for a life alone because no decent man would look twice at her. She could just hear her mother’s voice, drenched with disgust and disappointment, on the day after the funeral when her ex-boyfriend had dumped her and taken off back to London as fast as his sports car could take him.
Well, it looks like you were right, Mum.
Suddenly the enormity of everything that was happening in her life seemed to crash down on her, and Sara shivered in her sleeveless shift dress. There was no way that she could go back into the party now.
It was time to go home. And back to the insular life she had created for herself and all of the harsh realities that lay there—and definitely without this man who had treated her as an equal for an hour. He looked so handsome and clearly successful, while she was a walking advert for a mess.
‘Feeling cold?’ Dracula asked and, without waiting for a reply, he reached behind his shoulders and slipped off the scarlet-lined cape and draped it in a single swirl of his wrists around her neck so that it fell almost to her bracelets in a cocoon of body-warmed fabric. Sara inhaled the perfume of the man’s body and, despite her best efforts to resist, pulled the fabric closer around her so that his warmth penetrated her goose-fleshed arms and the shivering died away.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured but still could not look him in the eye. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head home for the evening. It has been a long busy week. I’ll make sure that Caspar returns the cape to you before you leave. Thank you for your company.’
‘Hey, wait a moment, Cinderella,’ he replied as she lifted her head and tried to walk casually back to the side gate which led to her cottage. ‘Did you say that you were staying across the lane? Please allow me to see you home. It is the very least I can do, seeing as you gave me such a lucky escape.’
And, before she could accept or decline, Dracula stepped in place beside her and they strolled side by side across the lawns and away from the house in silence. Her throat burning with humiliation, her eyes stinging. Incapable of speech.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMEWHERE in her bedroom a full symphony orchestra was playing what should have been a soothing overture to a lovely ballet. Except, to Sara’s ears, the instruments sounded as though they had been tuned in a sawmill.
She stirred and tugged the duvet farther towards her chin, then yawned loudly. The first thing on her to-do list that morning would be to retune the radio to a popular music channel.
She tried to snuggle back to sleep, but there was something uncomfortable on her pillow.
She reached up until her fingers closed around a string of pearls.
Oh, no! She must have slept in them all night. There would probably be bobble-shaped marks all over her neck and chin.
Never mind. It was early. She still had plenty of time to recover from last night and get smartened up before her meeting at the hotel.
Last night! Ah, the party. That would explain why she felt so weary. She ran her tongue over her parched lips. Juice. She needed juice. Then tea would be good.
Her eyes flickered slowly open and both hands lifted the duvet as she glanced down.
Helen Lewis had a lot to answer for. It had been years since she had been so tired that she had crawled into bed in her underwear. Sara glanced around her bedroom and, sure enough, her black dress lay across the armchair at the foot of her bed.
Sara was still mentally shaking her head when an Abyssinian ball of fur and mischief launched itself onto the duvet and sashayed up, until Sara could scratch between his ears.
‘Oh, Pasha, you know that you are not allowed in here.’
She laughed as the rich golden brown cat purred with pleasure, then started nudging her face, the cute red nose pushing against her neck so he could play with the pearls that she was still wearing.
‘Ready for breakfast? Good. I’ll head for the shower and repair the damage before anyone sees me.’
Sara pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It took a second or two before her world stopped spinning, but at least she was on her feet and ready to get to work. She had a lot to do today and not much time to do it in.
She was still feeling dreamy and slightly dazed when her toes crushed down onto something round and hard on the soft handmade rug that had come with the cottage when she inherited it …
She dared not look down.
Oh, please, not something else her cat had brought in.
Sure enough, Pasha came sidling up to her and started rubbing himself up and down her legs.
‘Pasha, if you have been in the kitchen bin again, you are in so much trouble!’
Her grandmother’s old cat had a knack for finding something from the floor to play with. Loose screws, plant ties, paperclips—they all ended up being scooped out and played with. And Helen had brought bags of treasures with her when they played dress up before the party.
Sara knew from personal experience that all jewellery and shiny small items had to be locked securely away unless she wanted them to be redistributed around the cottage as cat toys.
‘Okay. Let’s find out what you’ve brought me this time!’
Sara moved her foot and glanced down at the floor.
And stopped breathing.
It was a button. A large black button with a silver scroll on it. The sort of button that might be used on a coat. Or a black evening cloak. The kind of cloak a vampire count might wrap around a girl’s shoulders late in the evening. For example.
Eloise Sara Jane Marchant Fenchurch de Lambert had many doubts in life, but one thing was certain.
That button had not come from any garment she owned.
Suddenly she felt dizzy and collapsed back on her bed, trying to ignore Pasha, who was headbutting her legs.
Breathe deeply. That was the secret. Inhale, and then exhale slowly. Slowly.
She clasped both hands to the top of her head.
Think. Think. Last night. What was the last thing she could remember from last night? Her eyes clenched shut.
The party. Dracula. Sharing her buffet dinner … with Dracula. Escaping onto the terrace and walking around the garden and talking and dancing … with Dracula. Then Dracula turned into Caspar’s friend Leo instead of a bat and offered to walk her home. Then? Nothing specific. Her cottage. He opened the front door for her. Lights.
Her eyes opened just in time to see Pasha playing with the button between his paws.
Of course! She had been wearing his heavy cloak on their short walk from the hotel, but she had slipped it off as soon as she was inside and handed it back. The button must have come loose and Pasha had brought it in.
A great whoosh of relief came out of Sara’s mouth and her shoulders dropped six inches.
Sara
