before she could say, ‘Perhaps we should tell them that jitterbugging arrived some years after the Twenties.’
‘They’re enjoying themselves,’ he said dismissively, then surprised her by asking, ‘Are you the local florist?’
Elana hesitated. He sounded quite interested—which seemed unlikely. Perhaps faking interest when bored out of his mind was another talent developed in that princely court...
OK, concentrate on small talk now, she told herself. Ignore those pulsating seconds when you were plastered against him, and something weird happened to you.
Sedately she told him, ‘I work part-time in the florist’s shop in Waipuna.’
‘Was that always your ambition?’ he asked, almost as though he were interested.
‘No.’ After a second’s pause she added, ‘I’m a librarian and I used to work in Auckland, but a couple of years ago a family situation meant I had to come home to Waipuna.’
The family situation being the accident that had killed her stepfather and confined her mother to a wheelchair.
‘So you decided to stay here.’
Elana glanced up and met a narrowed blue gaze. Another of those unnerving shivers chased down her spine. In a tone she didn’t recognise, she said, ‘Yes.’
‘Is there no library in Waipuna?’
‘Yes, run by volunteers. There’s no need for a professional librarian.’
‘Ah, I see. Do you enjoy working in the florist’s shop?’
Surely he couldn’t be interested in a small-town woman in the wilds of northern New Zealand? He didn’t need to hear that, although she loved Waipuna, she missed the stimulation of her career in Auckland.
She evaded, ‘I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t fascinated by flowers. My mother was a fantastic gardener and apparently from the time I could toddle I drove her crazy by picking any blooms—’ She stopped abruptly. Any blooms her mother had been allowed to cultivate. ‘Often before they’d opened out,’ she finished.
He gave the big hall a quick survey. ‘You clearly have a talent for arranging them. Mrs Nixon also mentioned that you wrote the booklet—a short history—of the hall. I haven’t read it yet, but intend to.’
Elana flushed. ‘I hope you find it interesting.’
‘Are you a historian as well as a librarian?’
‘I did a history degree,’ she said.
And wasn’t surprised when he asked, ‘Why?’
‘Because I’m interested in history.’ She added, ‘After that my stepfather insisted I take a business course.’
‘Very sensible of your stepfather,’ Niko Radcliffe said dryly. ‘From your tone, I gather you didn’t want to do it. Was he right to insist?’
Elana didn’t like the way he emphasised the word stepfather. Steve had been as dear to her as any father could be—infinitely dearer than her own father. She said briskly, ‘Yes, he was right. It’s been very useful.’
Especially over the past couple of years, after a friend had asked her to tape her great-grandmother’s reminiscences and transcribe them so they could be bound into a book to mark her hundredth birthday. Elana found the task absorbing, enjoyed the whole experience and had been astounded when her friend’s family insisted on paying her for the time she’d spent.
Even more astonishing, word had got around the district, and soon she was repeating the process. Then the editor of the local weekly newspaper commissioned her to write articles on the history of the district. As she was working for only three days a week at the florist’s shop, the money came in handy, and she loved the research.
To her relief the music drew to a close. Niko Radcliffe released her and offered an arm. Forcing herself to relax, she took it, trying to ignore the sudden chill aching through her—a bewildering sense of abandonment.
How could a man she’d only just met have that effect on her?
Be sensible, she told herself robustly as they walked across the hall towards Mr and Mrs Nixon. So you’re attracted to him? So what? You’re probably not the only one here tonight to be so aware of him...
Over the centuries women had learned to recognise an alpha male. For probably most of humankind’s existence, a strong capable father to one’s children gave them a much better chance of survival.
And, tall and good-looking, with that indefinable magnetism—not to mention the fact that he was rich, she thought sardonically—everything about him proclaimed Count Niko Radcliffe a member of that exclusive group.
Which was no reason to fantasise about feeling strangely at home in his arms. When the next dance was announced he’d choose a different woman to partner him, and that woman might well feel the same subliminal excitement, a reckless tug of sexuality both dangerous and compelling.
Together they walked to where the Nixons had just finished chatting to another couple. Acutely aware of sideways glances, Elana was surprised by an odd regret when they arrived.
Mrs Nixon observed, ‘Good evasive action, Niko. For a second I thought we might need to call on my first-aid skills, but you saved the day with that sidestep. Young Hamish and his partner are going to have to practise jiving a bit longer before they’re safe enough to do it in public.’
His smile held a tinge of irony. ‘Fortunately I had an excellent partner.’
The older woman sighed. ‘My grandmother was a great dancer—she could still do a mean Charleston when she was eighty, and her tales of balls and parties used to make me deeply envious. Then rock and roll came onto the scene when my parents were young. I always felt I missed out on being wild and rebellious.’
‘Surely punk must have been wild and rebellious enough,’ Elana teased.
Mrs Nixon chuckled. ‘A bit too much for me, I’m afraid,’ she confessed. ‘And now I find I’ve turned into my father—when I hear the hit songs today I mutter about their lack of tune and how they don’t sing clearly enough for me to understand the words.’
‘Possibly a good thing,’ Niko observed coolly. ‘Tell me, why did the committee choose the Twenties as a theme for tonight? I believe the hall was built in the early twentieth century, so you should have been celebrating its centennial some years ago?’
Mrs Nixon smiled. ‘Nobody was interested in running a ball to celebrate the centennial then, but a year ago a group of us decided Waipuna deserved a Centennial Ball. So we called it that. It meant that people who’d give an ordinary dance a miss came for it—some from overseas,’ she finished proudly. ‘It’s been a lovely reunion.’
He laughed, and Elana’s heart missed a beat. ‘Good thinking. So why the Twenties theme?’
‘Comfort.’
Brows lifting, he echoed, ‘Comfort?’
‘Comfort,’ Mrs Nixon repeated firmly. ‘In the early twentieth
