by Ellen Lane
“It’s not integral to my current plan, no. Michael, I appreciate your watching out for me but I can take care of myself, I assure you.”
“Can you?” Michael returned blithely, his eyes narrowing. “Of all the pictures I’ve seen of you with these guys, I haven’t seen a single image of you smiling. Would you care to explain that?”
She went rigid at his request, opening her mouth, then closing it, then opening it again. Of course, Michael would notice something so completely nonsensical and of course, she wasn’t smiling in any of those pictures! She was a busy woman – and even if she was headed off to be with a man, chances were, she was always pressed for time and bound for disappointment.
She realized somewhat dully that she hadn’t been smiling in her picture with Daniel either. She’d been inebriated and headed home with a gorgeous man on a Thursday night- and she was scowling as if the entire world had gone sour on her.
Had her time with Daniel really been that bad? Not really. But it had been nothing to write home about either…and when she’d woke the next morning to kick him out of her apartment, there had been a part of her that felt somewhat…empty.
“Alice?” She flinched, returning to the present to see Michael staring down at her, his gaze entirely too perceptive for his own good. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” Her tone was immediately defensive. “Perfectly fine.”
“…and there’s no one you’re seriously interested in?”
Alice blew out a breath, shoving dark hair back from her brow aggressively. “No, Michael. No one. Are you satisfied now?”
“Not really.” With that, a taxi finally came their way and her brother sighed, shaking his head. While Alice was all but ready to storm off at his obvious disdain, she was surprised when her brother caught her by the shoulder, pressing an achingly tender kiss to her forehead. “You know you can call me if you need anything, right?”
She was too shocked to answer him in that exact moment – and, all at once, Rose appeared at his shoulder. “You finally got one? You win, darling. Next time we can take the car.” She looked absolutely exhausted and Michael immediately turned his attention to her to help her into the darkly colored vehicle. Before he joined her, however, Michael shot his sister a small, reassuring smile. “Anything, Alice. Understand?”
Wordlessly, she nodded. And then, just like that, Michael shut the door, rolling the window down. “Night, Ali.”
“Goodnight Alice!” As Rose called over his shoulder, the taxi pulled away from the curb and sped off into the darkness, leaving Alice standing under the awning of the restaurant alone. With a small frown, Alice gazed after him.
Sometimes it was a blessing that her brother seemed to know her so well, and sometimes it was a curse.
Regardless, she wasn’t going to let his interrogation get her down. If he was so intent on her finding a man to spend her evening with, Alice could certainly oblige him. She had plenty of men in her address book, and she was sure any one of them would be thrilled to get a call from her.
Even if she wasn’t so thrilled to be making those calls.
**
Fall in London was just as brisk and refreshing as Russell remembered. He couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without returning. Of course, the city didn’t have as many distinct seasons as New York City, but he loved it no less. It was wonderful to have a few weeks off to explore the city he’d grown up in. London was changing so fast that he couldn’t keep up, and there was intrigue around every corner.
Since arriving, he’d already been invited to a number of exclusive fall events, but as he would only be in the city for three or four weeks, he’d have to pick and choose which ones he attended.
Despite his upbringing, Russell had never been one for boring parties where people droned on about how rich they were. Neither, for that matter, had his parents been. They were fairly novel in the fact that they were both modern nobility and close to the queen without being stuffy. He supposed he was luckier than most members of London gentry. However, his inclinations here weren’t towards the gentry. Russell hadn’t considered himself an aristocrat for some time, and he didn’t want to go to an aristocrat’s party.
Thankfully, a number of his friends and acquaintances had turned him towards events that were for people with more relaxed intentions.
Apparently, one of London’s hottest fashion designers – and a Tate to boot – was having a fundraiser to commemorate the launching of her fall line. Though Russell had never been one to gravitate towards fashion shows, this one’s coordinator intrigued him.
He’d heard Alice’s name a number of times in the past few years since she’d risen to stardom in the past decade or so. She designed for several of his clients, and for the past two years in particular, there had been a hankering for her gowns to wear to premieres and shows. Of course, he had never spoken to her directly. He always spoke to an assistant or one of her head designers. But seeing as how he happened to be out and about in Britain, he was intrigued by the opportunity to catch a glimpse of her.
He spent the afternoon before the function on the high street, people watching. Londoners were ever so different than New Yorkers. They were quieter and kept to themselves. The women were curvier – far from the stick thin models that were all the rage on the streets of Manhattan. For his part, Russell didn’t mind a woman with curves. In America, several of his clients were models and they often lamented that curvier women were sexier.
Russell found he wholeheartedly agreed.
He stopped in at a neighborhood pub for a pint and a pie before heading back to his hotel to get ready.
Only once, the entire day did the smile that graced his strong jaw falter. When he passed the intersection of Birch Lane and Eastern Avenue, he paused for just a fraction of a moment. Blue eyes narrowed, staring at the bustling traffic that wound through the crowded junction, and Russell’s brow darkened. Then, he hurried past, heading back to his room with due haste.
