mother’s dogged determination as she fell suddenly silent. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, Mother,’ he promised tightly, not waiting for her to answer this time as he guided Miranda effortlessly through and away from the crowded and noisy ballroom.
Aware as he did so of the shocked expression on her deathly white face and the trembling of her slender body beside his own.
As aware as Darius was that he was the one who had insisted—blackmailed her—into stepping into this vipers’ den this evening.
DARIUS COLLECTED MIRANDA’S wrap from the cloakroom and got the two of them out of the hotel in the minimum of time and with the minimum of effort, making sure the still silent Miranda was comfortably seated in the passenger seat of his car the moment it was brought round to the front entrance of the hotel, before quietly thanking the valet and climbing in behind the wheel of the vehicle and pulling away.
The two of them drove along the busy London streets in silence for some minutes, Miranda obviously still slightly shell-shocked from the conversation with his mother. Darius brooded over the fact that he was responsible for having placed Miranda in that vulnerable position in the first place. Not once but twice.
First with Tia Bellamy.
And then again with his mother.
What the hell had his mother been thinking of, just coming over to Miranda in that way and bluntly asking her to perform for her?
No, damn it, his mother wasn’t to blame for any of what had happened tonight; he was. Miranda hadn’t wanted to go to the charity dinner with him in the first place; Darius had blackmailed her into attending. And his mother’s conversation hadn’t been the start of the disintegration of the evening, either—that encounter with Tia Bellamy had.
‘I’m sorry.’
Andy was so lost in thought that for a moment she wasn’t even aware that Darius had spoken. Her eyes widened in surprise when his words finally registered. Was the arrogant Darius Sterne actually apologising to her? And if so, exactly what was he apologising for?
Although she couldn’t deny, one way or another, the evening had been something of a disaster.
Attending the charity dinner at all had been an ordeal forced upon her by Darius himself.
Being introduced to Darius’s parents had been nerve-racking.
Meeting Tia Bellamy again had been even worse.
The time alone with Darius in that conference room still made Andy blush just to think of it.
The conversation with Xander before dinner had also been a little strange, revealing a more brooding and complex man than any of the press had ever reported seeing.
Catherine Latimer coming over to them just now, and asking Andy if she would consider dancing at the gala concert she was organising for next month, had been a total shock.
But it had been intriguing too, if Andy was being completely honest.
There was no way she would be able to dance professionally ever again; her hip and thigh, although strong enough for everyday activity and a minimum of dancing at her studio, just weren’t capable of taking the rigorous physical demands of a full-time career in ballet. But that didn’t mean Andy couldn’t still dance, it just meant the amount of time she could perform, at any one time, was limited. A five-or ten-minute performance, on behalf of charity, was not only possible but also tempting. Very tempting.
Hence Andy’s distraction now.
Was she seriously considering Catherine Latimer’s invitation?
And she still had no idea precisely what Darius was now apologising for when so much of the evening had been fraught with tension.
To such a degree that Andy now felt hysterical laughter welling up from deep within her. Really, could the evening have been any more of a disaster?
Maybe if Kim had been there too, glowering her disapproval of Darius Sterne on top of everything else that had gone wrong with the evening.
It had been one trauma after another from start to finish. Andy certainly doubted that roller coaster of emotion was what Darius usually expected when he deigned to take a woman out for the evening. It was—
Well, it was hilarious—that was what it was, Andy acknowledged, and she gave an inelegant snort as she tried to resist the laughter that threatened to burst free. And failed.
‘Miranda?’ Darius shot Miranda an anxious glance as he heard her draw in a deep breath and then give a choked sob. ‘Oh, hell, Miranda, please don’t cry!’ he groaned, frantically looking for a side road he could turn the car into so that he could park up and take Miranda into his arms.
Miranda’s only answer was to bury her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she obviously began to cry in earnest.
‘Hell!’ Darius muttered again darkly, no longer waiting for the right opportunity to get out of the traffic but just flicking on the indicator to signal he was turning the car off the main road.
He lifted his hand in apology to a couple of other drivers as they tooted their protest as he eased the Bentley in front of their vehicles and down into a narrow side road; consideration for other drivers wasn’t high on his list of priorities at the moment—Miranda was.
He pulled the car in next to the pavement and parked before switching off the engine and turning to reach across the leather divide to take Miranda into his arms. ‘I really am sorry I put you through any of this evening, Miranda,’ he murmured into the perfumed silkiness of her hair as she now shook in his arms.
Her only answer was to draw in another sharp breath followed by another sob, as she continued to keep her face buried in her hands and her shoulders shook even harder.
Darius wasn’t sure how to deal with a woman’s tears. Well, he wasn’t sure how to deal with Miranda’s tears.
He was more used to the beautiful women he dated using pouting and wheedling in order to get their own way. And he had certainly grown immune, over the years, to his mother’s brand of emotional manipulation.
But Miranda wasn’t like any of those women. She was too forthright to use wheedling, and she definitely wasn’t the type of woman to emotionally manipulate a man.
If she had been Darius might not have felt quite so impotent right now.
‘Miranda...’
He paused, Miranda having finally lowered her hands from her face before lifting her head to look up at him, and frowned his confusion as he saw that Miranda wasn’t crying but laughing. Well...her cheeks were certainly wet with tears, but they appeared to be tears of laughter rather than distress.
‘Miranda?’ Darius eyed her uncertainly.
She gave a shake of her head. ‘Wasn’t that just the most awful night of your life?’ She chuckled, green eyes gleaming with that same humour. ‘All it needed to make it horrendously perfect was the disapproving
