by Julia James
Even as he spoke he knew his words were true. He, too, had once fed that vanity—until he’d realised that Tyla’s self-absorption meant it was impossible for her to think of anyone but herself. His wealth had been useful to her, coming as it did with the person of a male whose looks could complement her own, and she had known with her innate instinct for self-publicity that she and he together made a couple that would always draw both eyes and attention, gaining precious press coverage to help her build her career. Tyla’s belief in herself, in her own charm and beauty, had been total.
The very opposite of Ellen.
She was looking at him doubtfully still, as if she could not believe his indifference to having once squired a Hollywood film star. He wanted that doubt gone—completely—and so raised his champagne glass to his lips, deliberately letting his gaze wash over her.
‘Tyla’s got a good body—no doubt about that—but...’ And now he let something else into his gaze that he knew from long experience had an effect on all females. ‘But I can promise you that she had absolutely nothing on you. If Chloe,’ he said ‘is a tiny little Chihuahua...’ he made his voice amused, deliberately exaggerating her stepsister’s petiteness ‘...then Tyla is a...a gazelle, I guess. But you...’ Once more his gaze rested on her, sending her the message he wanted...needed...her to get. ‘You, Ellen, are a lioness!’
He grinned at her, and tilted his champagne glass to her in tribute.
‘And lionesses gobble up little dogs and antelopes for breakfast!’
He toasted her again, his eyes becoming serious now, holding hers, sending home his essential message to her, the reassurance she needed—the reassurance that he would give her whatever it took. He would make sure of that. His eyes rested on her, their expression intent. Suddenly it seemed crucially important that Ellen believed him, and believed in her own newly revealed beauty. And it was for a reason that had nothing to do with his plans for Haughton. For a reason he was only dimly aware of—and yet it seemed to be forcing itself into his consciousness with an insistence he could not ignore.
I want it for her sake—not for mine. I want it so that she can be happy—happy in her own body, finally. I want that for her.
‘Be proud of what you are,’ he told her. ‘Be happy in your body. Your fantastic body! Strong and lean and lithe—’
She felt gloved fingertips glide down the bare length of her upper arm.
‘And with great muscle tone!’ he finished approvingly.
Ellen’s eyes flickered uncertainly. ‘Maybe I need a shawl over my arms,’ she ventured. ‘I’m too muscular—’
Max rolled his eyes, shaking his head. ‘Uh-uh! Remember—think lioness!’ He let his gaze liquefy again, knowing the effect it would have, the effect he wanted right now. ‘Think Artemis. Think goddess. Think beautiful...’ There was a sudden husk in his voice that he had not put there deliberately at all, but which came of its own powerful accord. ‘Very, very beautiful.’
The wash of his warm gaze over her was instinctive, and he felt it resonate with a warming of his blood, too, that surged in his body powerfully, unstoppably.
His eyes were holding hers, not letting her go. Ellen felt her breath catch in her breast, felt her heartbeat give a sudden surge, felt the surface of her skin tighten as if an electric charge were spreading out through its whole expanse, radiating out from her quickened heart rate. She could feel her pupils flare, her lips part—felt faint, almost, heard drumming in her ears...
The world seemed to slow down all around her.
And then the sound of the suite’s doorbell ringing broke the moment. For a second Max just went on staring, unable to relinquish his gaze on the woman whose beauty he had revealed to her—and to himself. Then, with an exclamation in Greek, he dropped his hands, strode to the door and yanked it open.
As he saw who it was he relaxed immediately. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Come in!’
Ellen turned, dazed, her pulse hectic, still blinking, breathless from that strange, powerful moment that had hummed like charged plasma between them. She saw a neatly suited man walk in, a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. She blinked again. What on earth...?
‘So,’ she heard Max saying as the man set his briefcase on the table, unlocking it, ‘what have you brought us?’
