like a tart, too, wearing this low-cut, formfitting pink dress that showed off every curve. Beneath the society matron’s scrutiny, even her beautiful sparkly shoes lost their gleam, and suddenly just pinched her feet.
“It’s only out of respect for those poor foster children that I’m not leaving here right now.” The woman glared between them, then flounced away in her jewels and fluttering silk sleeves.
Letty was left paralyzed from the ambush.
“Don’t listen to her,” Darius said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “She’s a witch.”
“I don’t blame her for being mad,” Letty said in a low voice. “Her family lost a lot of money. Tens of millions.”
“It obviously hasn’t cut into her jewelry and plastic-surgery budget. Forget her. Let’s go in.”
Wrapping her arm securely over his, he marched her into the ballroom as cheerfully as a revolutionary leading a French aristocrat to the guillotine.
But it was no good. The rest of the evening was just as Letty had feared. As lovely and magical as the afternoon had been, the ball sucked the joy out of everything.
Darius insisted on keeping her by his side as he greeted his society guests, each of whom had paid thousands of dollars to attend this ball, ostensibly for the benefit of college scholarships for foster kids but mostly just to have a good excuse to party with friends and show off new couture.
Letty felt their hostile stares, though with Darius beside her, none were as brave or foolhardy as Mrs. Alexander. None of them said anything to her face. Instead, the cream of New York society just stared at her in bewildered horror, as if she had a contagious and fatal disease, then looked at Darius as if they were waiting for him to reveal the punch line of whatever joke had inspired him to bring a pariah like Letitia Spencer to the Fall Ball when he could have had any beauty in the city for the asking.
She heard whispers and felt their hard stares as she and Darius passed through the crowds in the ballroom. When he briefly left her to get drinks, she felt vulnerable, alone. She kept her eyes focused on the floor, trying to be quiet and invisible, as if facing wild animals. If they didn’t notice her, they might not tear her to shreds with their teeth and claws.
It didn’t work.
Within moments, three former debutantes blocked her
like bouncers at a bar.
“Well, well, well.” A skinny young woman in a designer gown gave her a hard-edged smile. “Letitia Spencer. This is a surprise. Isn’t it, Caroline?”
“A big surprise.”
Letty vaguely recognized the two women from her school, where they’d been a year older. They were looking at her now with the cold expressions of mob enforcers. She could suddenly imagine how her father must have felt right before that thug had broken his arm.
But the third woman stood a slight distance from the first two. It was Poppy Alexander. She and Letty had once been study partners, sophomore year. Poppy just stood there, looking pale and uneasy.
“Excuse me.” Letty backed away. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“You don’t want trouble?” The first woman’s lip twisted scornfully. “How very amusing.”
“Amusing,” Caroline echoed with a sneer.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re a disgrace to society.”
“If you had any decency, you’d disappear or die.”
Poppy stood silently beside her friends, looking faintly sick, as if she wished she were a million miles away. Letty sympathized with that feeling.
The first woman continued with a sneer, “You might think you’re safe on Darius Kyrillos’s arm, but...”
“Ah, there you are, Letty,” Darius said smoothly, coming up behind them. “I brought your drink.” Turning to the other women, he gave a charming smile. “Ah. Augusta. Caroline. And Poppy Alexander. How lovely to see you.”
“Hello, Darius,” they cooed with weak smiles, then departed, the first two with a final venomous glance at Letty, Poppy hanging her head, looking guilty and ashamed.
Emotions Letty knew well.
“Everything all right?” Darius murmured after they left.
She exhaled, blinking fast. “Fine. Just fine.”
The night only got worse. It was past ten when the formal dinner was finally served, and Letty felt half-starved as she sat down beside Darius at the prestigious head table. But as she felt the glares from the four other couples at the table, she could barely eat a bite of salad or the lobster with white truffle cream. At any moment, she half expected one of the hedge fund millionaires or society wives might smash a three-hundred-dollar champagne bottle against the table and attack her with it.
That might have been preferable to the waves of unspoken hatred overtaking her like a blast of heat from all sides. During the unendurably long meal, Darius tried several times to start conversations with the others at the table. Each time, he succeeded. Until he tried to include her. Then the conversation instantly died.
Finally, Letty could stand it no longer.
“Excuse me,” she breathed, rising from her seat. “I have to—”
She couldn’t finish her sentence. Turning, she rushed past all the other tables and out of the ballroom. Going down the long hall, she found a ladies’ bathroom, where she was violently sick. Going to the sink, she washed out her mouth. She looked at herself wanly in the mirror. She felt like she’d rather die than go back into that ballroom and see Darius trying to stick up for her.
Better for her to just leave quietly. Better for both of them.
After lingering as long as she could in the cool quiet of the empty, marble bathroom, with the old-fashioned elegance of a more genteel era, she went out into the hallway.
She found Darius waiting for her, smolderingly handsome in his tuxedo, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and his jaw tight.
“Are you all right?”
He was angry. She could hear it in his voice. She stopped, barely holding back her tears. “Have you seen enough?” she choked out. “You’re surely not enough of an idiot to marry me.”
He came closer in the empty hallway, with its plush carpets and gold light fixtures. She tensed, waiting for him to tell her he’d obviously made a mistake, bringing her to his ball, and that there was no way he would marry her now or in fact ever wanted to see her again. She waited for him to give her what she’d wanted and set her free.
