self-doubt, Ellie jumped. The compact snapped together and clattered to the sidewalk at her feet. She lifted her fingers to adjust the rims of her glasses and nearly poked herself in the eye.
“Drat.” She’d forgotten. There were no glasses tonight. No pink metal rims weighed down by thick lenses to hide behind. No fuzzy world mere inches beyond the end of her nose. Tonight she wore contact lenses and could see without her glasses.
Tonight the world could see her.
She pushed her way past the billowing skirt of scarlet taffeta and knelt to retrieve the mirror. But the man in the black chauffeur’s uniform beat her to it.
“Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Ellie froze, bent over, eye to eye with the sandy-haired, middle-aged man. He looked pleasant enough, a tad stout, and his uniform smelled of cigarette smoke. But he possessed the drawl of a native New Yorker. He smiled as his black-gloved fingers brushed against hers. “Here you go.”
Was this the prince she’d fantasized about meeting tonight? One of those rough, rugged Americans she’d seen in movies? An independent scoundrel who owned a fast car and a heart of gold? True, he wasn’t handing her a glass slipper, only the silver compact that had belonged to her godmother, the late Queen Cassandra, wife and royal consort to King Easton.
But he was being polite. He had noticed her when he could have just as well ignored her.
Her heart beat a bit faster at the possibility of her fantasy coming to life. He might really be a prince in disguise. He might whisk her off in his long black limo and serve her champagne or that milk-frothed coffee that Americans seemed to thrive on. He’d twirl her onto the dance floor and they’d waltz, a courtly dance that reflected the elegance of her borrowed gown, and set the romantic stage for a man and woman falling in love.
“Thank you.” Small talk had never been her forte, but at least she’d managed to speak.
“Allow me.” The chauffeur extended his hand and Ellie took it, wrapping her fingers around his and balancing herself as she stood. Maybe this was the sweeping-her-off-her-feet part.
Or not.
Somehow reality never lived up to fantasy.
The man’s dark gaze focused at a point well below her eyes. She snatched her hand away in a rush of dignified self-defense as she realized his fascination centered on the two rounded swells above her plunging neckline, not herself.
So much for Prince Charming.
Ellie flipped the matching silk stole across her chest and shoulder, hiding everything from her neck to her cleavage from his view. She tilted her chin at a regal angle and ignored the clicking sound of disappointment he made with his tongue.
“Where’s Paulo?” she asked. Paulo was the Carradignes’ regular driver, a young and unassuming man who tended to mind his own business. How unpleasant that he’d been replaced with this leering fellow.
“I’m just the substitute, miss, called in from the driving service for the night.” He walked to the rear door of the limousine and opened it for her. “Can’t tell you why the regular guy didn’t show.”
“And you know the way to the Inferno Ball?” She clutched her silver beaded purse, which contained the invitation to the gala.
He smiled again. She found the effect less charming this time. “Yes, Your Highness. I have my instructions.”
Ellie climbed in and slid to the center of the black leather seat, pulling her skirts along behind her before he could reach down and tuck the hem of her gown inside the car.
Your Highness.
Would anyone besides this cad really believe she was a princess?
After he got behind the wheel and pulled the limo into traffic, Ellie opened the silver compact and looked into the mirror once more.
Staring back at her with eyes a mite too big to be pretty was that country girl who knew more about breeding the sheep that produced her native country’s fine wool than she did about high fashion. She could balance numbers, take dictation and jury-rig a computer program better than she could carry on a casual conversation. She understood the intricacies of government duty better than she understood a man’s flirtation.
And though her heart longed for adventure—while she longed to be a woman who lived adventures—she was content to mind her place in the world.
Except for tonight.
In a few weeks she and the king and his entourage would return to Korosol, a tiny seaside country nestled between France and Spain. She’d don her glasses and put on her sensible suit. She’d fade into the woodwork and do her job with impeccable reliability and the satisfaction of knowing she worked for a kindhearted, generous man.
She had to play Cinderella now—or never.
Ellie squared her chin and picked up a champagne flute from the console in the side wall of the limo. She didn’t fill it. She didn’t want any alcohol to impair her memories of this special night.
The Carradignes had given her so much. She couldn’t let them down by surrendering to shyness and self-doubt.
She lifted the glass and toasted her alter ego for the night. “I am Princess Lucia Carradigne of Korosol.”
She let her silk stole fall down around her elbows. A princess would carry herself with precise posture. She fingered the choker of diamonds and rubies that matched the teardrop earrings hanging from her earlobes, marveling at how the facets caught and reflected in the limo’s back window.
Ellie frowned and moved her face closer to the smoked glass and peered outside at the buildings towering above her on either side of the street. She hiked her skirt and petticoats up to her knees, climbed over to the opposite seat and knocked on the see-through partition. “Driver?” The partition opened halfway. “Are you sure you know the way to the ball? I have a pretty good sense of direction. We should be heading east, but we’re going north.”
He muttered something under his breath before smiling at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “I have to take the long way around, miss, because of construction. Don’t worry. I’ll get you where you need to be.”
A detour hadn’t been part of her Cinderella fantasy. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be late.”
“We’re almost there.”
The partition closed before she could ask the name of the street they were on. She raised her fist to knock again, but then pulled it back down to her lap. A princess wouldn’t crawl around the back of a limo, hounding the hired help.
A vague sense of unease that had nothing to do with her shyness rippled down her spine.
She put the champagne glass back in its slot and returned to her seat in the back. The endless city lights, which had beckoned to her small-town heart like stars in the sky, now seemed to be flashing some kind of warning.
Ellie pushed at the boning that pinched her ribs and pulled up the draped neckline to cover more of her chest. She realized she was squirming and forced herself to sit still. A princess would be comfortable with her figure, even if it wasn’t as willowy thin as the woman the dress had been made for.
