Praise for Nina Harrington

‘I look forward to reading this author’s next release …

and her next … and her next. It truly is a stunning debut,

with characters that will remain in your thoughts

long after you have closed the book.’

—pinkheartsocietyreviews.blogspot.com on

Always the Bridesmaid

‘Rich with emotion,

and pairing two truly special characters,

this beautiful story is simply unforgettable. A keeper.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Hired: Sassy Assistant

‘A well-constructed plot and a scrumptious,

larger-than-life hero combined with generous amounts

of humour and pathos make for an excellent read.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds

About the Author

About Nina Harrington

NINA HARRINGTON grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories which make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.

Also by Nina Harrington

Her Moment in the Spotlight

The Last Summer of Being Single

Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds

Hired: Sassy Assistant

Always the Bridesmaid

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Blind Date Rivals

Nina Harrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘WELL, good afternoon. Have I reached the offices of one Sara Jane Fenchurch? The same Sara Jane Fenchurch who is shortlisted to be the next local Businesswoman of the Year? I have Orchid Growers Monthly waiting on line two for an exclusive interview. Could that be you, Miss Fenchurch? Hiding behind the smuggest grin in the potting shed?’

Sara sat back in the chair she had rescued from a skip two weeks earlier and twirled her pen between two fingers like a cheerleader. Her best friend, Helen, waltzed into the cramped office on crazily high heels, whisked dirt from an old dining room chair with a perfectly manicured hand and perched elegantly on the edge of the hard seat.

‘Oh?’ Sara replied, wide-eyed in pretend amazement, and pressed the fingertips of her left hand to her chest. ‘Could that be little old me?’ And then she fluttered her eyelashes dramatically towards a framed newspaper cutting which dominated the plain wall of the log cabin which had been a potting shed but was now her garden office. A photographer from the local free newspaper had caught her grinning like a loon and looking as stunned as a rabbit caught in car headlights as the organiser congratulated her for being on the shortlist. ‘Why, yes, I believe it is. Fancy that. Maybe this year I will win it? That would be nice. Not to say useful. Cottage Orchids needs as much publicity as it can get, thank you.’

Helen snorted derisively and brushed away a trail of cobweb from the skirt of her otherwise immaculate burgundy bouclé suit. ‘Of course you’ll win and your orchids will be positively flying out of the door. Although …’ and Helen raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side as she looked at Sara from head to toe before tutting loudly ‘… you are going to need a serious makeover, young lady, if you want to impress those judges. We can start by getting rid of that hideous pen.’

Helen tried to snatch Sara’s favourite pen from between her friend’s fingers, but Sara was too quick for her and lifted it out of reach behind her head.

‘There is nothing wrong with my pen,’ Sara replied indignantly. ‘Leave it alone.’

‘It’s green and sparkly with a bendy plastic flower stuck on the top. Not very professional, is it?’

‘It came free with a bag of orchid compost and I like it and it writes,’ Sara replied. ‘Professional pens are for girls who have money to spend on luxuries. Not girls who need to save every penny to invest in their orchid houses.’

Helen sighed out loud and shook her head. ‘A green flowery pen. What would the Dragon have said?’ Then she grinned across at Sara, pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and went on in a thin, high, whiny voice of horror, ‘How inelegant, my dears. The shame.’

Sara laughed out loud, pushed the pointy end of her green pen behind her ear so that the yellow flower bobbed up and down at Helen, and leant her elbows on top of the pile of papers stacked several inches thick on the pine kitchen table which served as her office desk. The headmistress at the private boarding school where Sara had first met Helen had been a former actress and was famous for seizing on every opportunity for an over the top dramatic performance. Helen had always been able to mimic her perfectly.

‘Maybe you are right, but at least one of us didn’t let her down on the elegance front.’ Then Sara brightened and looked at Helen through narrowed eyes. ‘You look far too chirpy for a girl who is celebrating being a year older. In fact, if I didn’t know you better I would have said you were scheming about something. Let me guess. You’ve changed your mind about celebrating your birthday here in the quaint little English village I call home and are planning to fly off to some exotic paradise with your beloved Caspar instead?’