He spent the next hour or so in his suite, nursing a tall glass of whiskey on the rocks and regaining his composure. He supposed, if he were to be honest with himself, that this particular part of London constituted a good reason why he was reluctant to return sometimes. But, it had been at least a few months since he had last dwelt so seriously on the past.
After all, what use was there in remembering something that happened ages ago? Old wounds that still had the power to hurt were dangerous.
Which was why Russell preferred to live in the now.
And tonight promised to be interesting.
The hotel had his suit sent up pressed and fresh, and once he slipped into it, Russell felt like himself again. He examined his reflection in the mirror critically and decided that he looked presentable. More than presentable.
He drove his rental car to the venue and pronounced himself duly impressed. It was a new building – one of many built by renowned English architect Elias Johnson. The concert hall was done in a classic, modern style with high vaulted windows and an open-air entryway that was strung with red and purple silk.
It must have been built in a hurry, he surmised, as the construction had been finished only in the past year. Russell heard through the grapevine that Elias, once an infamous playboy, had finally been nailed down. Not only that, but he was the proud father to a bouncing baby boy.
Would wonders never cease.
The venue was just as beautiful outside as it was inside, with red and purple being the obvious color theme. He handed over his invitation at the door and was immediately surrounded by some of the movers and shakers of Britain’s tight knit fashion world. Of course, there were a few movie stars and members of the gentry thrown in, but the affair was nothing like the stuffy parties he remembered attending in his youth. There was rousing music, quite a few people were dancing, and people were already speculating about what Alice Tate’s new collection might look like.
Russell wound his way to the bar and acquired a glass of champagne b
efore heading back to the floor to mingle. When he laid eyes on a familiar head of vibrant red hair and a pair of stunning blue eyes, he grinned. It took him less than a minute to make his way over to the enchanting woman and tap her shoulder.
When she turned, a delighted smile split her face. “Russell, darling! What are you doing here?”
“I am enjoying some well-deserved time off.” He pecked her cheek with familiarity. “So, don’t you dare utter a word about work.”
Amelia Charter, one of the world’s most successful stage actresses and one of his premier clients, winked winningly at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it. How often do I get to see you when you’re not telling me what to do?”
Despite her teasing, Amelia was actually one of his easier clients to work with. She was exceedingly talented but remarkably humble for a woman of her accomplishments. Even though she wasn’t yet thirty, she had more than sixty prestigious roles to her name, and had performed both at the Globe Theater and on Broadway. “Almost never.” Raising his glass of champagne, he toasted her. “To lovely holidays.”
Amelia laughed gaily, clinking her glass against his before taking a frothy sip. “Lovely holidays indeed.” There was a little conversation that followed until each of them finished their drink, and Russell found himself glad that he was in an atmosphere where he didn’t have to worry about who saw him drinking. That was the old English nobility.
They were the new.
“So how long will you be in London for this time? I know I’m starting a new run in a few weeks so it can’t be for very long.” Amelia grinned prettily as she munched on a canapé.
“Only about two weeks,” he replied, with no little amount of regret. “Then I’m off to a film premier. I’m actually booked in to fly to Scotland tomorrow morning to check on a client of mine, so there’s no real time off for me.” Indeed, when Lila had called him, Russell agreed to meet her without question. Whether he was on vacation or not, he prided himself on being available. There was that, and the idea that his clients couldn’t make decisions that might come back to bite them when he was standing right there.
“You’re a workaholic,” Amelia lamented with a long-suffering sigh. Around her, no less than five men waited, practically salivating, for the opportunity to speak with her. She had just broken up with her long-time boyfriend of four years – an American actor with a penchant for younger women. In the six months that she’d been single, she’d already fielded half a dozen marriage proposals.
“I love what I do.” He provided, smirking slightly at their audience. He wondered if any of the men surrounding them believed the tabloid stories that he and Amelia were secret lovers. While the vivacious redhead was, indeed, gorgeous, they were nothing more than close friends.
“Well, that’s something found more and more seldom these days. It’s something you and Alice have in common.”
He arched a brow at the mention of the Tate designer’s name. “Alice?”
“Oh. Oh.” Amelia’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve never met her? Didn’t you speak to her when she designed my gown for the Golden Globes last winter?”
Russell smiled. She knew bloody well that he’d never spoken directly to Alice Tate. He’d made mention of the fact to her several times, as well as lamenting how hard it was to get a gown from such an in-demand designer.
“So, are you going to introduce me, or not?”
Amelia giggled gaily and Russell was certain a few of her admirers had to keep themselves from pouncing on her. “Of course, silly.”
And just like that, he was in. It paid to have connections.
**
The event was looking to be a resounding success.
Her designs were a hit, and though Alice had been harried throughout the entire evening organizing the show, she regretted nothing. All in all, they had raised over sixty thousand pounds to send to relief efforts, and she had Rose to make sure all the funds went to the right place.
