A noise called their attention and both turned at once to the entrance of the ballroom. Antonio pushed up from the door jamb he’d been lazily leaned against, and it was impossible to tell at first whether he’d heard any or all of their conversation. But then, as he came closer, his silent rage hit Elizabeth like a wall, and she knew. He’d heard. Every word.
“Rupert just remembered a meeting he has to get home for. I told him I’d come and get you, Marianne, while he gets Rose settled into her car seat.”
“Oh, gosh, darn it.” Marianne said. And the becoming blush in her cheeks showed that she felt remorse at their conversation having been heard. “I completely forgot about that. Darling, think about what I said. I’ll see you later today.”
Elizabeth watched her go, then turned, slowly, to face Antonio. His hair and coat were covered in a fine white covering. “It’s snowing,” she said, irrelevantly. As soon as they were alone, his face contorted with anger.
“You dare speak about me like that?” He asked, getting straight to the point.
Her cheeks flamed. “You have a habit of listening at doorways, Antonio,” she said, going on the attack instead of addressing what he’d heard.
“This is my property. My ballroom. And me that you were discussing, both times.”
“So?” She rubbed at her temples, to ease the beginning of a terrible headache. But what she had said, she had meant. She had no intention of pretending they were some great love story. She’d already lived her one great love story, and it was over. Whatever she had thought she felt for Antonio was just wishful thinking. Lightning didn’t strike twice.
“What did you think this was?” She asked directly.
He spun away from her. How could he answer that? They’d both been unwilling to put a name on their time together. But he was not in a position to dismiss it as casually as she had just done. “That is truly how you feel?” He answered her question with another question.
“Yes,” she said, ignoring the way her stomach clenched painfully as she spoke the simple word.
“Well…It is good information to have.”
“Come on, Antonio, don’t act all wounded. We both agreed from the start this would just be about sex. You knew the score. I love my husband. That’s it. The end.”
He nodded, and his expression was so cold that, for the first time, she saw him as the hard-headed billionaire he was reputed to be. “In that case, I have somewhere else to be. I take it you’ll be able to find your own way out when you’re finished?”
“Antonio,” she called to his retreating back. “Wait!”
He didn’t stop walking and so she ran behind him, catching him just near the door. “You’re being silly,” she said, grabbing his hand.
He looked down at her fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Am I, bella?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “You don’t want a relationship with me any more than I want one with you.”
“Forse,” he said with a careless shrug. He reached down and removed her fingers from his wrist. “I was more attracted to you than I’ve ever been to anyone. I had actually started to wonder what that could mean. Did I really care for you? Could I even be falling in love with you?” His words made her heart feel strangely sore and she had to focus on breathing. “But you’ve made me realize that I was simply infatuated with your beautiful body. And hearing you discuss our relationship as you did now has cured me of that infatuation. So, thank you.”
“What are you saying?” She knew, but she couldn’t quite process it.
“You were good in bed, Elizabeth. Great. But it’s over.”
He walked away from her, and once his words had properly computed in her fogged brain, a single solitary tear made its way down her cheek.
Chapter 9
She didn’t even know if he’d show up. Ravens Manor looked absolutely perfect, like something from a fairy book. As the musicians set up in the downstairs foyer, and the strains of their beautiful Christmas carols began to filter through Ravens Manor, Elizabeth walked slowly from room to room, checking last minute arrangements. As she moved, her full skirt swished against her legs. And though she usually enjoyed dressing up, it had brought her absolutely no pleasure that evening.
“You’ve done well, boss,” Miranda said, a smile on her beautifully made up face as Elizabeth entered the ballroom. It had been transformed by a dedicated team of decorators. Enormous green garlands were strung from the ceiling, trees lined one wall, and every table was topped with a white cloth and several clusters of candles. It smelled like snow and pine needles, and cinnamon and nutmeg. It was truly beautiful.
“Thanks, Miranda. Any last minute problems with the guest list?”
