to failure from the start. She simply did not have the poise and confidence to hoodwink a man like Troy Andreakis. She was staring miserably at the untouched portion of Crème Chantilly on her plate when she realised he was speaking to her again.
‘I think you owe me something for spilling water all over my bedroom and then running away,’ he said. ‘I’m willing to settle for a tour of the local beauty spots in your company tomorrow—unless you object and prefer to buy my silence in some other way.’
‘I don’t object,’ she said rather woodenly. ‘It—it will be delightful.’
There was a disturbing pause while he looked at her again with that faint, cynical amusement.
‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘you have almost convinced me that it will be.’
She was thankful that her family still adhered to the old custom of leaving the men to enjoy brandy and cigars while the women drank coffee in the drawing room. She was kept busy handing round cups and when everyone was served found herself a seat beside Fran Trevor, who was looking like a vivacious robin in her long cherry-coloured dress.
‘Hello, love,’ she exclaimed as Lacey sat down. ‘What a gorgeous dress! Is that what comes of having a French stepmother? I envy you, if so. Mother took one look at me in this and started muttering direly about modesty vests—whatever they are.’
Lacey sighed. ‘I think my sympathies are with your mother,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘I feel an absolute fool.’
Fran looked at her shrewdly. ‘Well, I assure you, you don’t look one. And that terrifying Mr Andreakis obviously didn’t think so. I’m glad he’s your guest, and not ours. I wouldn’t have a clue what to say to him. Does he ride, by the way?’
‘I don’t think so. He—he said he wasn’t interested in hunting, at any rate.’
Fran shrugged. ‘Ah well, you can’t have everything. Are you going to come and exercise Starlight for me tomorrow? I’m going to be tied up with these people from the Bull.’
Lacey gave a little groan. ‘Oh Fran, I wish I could, but I’m committed to going for a drive with Mr Andreakis.’
Fran whistled humorously. ‘I should be so committed! Honestly, love, you are the limit. Pursued by millionaires and still you look glum!’
Lacey wanted to tell her that the pursuit was actually being conducted from the opposite quarter, but she had to remain silent. She had learned long ago not to chatter indiscreetly about Vernon–Carey matters. Instead she shrugged carelessly.
‘I’m his host’s daughter. I suppose he feels he has to be polite.’
‘Hmm.’ Fran eyed her. ‘I wonder if he’d be as “polite” if you had a squint and legs like tree-trunks. Besides, people like Andreakis don’t have to bother with things like politeness. They deal in power, and that’s what matters in their world.’
And in mine, Lacey thought rebelliously.
She walked over to replace a cup on the tray, and encountered a taut glance from Michelle. ‘Eh bien?’
Lacey gave a slight shrug. ‘I’ve done as I was told. I suppose it’s too much to hope that I can be given my freedom for the rest of the evening.’
Michelle’s eyes snapped. ‘Are you quite mad?’ she questioned glacially. ‘What would our guests think if you were to disappear in the middle of the evening? Besides, I have already been asked if you will play for us later. Everyone will be most disappointed if you refuse.’
Lacey bent her head defeatedly. At least if she was at the piano, it would release her from close attendance on Troy Andreakis.
‘Very well,’ she agreed listlessly. ‘Is it all right if I go to my room for some aspirin? I have a slight headache.’
‘Certainement. You are by no means a prisoner. Please do not dramatise the situation.’ Michelle gave her a final, inimical look before turning to smile graciously at Mrs Taylor who was approaching them.
Lacey was glad to escape from the stuffiness of the drawing room. Michelle, who loathed the British climate, invariably had the central heating turned full on in the winter months and tonight was no exception. She was walking rather wearily across the hall when she heard the sound of chairs being moved and a crescendo of voices as the dining room door was opened. Lacey picked up her long skirt and fled up the stairs. She had no wish to be caught loitering in the hall—by anyone, she thought crossly as she safely gained the upper landing.
It was with a real sense of refuge that she reached her bedroom. Her fingers had just closed on the handle of her bedroom door when the voice she least wanted to hear spoke lazily just behind her.
‘Running out on the party, Miss Vernon?’
She swung round, her heart thudding in sudden ridiculous panic.
‘You followed me,’ she accused before she could stop herself, then stood, aghast at what she had said, conscious that his lips were twisting in faint amusement.
‘Alas, no,’ he murmured. ‘I was lured here by my cigarette case, not by your charms, Miss Vernon, potent though they are.’
His eyes went over her with a kind of lingering insolence that made her want to cover her body with her hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ she managed at last. ‘If you would excuse me …’
His hand closed over hers, preventing her from opening her bedroom door.
‘You haven’t answered my question yet,’ he reminded her.
‘Question?’ she repeated lamely, then flushed as she remembered. ‘No, I’m not “running out”. I have a headache, and I’ve come to get something for it.’
‘I am desolated to hear it,’ he said with a complete absence of expression. ‘May I recommend prevention rather than cure as a policy for the future.’
‘Prevention?’ she echoed bewilderedly.
‘My advice would be to avoid alcohol, to which you are patently not accustomed.’ His tone was smooth. ‘Also hair styles which rely for their effectiveness on quantities of hairpins.’
Her hand was released, and she recoiled instinctively as she felt his hands moving with detestable assurance among the lacquered coils of her hair.
‘What are you doing?’ She sounded breathless and very young, and saw his teeth gleam suddenly in a smile.
‘Curing your headache,’ he replied laconically, and Lacey tensed as the long shining strands, released from their restraint, spilled past her shoulders.
‘Oh!’ She lifted a helpless hand to check on the complete ruin of Barbara’s careful creation. ‘Oh, how dare you!’
‘Oh, I dare.’ Totally ignoring her flushed face and eyes filled with angry tears, he reached out and lifted one gleaming tendril between his finger and thumb. ‘You have hair like silk, pethi mou, why not take pride in it, instead of torturing it into shapes that only serve to make you look older than the child you are.’
‘I’m
