Hot-Shot Surgeon, Cinderella Bride. Alison Roberts

      CHAPTER ONE

      WHO on earth was that?

      The conversation he’d been engrossed in a moment ago became a meaningless blur of sound for Dr Anthony Grimshaw. For just a heartbeat he had caught a glimpse of the most stunning-looking woman he’d ever seen, standing between two pillars on the far side of the ballroom.

      Much to the delight of the organising committee, St Patrick’s fundraiser had become the function of the year, and there was a sea of people moving to the excellent music being provided by a small live orchestra. The dance floor was so well populated it was inevitable that his line of vision was obscured, but Tony still found himself trying to see those pillars again as he tuned back in to the voice beside him. A well respected voice that belonged to a senior colleague: paediatric cardiologist John Clifford.

      ‘…and anyway, didn’t I see a photo of you in some gossip rag? Out and about with Morrison’s daughter? What’s her name?’

      ‘Miranda,’ Tony supplied absently.

      ‘Ah, yes! So. As I was saying. The fact that Gilbert’s father is on the board should be well cancelled out by you having a prospective father-in-law with the same— if not greater—power to cast a vote in favour of you becoming HOD.’

      ‘What?’ Tony’s attention was recaptured. ‘What on earth are you talking about, John?’

      ‘You. And Miranda.’

      ‘There is no me and Miranda.’

      ‘But…’

      ‘We met at some charity do. Not unlike this one but without the fancy dress.’ He smiled at the rotund figure of his companion. With his genial expression and fluffy mane of white hair it was no wonder his small patients loved him. Dr Clifford had answered tonight’s medieval theme by wearing a king’s robe and a crown. ‘That outfit suits you, by the way. Very regal. Yes, Miranda and I went out a couple of times, but it’s not going anywhere.’

      ‘Why ever not? The girl’s beautiful. Wealthy. Probably one of the many that seem to find you irresistible. My word, if I was still your age, I’d—’

      The direct look Tony gave his companion was enough to break a flow that would have been extraordinary if they hadn’t known each other so well for many years. In his early sixties, John Clifford was a family friend and had been Tony’s mentor since he’d joined the staff of St Patrick’s as a surgical registrar some years ago now.

      ‘Don’t you think it would seem a little blatant to be dating the daughter of the chairman of St Pat’s board of trustees at exactly the same time I’m up for the coveted position of head of the cardiothoracic surgical department?’

      John’s sigh was resigned. ‘But it’s the fact that you’re young and single that counts against you, Tony. The powers-that-be see you as someone who’s going to be distracted by a wife and family in the next few years. Responsibilities that might compromise your ability to lead the department into becoming the cutting-edge facility they’ve set their hearts on having.’

      ‘I’ll be able to assure them that isn’t the case,’ Tony said with quiet confidence. He tempered any implied criticism with a grin. ‘With any luck Miranda will have told Daddy she broke it off with me because she wasn’t about to try and compete with my job. That I’m far more interested in research than romance.’

      The smile was returned. ‘Don’t understand it myself. She looked perfect.’

      Tony’s grin faded to a poignant curl. ‘Want to know a secret, John?’

      ‘What is it?’

      Tony leaned closer. ‘Perfection can be very, very boring.’

      His gaze shifted as he straightened. Straight back to where he’d be able to see those pillars if the dancers would just move out of the way. His eyes narrowed as he tried to see past the colourful swirl of ornate costumes, and he only turned away briefly to acknowledge the farewell as John responded to a wave from another group.

      What was it about that woman that drew his line of vision so compellingly? He was too far away to recognise her, or even see her features in the soft light from the flames of dozens of gas lamps on the walls of this vast ballroom. Maybe it was something about the way she was standing? Poised. Graceful even without any motion. With an aura that spoke of being alone but not lonely. Independent.

      Yes, that was an intriguing enough impression to explain the attraction.

      He felt a bit like that himself tonight. Independent.

      Free.

      Part of it could be explained by the costume. Not that Tony had been keen on the idea of being one of the Three Musketeers when the idea had been mooted by one of his registrars, but much to his surprise he was loving it. The soft suede boots, tailored jacket, frilly shirt, and the sword dangling by his side. Even the wig and preposterously wide hat with its ridiculous feather. Not one to do anything by halves, he’d added a mask, moustache and neat goatee beard, which had the unexpected bonus of being a very effective disguise.

      The rest of it could probably be attributed to the conversation he’d just been having with