“None whatsoever. Oh, our gorgeous, hunky host wanted a last minute addition, but Lady Sherrington was ill, so it hasn’t affected our numbers.”
“Who was his addition?” She asked, concentrating on sounding calm. It meant he’d called her office. Or perhaps seen Miranda in person?
“A date. Philomena Stark. The singer. You know the one. Leggy, blonde, a bit of a wild reputation…”
Elizabeth screwed her nose up to hide the pain inflicted by Miranda’s innocent description. She hadn’t seen him in almost a week, and it had forced her to acknowledge one very painful, sticky point. She was not ready to have their…whatever it was… end. She had felt herself go to call him dozens of times each day. She had dreamed of nothing and no one but him. Her body was in pain just hoping for his touch.
“Is he here yet? I wanted to, er, thank him again.”
“I haven’t seen him.” Miranda said with a shrug of her slim shoulders. “Oh, look, the chef is beckoning me over. Listen, I’ve moved the order of the auction around a bit. You’ll be the last lot to go, okay?”
Elizabeth hated this part, despite what she’d said to Antonio. But auctioning herself off always drew great press for the cause, and generally, she received a high price. Besides, she’d had all sorts of interesting projects, such as organizing a Danish princess’s first birthday party, and helping the Earl of Maddock do a painting of the lily pond on his property. Being auctioned was not the reason her nerves were a flutter.
She was going to see Antonio again. Any moment now, and he would appear. And she could almost not wait.
In the end, it was almost an hour into the affair when he finally arrived. Despite being his home, he stepped out of one of the magnificent limousines that had been organized to venture to Oxfordshire from London. Elizabeth saw his date first. Philomena Stark was incredibly beautiful, in a very obvious way, and dressed in a bright red ball gown that showed far more skin than was practical in the middle of winter, Elizabeth felt a very obvious stab of jealousy.
But then, there was Antonio, and when her eyes properly slid to him, she sucked in a loud gasp of air. He’d had his hair cut, so that it was more closely cropped and brushed back from his head, and he was wearing a tuxedo with a white bow tie. He looked incredibly handsome, even more than she’d ever appreciated. In fact, he looked every bit the wealthy country squire.
She swallowed back the lump of desire that had instantly energized her body. Awareness zinged through her, and her mouth felt filled with saw dust. She was helpless to do anything but stare. In the background, everything continued to swirl about her, but Elizabeth was only capable of focusing on one thing.
Antonio.
As he entered the crowded foyer, it felt like all eyes were on him; and no doubt, they were.
The jealousy, like an untamed beast, grew and grew, so that she was sure her skin must have actually turned green. It wasn’t helped when she saw him lean down and whisper something in Philomena’s ear. Something that evinced a tinkle of laughter from the other woman, and a very suggestive wink.
Oh, God, Elizabeth thought. What have I done?
But pain and loss were nothing new to Lady Elizabeth Sanderson, and so she plastered a smile on her face and did the only thing she could do in the circumstances. She pretended not to feel,
and not to care. She walked slowly, but purposefully through the room, cutting a swathe easily through the group of assembled socialites.
“Antonio,” she said, once she was near enough to be heard.
When he turned to her, his face was devoid of any recognition, or interest. He looked completely bored. “Hello, Elizabeth. You look quite the part.” He raked his eyes over her designer gown, a one of a kind that had been made for her by a top British fashion house. It was the blackest of blacks, and the bodice was fitted to her perfectly. The skirt was voluminous and swishy, and had a sparkle in the fabric that glittered as she moved. A fine lace cap sleeve had been added because she hated showing too much of an expanse of skin. Teamed with an extravagant diamond choker, she knew she looked glamorous and attractive, and yet somehow he managed to make her feel small, and bland.
With effort, she kept the smile pinned in place. “And you must be Philomena Stark. I’m very pleased you could make it tonight.”