The man opened the lid and Ellen gasped audibly. It was jewellery, carefully nestled in black velvet liners, glittering in every hue—diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies.
Rubies...
Ellen’s eyes went to them immediately—it was impossible for them not to. She felt her breath draw in sharply as her gaze fixed on the ruby set, deep and glowing, a necklace, bracelet, earrings and a ring.
Max saw her focus on the set. Her expression was fixed, and for a second—just a second—he thought he saw something fleeting cross it, like a sudden convulsion. Then it was gone, and he was speaking.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Rubies, definitely. Ideal for your gown.’
The jeweller started to lift the pieces. ‘As you can see,’ he told them, ‘their setting is of the period, and original. If I may...?’
He carefully lifted the necklace—a complex design of several loops of different lengths, with pendent rubies from each—and as he placed it around Ellen’s throat the necklace occupied a considerable amount of the bare expanse of flesh between her throat and the swell of her breasts. He fastened the necklace, then held up a large hand mirror so she could see herself.
She gazed, her expression strange, and that fleeting look passed across her face again as she lifted her hand to touch the gems.
‘Perfect,’ said Max, well pleased. ‘Let’s get the rest of it on so we can see the final effect.’
Ellen still had that strange expression on her face. Max found himself wondering at it. He watched her hold out her wrist as the jeweller fastened the glittering bracelet around it and handed her the earrings. As he lifted the ring he paused, glancing doubtfully at Ellen’s large hands.
‘It will fit—just,’ Ellen said.
She sounded sure of it and took the ring, pausing to glance at the inscription inside, which Max could see but not read, before carefully working the ring over her knuckle. It did, indeed, just fit—as she had forecast. She looked at it on her finger for a moment, the same strange, fixed expression on her face.
Then it was gone. She got to her feet. There was something different about her, Max fancied—some subtle change had come over her. There was an air of resolve about her—confidence, even. But then he was taking in the impact of her appearance, finished to perfection now with the glittering ruby parure that went so superbly with her Edwardian gown and hairstyle.
Beautiful!
That was the woman standing there, with her upswept hair, gems glittering, her toned, honed body sumptuously adorned with the lustrous ruby silk of her gown. He reached for his champagne glass and drained what was left, prompting Ellen to do likewise. They set their flutes down and Max turned to Ellen, holding out his arm to her.
‘Time,’ he said, and he gave her a little bow, his eyes glinting with pleasure and anticipation and appreciation, ‘to take you to the ball.’
* * *
Walking into the hotel’s ballroom, its rich red and gold decor a perfect complement to her black and ruby styling, Ellen tightened her hand on Max’s sleeve. Being at his side, she thought, her own generous figure seemed completely in proportion. His height easily topped hers by several inches—his wide shoulders and broad chest saw to that. Unconsciously, she seemed to straighten her shoulders further, and her hips moved with regal ease, her chin held high, as she walked beside Max with her athletic gait.
She should have felt nervous—but she didn’t. Oh, the glass of champagne had helped, but it was not the bubbles in the champagne alone that were gliding her forward, filling her with wonder and elation.
She could see eyes going to her as they made their entrance, and for the first time in her life she experienced the oh-so-pleasurable thrill of knowing she w
as turning heads—for every reason a woman could dream of. Because she looked—stunning.
They both did.
As they walked past a mirror she caught their joint reflection and could see exactly why people were pausing to look at them. They were both tall, both sleekly groomed, with stunning looks, male and female, between them. Surely even Max and the glamorous Tyla Brentley could not have turned more heads?
We make a fantastic couple!
The thought was in her head before she could stop it. Urgently she sought to suppress it, then gave in. Yes, she and Max did make a fantastic couple—but it was for tonight only, for the purposes of this glittering charity bash. That was what she had to remember. And one other vital thing.
He’s only doing all this to soften me up—to try and persuade me to give up Haughton to him.