‘Are you kidding? I’ve loved this place since the very first time your lovely nana took pity on me during the school holidays.’ Then Helen smiled and gave Sara that certain innocent look that made Sara’s eyebrows lift. ‘Actually, this time it’s more along the lines of what I can do for you!’

Helen leant forward and flashed her expensive dentistry for a second in a wide grin. ‘It took some doing, but Caspar finally managed to persuade his friend Leo to leave London early so that he can come along to my birthday party at the hotel tonight! Isn’t that wonderful news?’

Sara shook her head very slowly from side to side. ‘Oh, no. You are not doing this to me. Not again. Just because I’m single does not mean that you have to try and set me up with every single, divorced or otherwise unattached man within a hundred mile radius.’

Helen sighed in exasperation. ‘But he is perfect for you. Just think of it as a small thank you for offering to do the wedding flowers! Besides, Caspar doesn’t have many close friends and at this rate Leo Grainger is going to be the only single usher at my wedding! Come on, I hate the idea that I’m the first of us to be getting married and you don’t even have a boyfriend who I can torment. Who knows? You might actually like him and enjoy yourself?’

Sara picked up a bulging document folder from her desk and let it fall back with a thud, causing the withered elastic band that was holding it together to give up and twang into shreds. ‘It’s a good thing that your wedding isn’t for another four weeks! Seriously, Helen, I’m swamped with paperwork and there is so much still to do I’m dizzy. And I have to be up on time tomorrow to meet the Events Manager at the Manor. There is no room in my life for dating. And you might recall that my last boyfriend was not a huge success.’

Helen waved her fingers in the air and coughed. ‘That was three years ago and I thought we promised to never talk about that loser again. Don’t waste one second even thinking about how he let you down.’

Sara pushed her lips together. ‘Let me down? Is that what you call breaking up with me and running off to Australia with his office junior? No, Gorgeous. I love you and you have been my best friend since the first time we shared homesick stories aged eight, but no boyfriends. Thank you all the same but I am sure that Caspar’s friend will have a great time at the party without me boring him to tears with talk of orchid fertiliser.’

Helen glanced around the wooden walls, shivered and sniffed dramatically and dropped her voice down to a pleading whisper. ‘Fair point. Except, you know this could be the last time we go out partying together as single girls, don’t you? In only a few weeks’ time, I am going to be Mrs Caspar Kaplinski. I shall try to understand that you are so busy in your own life that you can’t spare a few hours to help your old friend celebrate her last birthday as a single girl. Although it is going to be quite a struggle. I … I don’t know if I can go through with it knowing that my one and only bridesmaid is going to be sitting in her tiny hovel all evening. Lonely and rejected while we are all enjoying ourselves …’

Her voice tailed off with a dramatic over the top fake sob, and she pressed a real silk handkerchief to the inner corner of each eye.

‘That. Is emotional blackmail. And my cottage is not a hovel. Yesterday you called it a bijou gem!’

‘Absolutely!’ Helen replied with a wide grin, already on her feet and heading for the door. ‘So, it’s decided then. Cinders, you shall not stay home with only your elderly cat for company. Not this Saturday night. I shall slip through the back gate to collect you at eight with the props and stuff. Leo will take one look at you and be totally smitten, you wait and see. This is one party you’re going to remember. Ciao.’

‘Props? Helen! Wait!’

Sara stared at the space where her best friend had been sitting. How did Helen do it? A costume party and a blind date? Sara pressed her eyes tight shut and slumped back in her chair. Oh, no. She had a horrible feeling that she was going to regret this.

‘Leo, my old mate,’ Caspar bellowed down Leo’s car telephone system, ‘where are you? Helen is starting to panic that you’ve run away in terror at the thought of meeting your blind date this evening. You have to help me out here.’

‘Me? Run away from a gorgeous lady? Perish the thought.’ Then there was a pause before Leo asked, ‘She isn’t another of Helen’s old school friends, is she?’

The less than reassuring silence on the other end of the telephone confirmed his worst fears. ‘Ah, well,’ Caspar answered. ‘This one is different! Sara might be a country girl but she is very sweet.’