The other woman’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, as though she was trying to place Elizabeth, but then she shrugged her tanned shoulders and turned away again. Evidently, she had little interest in sucking up to Elizabeth Sanderson.
“Phil, this is Elizabeth Sanderson. She’s responsible for transforming Ravens Manor into some sort of satellite nightclub on Christmas Eve. And all in the name of charity.”
He was being deliberately hard on her. The affair was classy and beautiful, and it had all been organized with his consent. “You’re not happy with how things turned out?”
It had been a mistake to probe him. He had always had the upper hand when it came to verbal sparring. “On the contrary. I think things turned out just as they were supposed to.”
Philomena looked from one to the other, her face unmistakably curious at the tense exchange of words. “Darling, I’d kill for a vodka martini,” she said, effectively drawing Antonio’s attention back to her. For good measure, she rubbed her hand along Antonio’s back, and stopping perilously close to his firm, muscled rear.
There wouldn’t be vodka martini. Her main sponsor was a prestigious champagne company and they’d been adamant that the only drinks available would be Vedette champagne and Vedette egg nog. It had been a sticking point, but one Elizabeth had conceded simply because their name alone assured money and press coverage.
Elizabeth tried to ignore the way the other woman’s fingers were digging possessively into the black fabric of Antonio’s tuxedo. “I just wanted to thank you again, for the use of your home.”
“Ravens Manor is not my home. Rome is my home. And I cannot wait to return to it.”
A huge hole seemed to have developed beneath her, and she was finding it difficult to keep her balance. “I see. When do you leave?” Was that really her voice? That hoarse, breathy whisper?
“After Christmas.” He looked over her head now. “The bar is…?”
When they’d argued, it had been horrible. But being treated like a bare acquaintance by this man she’d shown her soul to was so, so much worse. She swallowed past the hurt in her throat. “Over there, where it has always been.”
He nodded curtly in Elizabeth’s general direction and then, with an arm firmly under Philomena’s elbow, he steered them towards the other end of the ball room.
It was over. What tiny hope she’d cherished of making him understand how scared she was by what had been happening between them was gone. He had moved on, and without any difficulty whatsoever, apparently.
“It appears you were right, darling,” Marianne said.
Elizabeth hadn’t even been aware her mother in law had been watching the exchange. She nodded, trying her hardest to seem normal, when inside, her heart was strangely fractured. “I told you. He’s a cad.”
“Or perhaps he’s trying to make you jealous?” Marianne said with an inquisitive tilt of her head.
Elizabeth would have smiled except her emotions were too overwrought to dissemble. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there, Marianne. You want me to move on and so you’re trying to make a hero out of someone who just simply isn’t.”
“I want you to be happy, dearest.”
Elizabeth turned to her mother in law and took her thin hands in her own. “I am happy. Just the way I am.”
Marianne’s piercing eyes scrutinized Elizabeth’s face for a moment before she compressed her lips and gave a small nod. “If you say so. Now, the little party princess is floating about somewhere with her Grandpapa, but I’ll be sending her off soon, darling, if that still suits your plans.”
“Oh, goodness, yes. I wouldn’t have her here at all except she was so determined this year.” Elizabeth scanned the crowd, her eyes always attuned for ‘Rose’ frequency sightings. She found her easily, in a miniature version of her own dress, her hair styled into a matching chignon, and a fake diamond necklace around her throat. She was holding Rupert’s hand, but she was talking to the man crouched down in front of her. Antonio.
Just when her breathing had returned to normal, it began to clog in her chest once more. With a resigned sigh, she moved through the throng of well-dressed patrons, resolutely avoiding making eye contact with any so as to avoid having to stop to make idle chit-chat.
As she got close, with Marianne right behind her, she slowed, straining to hear the conversation. “It was okay. I mean, I was okay. Mummy and Gamma were sad. They always are. They cry and cry and cry and I don’t really know what to say. Nor does Grandpapa.”