But even though she knew it was true she didn’t seem to mind right now. How could she when what he’d given her this evening was something she had never thought she would ever possess in all her life? Freedom from the malign hex that Chloe had put on her so many years ago.
Self-knowledge flooded through her, washing away so much of the blindness that had clouded her image of herself for so long. The blindness that she had allowed her stepsister to inflict on her.
I let Chloe have that power over me. I let her control my mind, my image of myself, my sense of worth.
It seemed so strange to her now, to think of how defiant she’d always been with Pauline and her daughter—and yet they had controlled her at this most basic, potent level. But no longer—never again! A sense of power, of newborn confidence swept through her. Unconsciously she lifted her fingers to the necklace, touching the jewels around her throat. Beautiful jewels to adorn a beautiful woman. A woman worthy of a man like Max Vasilikos.
She looked up at him now, easily a head taller than her, and smiled. He caught her expression and answered it with his own. Long lashes swept down over his eyes and he patted the hand hooked into his.
‘Enjoy,’ said Max, smiling down at her.
And enjoy she did. That was the amazement of it all.
Time and again her fingers brushed at her necklace, or grazed the gold band around her finger beneath its ruby setting—and every time she did she gave a little smile, half haunting, half joyous.
As Max had promised her, sitting to her left she found one of the host charity’s directors, who listened attentively as she told him about the camps she ran, then nodded approvingly and told Ellen he’d be happy to help with her funding.
Glowing, she turned to Max. ‘Thank you!’ she exclaimed, and it was heartfelt.
And she was not just thanking him for setting her up with this funding, or his cheque for fifteen thousand pounds. It was for lifting Chloe’s curse from her shoulders—setting her free from it.
His eyes met hers and, half closed, half veiled, they flickered very slightly. As if he were thinking about something but not telling her. He raised his glass of wine to her.
‘Here’s to a better future for you,’ he murmured.
The corner of his mouth pulled into a quizzical smile, and she answered with one of her own in return, lifting her glass too.
‘A better future,’ she echoed softly.
At the edge of her consciousness Haughton loomed, still haunted by Pauline and Chloe, the dilemma insoluble. But the house she loved so much, the home that she longed only to be safe, seemed far, far away right now. Real—much more real—was this moment...this extraordinary present she was experiencing. All thanks to Max, the man who had made it possible for her.
For an instant her gaze held his, and she felt bathed and warmed by the deep, dark brown of eyes fringed by thick lashes, flecked with gold. And then for an even briefer instant, so brief she could only wonder whether it had been real, there was a sudden change in them, a sudden, scorching intimacy.
She sheared her gaze away, feeling her heart jolt within her as if an electric shock had just kicked it. As if it were suddenly hard to breathe.
All through the rest of the meal, and the speeches and the fundraising auction afterwards, she could feel the echo of that extraordinary jolt to her heartbeat, flickering in her consciousness as port and liqueurs, coffee and petit fours circulated. Then, on the far side of the grand ballroom an orchestra started up.
‘Oh, how lovely!’ she exclaimed as the music went into the lilting strains of a slow waltz, ideal for an Edwardian-themed ball.
‘It’s Lehár!’ exclaimed one of the women at their table, delighted.
‘So it is!’ agreed Ellen, starting to hum the composer’s familiar melody—the waltz from The Merry Widow operetta.
‘Well, I think this calls for audience participation,’ said the charity director at her side, as all around them at the other tables guests were getting to their feet to take to the dance floor. ‘Will you do me the honour?’ he asked Ellen with a smile.
But he was forestalled. Max was standing up.
‘I claim the first waltz,’ he said, catching Ellen’s elbow and guiding her to her feet. His rival conceded gracefully. Max bore Ellen off.
She was in a state of consternation, aware that her heart was racing and that she felt breathless. Taken over.
But then Max has taken me over all day, hasn’t he? I’ve done everything he wanted, all the time!