‘A country girl?’ Leo laughed. ‘You do remember you are talking to a city boy? London born and bred. I don’t do country. I have no idea why Helen thinks I’m in desperate need of female company. Perhaps she has a se cret yearning to change direction and set up shop as a match maker?’

‘That’s my girl!’ Caspar snorted. ‘Always looking out for her friends. Anyway. Any idea what time you might be arriving? I need to get your costume ready.’

Leo checked his car navigation display. ‘Apparently I should be with you in about ten minutes. In fact I’ve just turned into Kingsmede and seen the sign for the hotel. Kingsmede Manor, here I come.’ And then he paused, distracted for a moment by another car. ‘Did you just use the word costume? Caspar?’

‘Brilliant! Ring me when you’re settled. I owe you a drink.’

And, with that, Caspar’s voice closed off, leaving Leo to the luxury of the hum of the powerful engine as the car made its way down the country lanes of the sleepy English countryside on a warm Saturday evening.

A blind date! And of course Caspar had only informed him about that small detail when he was already halfway to the middle of nowhere! Helen had a heart of gold but the last thing he wanted at this precise moment in his life was a blind date, or any date at all for that matter. He already had more than enough on his plate at the moment.

Of course he would be polite, and he was grateful for the rare chance to enjoy himself with Caspar and celebrate Helen’s birthday but the rest of this weekend was going to be work!

He felt guilty about not telling Caspar the truth but his aunt Arabella had made it clear that she did not want anyone to know that she had hired Grainger Consulting to work on a very special project. Her company had bought Kingsmede Manor three years ago and invested heavily to restore it.

Now she was determined to leverage the asset and maximise the returns to justify that investment.

The latest idea from the management team was to buy the land next to the hotel and build a luxury spa extension. But Arabella wanted a second opinion—his opinion—before they gave the spa idea the final go-ahead.

Normally he would have sent one of his team along to do the work, but not this time. He owed his aunt more than he could ever repay. And for that he was willing to take time away from the London office and do the work himself as a personal favour, when he could least afford to. His workload over the past few months had been hectic.

Worse. He had a deadline. And it was tight. He had to come up with something very, very special in five days. The entire board of directors of Rizzi Hotels would be meeting at Kingsmede Manor over lunch on Friday for their annual general meeting.

Nothing so unusual about that.

Companies paid Grainger Consulting to make the hard decisions about what they needed to do to survive in hard times, and he had built his reputation on doing precisely that. But this time it was personal.

Leo’s fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel.

The Rizzi Hotel chain owned some of the most prestigious boutique hotels around the world, but it was still a family business, with one domineering and driven man at the top—his own grandfather. Paolo Leonardo Rizzi. The man he despised for his uncaring ruthlessness. The man who expected his orders to be obeyed by everyone, and especially by his own family.

There was no room for sentiment or consideration of the human costs to the hotels they bought out in Paolo Rizzi’s world.

Of course Arabella knew that he would create something outstanding to present to the family on Friday. Clever, shrewd and powerful, his aunt was giving him the chance to settle the score with the grandfather who had so fundamentally rejected his own daughter and her family.

And Leo was determined to prove just how big a mistake that had been.

All he had to do was to create a stunning proposal on how to make Kingsmede Manor Hotel more profitable, and keep the project secret for the next few days. Nothing to it.

Leo Grainger eased his foot off the accelerator and turned slowly into the long paved drive that led to the hotel. Each side of the drive was lined with full-size beech trees with branches so high and wide that they joined in the middle to create a tunnel of soft green leaves, shading the drivers from the June sunshine. At eight in the evening, the shadows and sunlight created a dazzling display on the windscreen of his sports car.

These tree-lined avenues had been created centuries ago to impress guests arriving at the house for the first time in horse-drawn carriages. According to the dossier his aunt had sent over, Kingsmede Manor had been a private house until only three years earlier and had actually remained in the same family since the time it was built.

That had to be a useful selling point. Overseas visitors adored English heritage—especially when it was as eccentric as this.