Elizabeth’s feet faltered as, for the very first time, she wondered if her one woman crusade to turn Alastair into some kind of idol was actually harming her daughter. Lurching guilt gripped her gut. In trying so hard to do the right thing by one person she loved, had she harmed the other?
“Sometimes it’s not about what you say, Rose. It’s about being there.” He smiled at her, in that disarming, beautiful way of his, and Elizabeth cleared her throat. His eyes lifted and locked with hers, and she was sure, for an instant, she saw emotion, thick and strong.
He stood then, and moved directly in front of Elizabeth. “I’m sorry today was difficult for you.”
It was such a strange and stilted thing to say. She nodded mutely.
“Darling, let’s get you home,” Marianne said, bundling Rose up with a kiss on her little ski-jump nose. In a rush of farewells, Rose was carried from the ball, like a tiny Cinderella, off into the care of her sometimes nanny.
“I never thought about how it would affect her,” Elizabeth mused to herself, not even sure Antonio was still listening.
But he was. “I believe children are sensitive creatures. And Rose perhaps more than most.”
Elizabeth’s eyes scanned his face. He was too beautiful. She felt like the week she’d just lived through must show in every line on her face, in the smudges beneath her eyes. Whereas he looked like he’d just walked out of a Vogue Uomo photo shoot.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” she said. It was such a faint emotion for what she wanted to express that she sighed in exasperation.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” he agreed throatily, and his eyes dipped lower, to her full lips, which were painted scarlet red.
He lifted a finger and tapped it to the necklace she wore. “Who gave you this?”
She gave him a quizzical frown. “My necklace?”
“That thing you’re wearing that probably cost more than most people earn in a lifetime.”
Her frown deepened. “Alastair.”
“I hate that.” He said honestly, and for the briefest moment, his eyes were tormented. “He is all over you, still.”
“No martinis, for God’s sake. What have you brought me to?” Philomena appeared by his side. “Lucky for us, I always plan ahead,” she said, reaching into her clutch person and pulling a bejeweled hip flask from within. Elizabeth watched, askance, as she tipped a generous measure of a clear liquid – presumably vodka – into her champagne and offered to do the same to Antonio’s.
But he shook his head. “No, t
hank you. I want to be alert tonight.”
“Suit yourself,” Philomena said with a shrug. “I can think of better ways we’ve spent nights together,” she observed with a very sexy, very obvious pout at her date.
And he was her date. He’d brought Philomena, either because he wanted to be with her, wanted to sleep with her, or wanted to make Elizabeth jealous. Maybe even all three.
Elizabeth blinked. She was in a vortex of strange emotions but she could get out. “Excuse me. I have so many people to talk to, and not enough time. Enjoy your evening.” She moved away from them without a backwards glance, and worked resolutely at engaging everyone she could in small talk.
By the time dinner was announced, she was exhausted. Fortunately, she’d done enough hard work to ensure the night ran smoothly, and for the most part she was able to feel almost like a regular guest. Only the way she kept catching Antonio’s eye across the room was making her feel so disastrously on edge.
She tried to concentrate on her conversation with Rupert and Marianne, but for once, she didn’t have any patience for her in-laws. And that was saying something, for they truly were two of her favorite people. At least she could be grateful her own parents had skipped the ball this year. It was the first time they’d missed the affair and she was secretly glad. There were too many things to focus on, she didn’t need their silent disapproval of her decision to leave medicine staring at her all night.
The food was world class – a team of accomplished chefs headed by a renowned French chef who had donated a cooking class as part of the auction – prepared seasonal delicacies and all the best Christmas fair, and all the while, the London Symphony Orchestra (or a small part thereof) performed exquisite carols. The evening was, she decided, a success.
So why could she not enjoy it?
As the auction wound to a close, Miranda slipped her iPhone towards Elizabeth. The amount displayed in the calculator was truly boggling. They’d surpassed the previous year’s donations already, and there were still several lots to go.
This Christmas and Forever: A heartwarming anthology of billionaire holiday romances... Page 26