One Reckless Night. Sara Craven
she has her pride, and you’re a resident so must therefore be cherished.’
‘And what’s your excuse?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m a lonely bachelor who has to forage for himself, so she takes pity on me once in a while.’
If he was lonely, Zanna thought wryly, then it had to be through his own choice. Or perhaps he was simply too busy trying to maintain a small business to organise a private life as well.
That was something she could understand. She’d acted as hostess for her father times without number, but she couldn’t remember, she thought with bewilderment, the last time she had dined à deux with a man.
Few, if any, of the men who’d sought her company had passed muster after Sir Gerald’s rigorous vetting.
‘You’re my daughter, Zanna,’ her father had constantly reminded her. ‘My heiress. How can you ever be sure if it’s you they want or my money?’
It was a lesson which had gone home, however much it might have hurt.
But this time there was no real risk involved, she assured herself. Because the man facing her across the table had no idea who or what she was. And she firmly intended to keep it that way.
As if picking up some unspoken cue, he said, ‘We’ve never actually introduced ourselves, have we?’
‘No.’ Zanna’s mind worked quickly. ‘I’m Susan,’ she announced. ‘Susan—er—Smith.’
‘Really?’ The firm mouth quirked slightly. ‘How unusual. And I’m Jake.’ He paused. ‘Jake—er—Brown,’ he added, with sardonic emphasis.
Zanna felt her cheeks pinken, but she made herself meet his glance with apparent unconcern. After all, what did it matter? she comforted herself. They were ships passing in the night. Nothing more. And she had no more wish to know his real identity than to reveal her own.
The arrival of the next course relieved the awkwardness of the moment. The fish pie more than lived up to its recommendation. Under jts creamy mashed potato and cheese topping, cod, smoked haddock and prawns jostled for precedence in a delicious creamy sauce, and then, to finish with, there was a sumptuously rich chocolate mousse with a wicked undercurrent of brandy.
Jake led the conversation throughout the meal, but he kept to general topics, touching lightly on places of interest in the locality and leading on to the success of the exhibition. Nothing on a personal level, she noted with relief.
Finally Trudy brought excellent coffee and a smooth Armagnac.
Who could ask for anything more? Zanna wondered as she leaned against the high back of the wooden settle, cradling the goblet in her hand and contemplating the flames leaping around the sweet apple logs.
‘Don’t get too comfortable.’ His smile reached her across the candle-flame, sending a faint, troublous shiver down her spine. ‘I’m claiming the first waltz.’
She sat up with a startled jerk. ‘But I’m not going to the dance.’
‘Why not? There’s nothing else to do tonight.’
‘I don’t dance.’
‘I’ll teach you.’
‘And I’m not dressed for it,’ she added swiftly.
‘You could be—with a few adjustments.’ He rose and came round the table to her side.
Stunned, Zanna felt him release the ribbon holding her hair.
‘Now that is so much better,’ he said softly as the blonde strands fell forward to curve round her face.
He reached down, almost in the same movement, and undid the top button of her blouse.
Her hand lifted swiftly to check him as the blood stormed into her face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Only this.’ With total insouciance he tied the ribbon round her exposed throat in a neat bow, then lifted her to her feet, making her face the mirror over the fireplace. ‘So, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.’
Unwillingly, Zanna looked at herself. Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes looked twice their normal size. Against her throat, the dark band of ribbon was a perfect foil for her creamy skin, while the neckline of her blouse revealed a tantalising glimpse of cleavage.
I look different, she thought with bewilderment. I don’t know myself.
In the mirror’s reflection, their eyes met.
He said softly, ‘Tell me, Miss Smith, does anyone ever call you Susie?’
She shook her head, the loosened hair swinging against her cheek. ‘Never.’ The word seemed squeezed from her taut throat.
‘Then tonight they will.’ His gaze held hers, steadily, almost mesmerically. Somehow she could not break the spell and look away, much as she wanted to. Much as she needed to. ‘Dance with me, Susie—please?’
She searched wildly for the crushing retort, the ultimate put-down that would salvage this ridiculous—this impossible situation. And instead heard herself say, against reason, against wisdom, even against sanity, ‘Yes.’
CHAPTER THREE
ALL the way across the green, Zanna could hardly believe that she was doing this.
I make my own plans, she thought. I’m the one in control. So how the hell am I on my way to some village hop, with a rustic grease monkey who has far too much to say for himself?
And who, whether she wished to acknowledge it or not, had far more than his fair share of sexual charisma, a voice in her head warned acerbically.
The kind of man that Suzannah Westcott would have shunned by miles.
But tonight, just for a few hours, she was leaving Zanna Westcott behind her. She was going to be Susie Smith instead, and find out, maybe, how the other half lived. And where was the harm in that? she argued with herself as she looked up at the velvety sky.
With the man walking at her side, that was where, returned the voice in her head, which refused, stubbornly and annoyingly, to go away.
Above the dark roofs the stars seemed close enough to touch, and a sliver of new moon was peeping round the church tower. Ahead of them, the hall was festooned with coloured lights, and music drifted on the faint breeze.
It was, to all intents and purposes, a night for lovers, she thought with unease. And if Jake had tried to take her hand, or put an arm round her waist, she knew she would have turned tail and fled back to the sanctuary of her solitary room at the pub. But he didn’t attempt even the most casual physical contact. For which, she told herself firmly, she was sincerely thankful.
And then they were inside the hall and people were calling greetings, their welcoming smiles mixed with friendly speculation as they looked at Zanna, and imperceptibly she began to relax. After all, she reasoned, there couldn’t be much danger in a room full of other people.
She hardly recognized the hall itself. In the space of a few hours all traces of the exhibition had been removed and the entire room decorated with more lights and swathes of silk flowers. Tables and chairs had been set out round the perimeter of the dance floor, and a three-piece band was playing on the platform.
It was like stepping back through a time-warp into another era—another planet, she thought, staring round her.
‘What were you expecting—the latest disco sounds?’ He didn’t miss a thing.
‘No—oh, no,’ she denied hastily. ‘It’s—quite a transformation, that’s all.’
Jake’s brows rose. ‘Then you did come to see the exhibition?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Of course,’ she countered lightly. ‘What else?’
He