Coming out of the shadows and into the low sunlight of the summer evening, Leo squinted through the windscreen and took his first sight of the house. The drive in front of the house turned into a wide circle around a central fountain where a swan frolicked in the cascading spray.

A brief smile flashed across his lips. Impressive. No wonder his aunt had snapped the house up the minute it came onto the market. She had impeccable taste.

Minutes later, Leo threw open the car door, swung his body out of the bucket seat and stepped out onto the cobblestone car park. His favourite designer black boots emerged first, followed by the rest of him, all six foot two of gym-toned muscle, sharp reflexes and an uncanny instinct for what made a commercial business a success … or at least that was what the financial press liked to say.

In his high-profile work with international clients, superficial aspects such as his designer clothing were simply parts of a business image he had spent years perfecting. His clients expected prestige and results and that was what they got. It was as simple as that. They did not care that he had started his working life washing dishes in the kitchens of his aunt’s boutique London hotel. Why should they? He was paid to make a difference to their business. Nothing else mattered. This was business, not personal.

And now it was time to do the same for Kingsmede Manor.

Leo strolled around to the back of the car and lifted out his leather weekend bag. His only hope was that there would be a marked absence of those boring white orchids that every hotel in the world seemed to have at the moment. Perhaps this time he was going to get a pleasant surprise?

It was almost nine that evening when Sara finally tottered in her evening sandals through the familiar white marble hall with its twisted double staircase and grinned up at the huge scarlet banner which hung suspended from the ornate plasterwork arch above her head.

The words ‘Hollywood Night’ had been printed in enormous gold letters across the banner. Trust Helen to choose a movie theme for her birthday party. And subtle did not come into it.

Shaking her head with a low chuckle, Sara could not resist checking on the pair of stunning orchid plants which she had delivered only two days earlier as a special order.

This variety of Phalaenopsis was a triumph. At the heart of each of the huge ivory blossoms was a crimson tongue speckled with gold dust. Of course she did not expect the guests and staff at the hotel to appreciate how much work went into create such perfect flower spikes from each plant, but they did look amazing. She had suggested other colour combinations, of course, but the Events Manager had insisted on the ivory blossoms. They were a lovely match for the antique console table which stood along the length of the hall below the huge gold framed mirror which had once belonged to her grandmother.

It had been heartbreaking for her to watch so many of her favourite pieces of treasured antique furniture being sold off in auction to strangers, but her mother had been right for once. Huge heavy pieces of furniture and enormous gilt mirrors belonged in a house large enough to appreciate them and not in some minimalist apartment or tiny cottage. And of course they had needed the proceeds of the sale so very badly.

At least the luxury hotel chain who had bought Kingsmede Manor had the good sense to snap up as many of the lovely original pieces as they could while they still had the chance.

At that moment the front doors opened to a gaggle of laughing guests who swept into the hall, bringing a breeze of evening air to waft through the orchid spikes. Sara did not recognise anyone in the group—but that was hardly surprising. Helen’s jewellery design business was based in London and it had been three years since they had shared a flat together. Their lives had changed so much since then it was little wonder that they had different friends and such different lives.

For a moment Sara looked past the orchid blossoms and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hand instantly went to her hair and flicked back her short fringe. There had been a time when she had been one of those laughing, happy city girls, with their smart high heels and expensive grooming habits, who could afford wonderful hairdressers. Now she was simply grateful that the pixie style was back in fashion.

Sara checked her watch. She was late. Correction, make that very late. Perhaps her blind date was already here and waiting for her? Frightened of being stood up? And probably as scared as she was.

She lifted her chin and fixed a smile on her lips as she wandered into what had been her grandmother’s drawing room and stood on tiptoe to see if she could spot Helen.

At five feet nothing, Helen had always been petite enough to make Sara feel like a gangly beanstalk. That was one reason why Sara had chosen medium black sandals to accompany her simple black shift dress—one of the many treasures her grandmother had left behind in the dressing-up box! Helen had supplied the pearl necklaces and huge black sunglasses but she had turned down the plastic tiara. Not with her current hairstyle. The long black evening gloves and cigarette-holder were the only other props she needed to become Audrey for the evening.

Then she spotted someone waving to her from across the room.