Except in this moment the thought didn’t make her as happy as it once did.
He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t realize how bad it was for you.”
She’d successfully fought back tears all night. But she could do it no longer. Not now, when the illusion of having a protector—even for a night—was coming to an end.
Letty took a deep breath, trying to ignore the lump in her throat, wiping her eyes before he’d see the tears. She tried to smile. “But now you know. So tomorrow I’ll go to Rochester with my father. You can continue to be rich and famous and popular here. You can visit our baby anytime you want...” Something in his eyes made her voice trail off uncertainly. “If you even want to see our baby anymore,” she whispered.
His eyes suddenly blazed with cold fury. “No.”
“What?”
He gripped her arm. “I said no.”
She tried to pull away, but couldn’t. “What are you doing?”
“What I should have done the moment we arrived here.”
He pulled her grimly down the hall, back toward the ballroom.
“No,” she choked out, struggling. “Please. I can’t go back in there. Don’t make me...”
Darius was merciless. He dragged her back into the enormous ballroom, with its high ceiling and crystal chandeliers. He gripped her wrist as she limped behind him in the tight stiletto shoes and pink dress, going past all the big round tables, where a thousand people were now drinking after-dinner brandies and coffees and the men, at least, were eating desserts. Letty felt each ten-person table fall silent as they went by. She felt everyone’s judgment. Their blame. Their hatred.
Ruthlessly, Darius pulled her through the ballroom, leaving people silent in their wake. As he walked past their own table, he grabbed his glass of champagne. Crossing the small dance floor, he dragged her up the stairs to the stage, where, still holding her wrist, he took the microphone at the podium. He cleared his throat.
Letty’s knees were trembling with fear. She wished she’d never come here—wished she’d never taken a single risk—would have given twenty years of her life to be back at her tiny apartment, snug on the sofa with a blanket over her head!
“Good evening,” Darius said into the microphone. His husky, commanding voice rang over the ballroom. A spotlight fell on him. “For those of you I haven’t yet met personally, I’m Darius Kyrillos. Thank you for coming to my party, the event kicking off the New York fall social season, and thank you for supporting scholarships for kids in need. It’s because of you that many deserving youngsters will be able to go to college or learn a trade.”
A smattering of applause ensued; much less enthusiastic than it would have been if Letty hadn’t been standing with him on stage. She was ruining everything, she thought unhappily. Even for those kids who needed help. She hated herself. Almost as much as she hated him.
Darius deliberately turned away from the microphone to give her a searching glance, and her stomach fell to the floor. Here it comes, she thought. He’s going to announce that he brought me here as a joke and have me thrown me out. She was social poison, so he really had no choice but to distance himself. This was exactly what she’d expected.
She just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much when it happened.
Darius’s lips twisted. He turned back to the microphone. “Most of you know this beautiful woman on stage with me. Miss Letitia Spencer.” There was a low hiss across the ballroom, a rumble of muffled booing. He responded with a charming smile. “Since we’re all friends, I wanted you to be the first to know... I just asked her to marry me.”
Letty’s eyes went wide. What? Why would he say that? Was he insane?
“And she has accepted,” he finished calmly. “So I want you all to be the first to wish us joy.”
This time, the gasp came from Letty. Forget insane. Was he suicidal?
The low hisses and boos changed to ugl
y muttering across the ballroom, angry, obscene words that made Letty squirm. Instinctively, she covered her belly with her arms to protect her unborn baby from the cruel words.
But Darius’s smile only widened as he put his large hand over hers, on her belly.
“We’re expecting a baby, too. All of this has left me so overwhelmed with joy, I want to share it with all of you. Now. Some of you might know of her father’s troubles...”
A white-haired man, unable to contain himself any longer, sprang up from his table. “Howard Spencer defrauded my company of millions of dollars!” he cried, shaking his fist. “We were only repaid a fraction of what we lost!”
A low buzz of rage hummed around him.
“Letty’s father is a criminal,” Darius agreed. “He abused your trust, and I know over half of what he stole is still unaccounted for. But Letty did nothing wrong. Her only crime was loving a father who didn’t deserve it. That’s why I’ve decided, in my future bride’s honor, to make amends.”
Suddenly, it was dead quiet across the tables.
Darius held his champagne glass high. “I will personally pay back every penny her father stole.”
A collective gasp ripped through the ballroom.
The white-haired man staggered back. “But that’s...five billion dollars!”
“So it is,” Darius said mildly. He looked over the crowd. “So if your family is still owed money by Howard Spencer, I personally guarantee repayment. All in honor of my beautiful...innocent...unfairly hounded...bride.” Turning back toward Letty on stage, he held up his champagne glass and said into the microphone, “To Letitia Spencer!”
As photographers rushed forward, Letty felt faint. Camera flashes lit up everywhere. There was a rumble of noise, of shouts and gasps and chairs hastily pushed aside as a thousand people scrambled to their feet and lifted their champagne glasses into the air.
“Letitia Spencer!” they cried joyfully.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WASN’T EVERY day a man spent five billion dollars on a whim.
Darius hadn’t intended to do it. He’d had a different surprise in mind for Letty tonight: a black velvet box hidden in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, which he’d planned to spring on her as soon as the evening was over and all her overblown fears had proved unfounded.