Speaking of her future sister-in-law, she looked even better than Alice might have dreamed in her purple gown, and she glowed with the health of her pregnancy. Alice supposed that Michael had every right to be worried that other men might steal his fiancée away – she got her share of longing glances as she mingled through the crowd, drawing both admiration and jealousy from a few of their more well-renowned female patrons.
Of course, Michael was right by her side for the duration of the event to serve as both her bodyguard and her escort. He was suitably charming, considering he was on the prowl for those he caught staring at his bride-to-be in the wrong way.
It was good two or three hours into the actual event before Alice was free to speak to them, and once she could, it was with a flute of champagne firmly in hand.
She was making her way across a crowded floor, fielding congratulations and requests for commissions, when she was poked firmly in the side. Immediately, she whirled with a scowl, only to light up when she saw who had come to find her.
“Amelia!”
She would know that vivid red hair and those gorgeous blue eyes anywhere. With little reservation, Alice wrapped her lifelong friend in an earnest embrace. “I’m so glad you could make it! How long has it been?”
“Ages.” The red-head grinned, kissing both of Alice’s cheeks soundly. “You look wonderful, my darling. Those pumps are beyond words.” They were, in fact, beyond words. Specially made for Alice by one of Louis Vuitton’s top designers, they were one of her favorite pairs.
“And you look stunning. But then again, you always look stunning.” Amelia was considered by many of the world’s self-appointed experts to be one of the most beautiful women on the planet. Atop that, she was a supreme stage talent and sang like an angel.
“Only when I’m wearing your gowns.” Alice was pleased to see that Amelia was, in fact, wearing a piece from her spring couture line. It was a deep navy number with a plunging neckline that she personally knew to be held up with a large quantity of double-stick tape and a prayer. It made Amelia’s cleavage look positively mouth-watering.
The two of them had been friends since grade school when Amelia was skinny and freckled and Alice lamented that her new teeth weren’t growing in straight. Alice had loved Amelia precisely because she didn’t come from a privileged background and couldn’t give a whit where her family went and who they were seen with. Of course, the Countess had only started paying attention to Amelia when her talent was noticed at a precocious nineteen years of age. By that point, she and Alice had been friends for over a decade.
“You’re always first on my design list.” She beamed at the red-head. “You’re a dream to dress.”
“Is that so?” Just then, Alice noticed that Amelia hadn’t sought her out alone. She was, in fact, on the arm of a very tall man with strikingly blue eyes and a dark goatee that gave him a rather roguish appearance. He was exceedingly handsome in a very swarthy way, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, clad in a Prada suit that had very clearly been cut for his body alone. “Perhaps the next time I’m out to get her clothed for a premier I can speak to you directly then?”
His voice was a deep, chocolatey tenor that send chills down her spine. Alice’s grin was instant and very feminine. “Amelia, I don’t believe I’ve met your friend.”
“So he’s told me.” Amelia shot her a secretive wink before tugging her accomplice forward. “Alice, this is Russell Darwell. Not only is he a dear friend, but he’s also my agent.”
Darwell…. the name sounded familiar. Alice recalled hearing it from several of her assistants during award ceremony season. “Russell, this is Alice Tate, one of my best friends and designer extraordinaire.”
“Charmed, Miss Tate. Your talents are in high demand.” He extended a hand for her to shake, and when Alice took it, she was immediately enveloped by his clean, spicy scent. It was a cologne she recognized – one of her favorite. He had good taste.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” It was, indeed, a pleasure to meet him. Alice could
n’t remember the last time she’d been so intrigued by a man on appearance alone. “Darwell…your surname sounds familiar.”
“I have family in London.” Part of her expected the man to start expounding on said family- it was what all moneyed men did when they wanted to impress women. Russell, however, merely left his explanation at that, breezing on to another subject. “But I hope you might have heard of me through my clients. I work with a number of individuals in the entertainment world. Amelia is, of course, the highlight of my day.”
The red-head boffed his chin gently, glowing in embarrassment. “Don’t say such things, Russ. You’ll put me on the spot.”
Well, wasn’t he a charmer? Alice wondered vaguely if he and Amelia were together. Her friend had just broken up with her long-time boyfriend, after all. Surprisingly, the thought made her feel just a hint of jealousy.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Russell took Amelia’s hand gallantly to kiss it before dropping it gently. He didn’t, Alice notice, linger or slobber all over the digit. And he didn’t bow and scrape in obeisance. Maybe it was true- he and Amelia were only friends. “Would either of you ladies like another drink?”
“I would love some more champagne.” Amelia gave Russell her sweetest smile and Alice couldn’t wholly believe he was unaffected by it. Some of the world’s most powerful men had fallen prey to that smile. “And I’m sure Alice would too.’
“I’ll go and fetch us some then, shall I?” Inclining his head respectfully to them both, Russell then headed off into the crowd in search of more champagne.
And Alice released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding as she watched him walk away. It was fine – very fine, she realized, to watch him go. The man had a behind like iron. “Interested, are we?” When Amelia spoke what she was thinking, Alice turned to her guiltily.
“Was it that obvious?”
Amelia laughed good-naturedly. “Not terribly, if you must know. But I know you better than most.”