Sara worked her way through the crowd of costumed strangers, trying to reach Helen’s table which was just in front of the wide patio doors that led out onto the terrace. A warm breeze from the garden wafted into the packed room. Perfect.

‘Thank goodness you are here,’ Helen called against the background noise. ‘We need to come up with a plan to make sure that we win the karaoke contest later on, and you’re the only person I know who can sing vaguely in tune.’

Helen was dressed as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz and looked absolutely charming, from her simple gingham pinafore dress to her red glittery shoes and a tiny little basket with a stuffed toy dog inside.

‘Oh, thanks a lot, Dotty,’ Sara replied with a laugh and bent down quickly to kiss her friend, while trying to avoid kissing away the bright spot of red on Helen’s cheek which she had helped apply. ‘Sorry I’m so late. I think the mice have been in the orchid house again and Pasha refused to move from his comfy cat bed without a fight.’

Sara stretched out her left arm and turned it from side to side. ‘Can you still see the scratch marks? I’ve taken two antihistamines and tried to cover them up with several layers of make-up and long gloves. What do you think?’

Helen waved her fingers in the air. ‘Forget about all of that. I need you to focus, sweetie. Focus. I have just decided that our table will win the most points so you have to be on top form.’ She nodded and tapped her finger against her nose, which was slightly redder than normal, and Sara wondered how many glasses of champagne Helen had sampled in the past hour.

But, before Sara could answer, a tall slim man in a pinstriped suit with huge shoulders, black and white brogues, a fedora and black eye mask sidled up towards them, tipped his hat to an even more jaunty angle, lifted Helen’s hand, bent over sharply from the waist and kissed the inside of her wrist. ‘Hiya, Gorgeous,’ he said in a very fake American gangster accent, ‘are you ready to be my moll tonight? You and your little dog too.’

‘Good evening, Caspar,’ Sara said with a smile. ‘You are looking terribly elegant.’

The black silk mask was hoisted up with a sigh of exasperation.

‘Come on. What gave me away?’ Caspar asked.

Sara pointed to his wrist. ‘I’m afraid designer watches like that were not so very common in the organised crime community.’

He looked casually down and snorted. ‘Serves me right for accepting gifts from every jewellery designer I promise to marry,’ he answered, grinning down at Helen, who raised her eyebrows in recognition.

‘Anyway—look at you! All dressed up for a Saturday night and looking very handsome.’

‘Helen dragged me here.’ Sara nodded. ‘Apparently this is the poor girl’s last chance to have some fun before she leaves the world of young, free and single.’

Caspar was already looking over Helen’s head towards the bar, and nodded to the wine waiter who was carrying trays of chilled champagne glasses with what looked like dry ice streaming out of them.

‘I consider it my solemn duty to help my future bride achieve all her goals. Be right back with the drinks, ladies. Prepare to try the famous Kaplinski movie night cocktails.’

And with that he swaggered off across the polished floorboards with his shoulder pads leading the way.

Sara sighed and sat back in her chair. ‘That man is almost good enough for you. Almost. And how is the birth day girl?’

Helen slapped her a little too vigorously on the back. ‘Fan. Tastic. I need to catch up with the catering manager, and find out where your date has got to, but I will be right back. Stay put.’

‘You are not going to leave me here on my own?’ Sara could not hide the desperation in her voice.

‘Of course not,’ Helen replied, giving her one of her looks. ‘Mingle, darling. Mingle. See you in five!’

Sara shook her head with a grin as Helen skipped her way through the crowd, then stopped to chat to a sword carrying pirate who had started a play fight with a young man waving a light sabre.

With a low chuckle, Sara lifted her evening bag higher onto her shoulder, sashayed out into the room and accepted a cool glass of champagne from a formally dressed waiter who winked at her as he presented his silver tray. She winked back. The young couple who ran the village post office were always grateful for extra work at the hotel and she could see his wife on the other side of the room reorganising the buffet display.

Fantastic! Now she had two more people to chat to.