Well, now she was going to dance with him, and she wasn’t getting a choice about it. Except—
‘I have no idea how to waltz!’ she exclaimed. ‘And I think the Viennese waltz is different from the English waltz anyway. And I—’
He cut her short. ‘Follow my lead,’ he instructed, and simply took her into his arms and swept her off.
Into the dance.
Into the irresistible, lilting music that wafted them around the ballroom floor.
She felt her long, heavy silk skirts become as light as a feather, swirling around her legs as Max whirled her around until she was dizzy with it, until all she could do was clutch helplessly at his shoulder, hang on to his hand for dear life as he turned her and guided her and never, never let her go.
‘You see? It’s easy.’ He smiled at her. ‘Much easier than you feared.’
And she knew, with a little skip of her heart, that it was not just the waltzing he meant.
It’s all been so, so easy. The lifting of the hex. Her transformation tonight. Putting on this gorgeous costume, being swept away in his arms...
Joy filled her—a wonderful sense of carefree elation as if, simply by whirling her around like this, he had whisked away all that oppressed her.
And for tonight he has! I know that I will have to go home tomorrow, back to all the difficulties and the stress and the fear of losing Haughton. But for tonight I will waltz my cares away.
The music ended with a flourish, and the cessation of the swirling made her head spin instead. But then she was joining with the others in applauding the orchestra, its players in historical costume as well, and their leader was turning and bowing, introducing the next dance they were going to play.
It was a polka, and Ellen’s eyes widened again.
Max didn’t let her speak. ‘Just follow my lead,’ he instructed again.
And once more she did. It was just as well, she thought absently, that she was pretty fit, for the dance was vigorous and not a few couples finished panting. But Max wasn’t the slightest out of breath, and neither was she.
‘Thank goodness for early-morning runs!’ she exclaimed.
‘It’s hot work, this elegant dancing,’ Max agreed, running a finger around his distinctly damp collar.
Ellen smiled. ‘My father used to say that his father, when they went to dances before the war, had to take spare collars with him because they wilted during the night.’
Max laughed. ‘Well, I envy you your bare shoulders and arms, I can tell you. Will it cause a scandal if I shed this very hot evening jacket, I wonder?’
‘You’ll be blackballed instantly!’ she warned him with a laugh.
It was a much slower waltz now, and Ellen was relieved. Or at least she was until she felt Max’s hand tightening at her waist. It was hard to feel much through the whalebone bodice, but there was something in the way he was imprinting his hold on her that made her breath catch despite the slowness of the music. Made it catch again when she saw the expression in his eyes, looking down at her. She felt colour run out into her cheeks. She tried to stop it, tried to hope that he would take it only for heat, no other reason. She tried to pull her gaze away, but it was hopeless...
‘Glad you came to the ball?’ he asked, a faint smile ghosting at his mouth.
His long lashes swept down over his eyes and he smiled at her. Were there gold flecks in those eyes? She could only gaze into their depths, captivated and entranced.
Her lips parted in a wide, joyful smile. ‘Oh, yes! It’s just...wonderful! All of it. Every bit!’
A wicked glint gleamed in Max’s eyes. ‘Even the whalebone in your bodice?’ he asked.
‘OK,’ she allowed. ‘Not that.’
‘Though it does give you the most superb figure,’ he said, and now...oh, most definitely...now there were golden flecks in his eyes.
He pulled a little away from her so his eyes could take in the glory of her narrowed waist, the full roundness of her hips, and then, moving upwards, the generous curvature of her breasts. His gaze lingered...then he dragged them away.
No. The voice inside his head was stern. No, he must not. This evening was about liberating Ellen Mountford from the chains that weighed her down. Freeing her from the mental burdens that blighted her life, made her want to hide herself away in her safe place, her childhood home, where she could moulder away, never emerging into the world.
Well, she was emerging now, all right. Male eyes were all over her. Max had seen that the moment he’d walked into the ballroom. They were on her still, and he didn’t blame them.