She was just about to turn away when a slim man in a very stylish black suit, wearing white gloves and a flowing cape with huge red lapels, strolled into the room as though it was the deck of a luxurious yacht. He held his body in a stiff and mannered way—aloof and imposing. He was dark and so classically handsome that Sara could only gaze in awe. The gene fairy had certainly waved her magic wand over this boy.

All in all, he looked every inch the poster boy for the modern city executive he no doubt was. Polished and slick as steel. Confident in his abilities and accustomed to taking charge in any situation. A true captain of industry.

Sara gave a low sniff at the memory of all the boys she had dated over the years who had been clones of the man she was looking at. She had been there, done that and had been disappointed time and again when it turned out that they were far too interested in dating someone who they could introduce to their family as the only daughter of Lady Fenchurch rather than find out who she was as a person.

Being at the end of a long line of aristocratic landowners certainly had its disadvantages. Especially when she did not have any rights to a title of her own.

Then Caspar instantly greeted him warmly and pointed him over towards the bar, except that as he turned away she caught a fleeting look on Count Dracula’s face which she identified with only too well. It only lasted a fraction of a second but it spelt out that he felt lonely and foolish and out of place. Almost as though he had been dragged there and dressed up against his will.

Leo Grainger glanced around the room, then stared in horror as Caspar passed him a very odd-looking steaming drink. ‘You do know that you are the one and only person on this planet who could drag me to Helen’s birthday party dressed like this? I just thought you ought to know that. For the record.’

‘What are friends for?’ Caspar replied, waving his Kaplinski cocktail in the air. ‘Think nothing of it. And no, I had nothing whatsoever to do with Helen setting you up with her old school friend. Sorry, pal, but she who must be obeyed has decreed it so. Anyway, it is the least I could do after you offered us the free use of the hotel.’

Leo tipped his head and raised his glass towards Caspar’s. ‘It was my pleasure. There are some compensations for being related to the owner. I was happy to help. And Helen looks as lovely as ever.’

‘That she does,’ Caspar replied, slapping Leo on the back one handed and almost making him spill his drink. ‘Why don’t you make a start on the food? And while you’re checking out the buffet I’ll check on my future bride. The lovely Helen has some sort of surprise entertainment up her sleeve to finish off the evening and I want to be prepared. Back in a minute.’

And with that the gangster rolled across the room, swaggering his shoulders dramatically from side to side.

Leo blinked several times, shook his head, took one sip of the cocktail, almost choked and quickly picked up a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter with a smile and grateful thanks. If that was the effect a Kaplinski cocktail had on an otherwise fairly normal lawyer like Caspar, he would pass. For this job, he was prepared to remain sober and very alert. And risk the canapés.

Only as he peered across the room towards the buffet table he was struck by something rather remarkable. One of the elegant party guests was talking to the waitress who was juggling empty platters and plates. And not just idle chatting in a condescending way but really laughing and sharing a joke so that when she started jiggling along and shaking her slim and very attractive hips in time with the lively music playing in the background, his own feet starting tapping with them.

For the first time in days an ironic smile creased the corner of Leo’s mouth. He had so many vivid memories about the rude and arrogant guests and diners he had served during his days as a general waiter and dogsbody in his aunt’s hotel. They had been tough times when he had been glad of the work but it had been hard going and he had never truly got used to being ignored or verbally abused—it had been part of the training at the University of Life.

One thing he had learned was that a guest who actually took the time to connect with the serving staff and treat them as human beings was a rare creature. The crowds cleared a little and he could just make out that the tall brunette with the short hair was even lovelier than he had expected.

She was wearing a classic little black dress and black evening gloves. Pearls, of course. Elegant. Cool, but she still came over as somehow comfortable. That was it. She looked comfortable inside her own skin. She was not beautiful or sleek but somehow real with a natural prettiness and totally relaxed body language that she was not ashamed of.

The fact that her long slim legs tapered into lovely shapely ankles was an added bonus. This was no country bumpkin—this was an elegant and classy city girl who had been trapped here in the back of beyond like himself.

Perhaps he had found someone to talk to at this party after all.

CHAPTER TWO

SARA walked slowly along the buffet table, loading up her plate with bite-sized mouthfuls of the most delicious food. The hotel chef was amazing and, after three glasses of the Kaplinski cocktail whilst waiting for Helen, who was still mingling, she was in need of something more solid to add to her stomach. Her snatched lunchtime sandwich was a distant memory, and she wasn’t entirely sure she had finished that. Okay, she was having a slight problem using the serving tongs while wearing long evening gloves which were slightly too large for her, but hunger had won out in the end and her reward was a plate heaped up with goodies.

The gloves were going to have to come off during the actual eating process—but some things were worth the sacrifice. And at this rate it would not take long for her to scoff the lot.

She had just paused at the mini pizza platter when the strains of a familiar musical theme song belted out above the background chatter. Her hand trembled as a tsunami of emotion and sentimental angst swept over her. All it took were a few lines of lyrics and the sound of a studio orchestra … and she unravelled.

It had always been the same. Sounds and music were associated for ever in her mind with specific people and places and events, and there was nothing she could do about it—that was the way her mind worked. All she had to do was hear the opening bars of a tune and she was right back in that moment.

Pity that it had to be now.

It had been a long busy week and the last thing she wanted was to walk into a party with a soundtrack playing music from one of her grandmother’s favourite musicals. Just the memory of her grandmother holding her hand as they danced around this room, both singing at the top of their voices and having so much fun, was enough to get Sara feeling tearful.

She had so little left of her wonderful grandmother that even these memories seemed too precious to share in public.

No, she told herself sternly. She was not going to weep. This was Helen’s birthday party! And she still had her grand mother’s orchid houses—and they had meant more to her than anything else in this fine house. The fact that her grandmother had bequeathed them to her with the cottage was worth any amount of ridicule from her mother. She had trusted her to take care of them as their new custodian and that was precisely what she was doing.

So she had every reason to smile and pretend that every thing was fine and she was just dandy! After everything Helen had done for her, she was not going to let her down. No way. Not going to happen. And so far her blind date had not appeared so she had this time to herself.

She needed a drink to ease the burning pain in her throat. That was all.

Sara quickly loaded up her plate with savoury bites, then paused in front of a superb dessert trolley. And right on top was a black satin-lined tray of chocolates which had been shaped into small award statuettes. Except that the few remaining chocolates had been crushed by other guests in their rush to gobble them up and from where she was standing looked more like body halves, with a luscious creamy-white centre. Perfect.

She had just scooped up some chocolate legs onto a silver spoon when there was a clatter and a loud beeping noise and Helen’s distinctive voice called out from the centre of the room. Sara turned around just in time to see her friend stand on a chair holding a microphone in one hand and waving her basket in her other hand with such gusto that poor little stuffed Toto was joggling about and threatening to jump out at any minute.

‘Hello, everyone. Me here. Thanks for coming. Just to let you know that there are five more minutes before the karaoke starts, so finish off your drinks and food and get ready to sing your heart out. Yes. That’s right. Hollywood musicals. I just know it is going to be the best fun. Thanks.’

With that, Caspar strolled up and wrapped his arm around Helen’s waist to lift her off the chair and back to the table, both of them laughing and so very happy. And, despite the fact that she wished her friends every joy, Sara felt her heart break as she watched Helen and Caspar clinging together. Was she ever going to find someone she wanted to be with who could return her love without seeing her as little more than an aristocratic trophy girl?

Sara was so distracted that it took her a second to realise that the other partygoers were making a sudden rush towards her and what was left on the buffet table. Drat. She would have to work fast to stock up before the hordes descended. Good thing she was at the dessert end of the queue. And with that she turned back to the trolley.

Only her way was blocked by the man in the cape. And as she moved forward and he turned towards her, her hand banged into his arm and some of Sara’s chocolate legs went flying onto the floor, narrowly missing his suit.

‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ she said, suddenly aware that she had not even realised that he was standing there as she reached across. ‘How clumsy of me.’

Sara looked straight across into a pair of blue-grey eyes, the brightness backlit by the gentle light from a crystal chandelier over the buffet table. Their eyes locked for a moment, and something inside her flipped over. Several times.

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 choco late 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, eye brows 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 very 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 laughter 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 min utes.’

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.

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?

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.