Tempted By His Secret Cinderella - Bronwyn Scott

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There was a duc we knew who had guards posted day and night outside his daughter’s bedchamber the week before her wedding for fear of a kidnapping attempt by his rival.’ The story was true, only the implications he’d draw from it were false. They hadn’t been guests, but paid workers hired for entertainment. She gave a light laugh, enjoying too much the refreshing boldness of her role. The Principessa was a vivacious, charming young woman, so much fun to portray, so different than the self plain Elidh showed the world. It was like the inside of her had come to live on the outside. And yet, she must be cautious. Mr Keynes needed a reminder about her unsuitability.

      She gave him a soft, reassuring gaze. ‘You may rest easy, Mr Keynes. You needn’t fear such antics from me. I will make no move to compromise you.’

      He smiled, warm and charming, so charming she forgot to be nervous. After the woodenness he’d displayed at dinner it was surprising to find he could put a girl at ease. ‘No, not from you. Perhaps that’s why we’re strolling the portrait gallery. I have nothing to fear from you. My mother said you were here to take in the house party, nothing more. Is that true?’

      Elidh sensed a test in those words. His eyes were steady on her, looking for affirmation as he continued. ‘You, Principessa, are a safe harbour in a veritable storm of female attentions.’ There was a rueful tone about him now, as if he regretted the safety of her, as if he wished she might pose more of a danger to him. If he only knew, she was quite dangerous to him, to his fortune, more danger than he wanted in fact if he chose to pursue her. But that was not her intention, to encourage that pursuit. She would keep both of them safe by establishing her distance.

      She faced him with another soft smile, making the implication of her words sound reassuring instead of cruel. ‘It seems we are in agreement, then. You are safe for me as well.’ Sutton Keynes would know precisely what she meant by that safety, that a title as lofty as hers could not be courted by a man who had only a fortune to offer. The Keynes were wealthy gentry and soon to be even wealthier, but they were not titled and they were not Italian. Her father would be reeling if he knew how the ruse he’d designed to attract the wealthy bachelor was now being used to push him away.

      But subtlety was not her friend. If Sutton Keynes knew what she intended in that message, he did not let on. Instead, he held her gaze with blue eyes that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. ‘What do you mean by that, Principessa?’

      She was going to have to be blunt, and she would be, right after she calmed those butterflies. Elidh looked down where her gloved hand lay on his dark sleeve. It was not hard to feign a moment of awkwardness. Other than on stage with people who’d been like family to her, she’d never been this close to a man before, never flirted on her feet. She’d always had a script telling her what to do. But she was on her own in the hallway. ‘Surely you already understand, I could never consider entertaining an offer such as the one you need to make at the end of the party.’

      There. The words were out, gently spoken, and all the tawdry unspoken implications that went with them: that aside from the difference in their stations, his search for a wife in this manner was scandalous to a well and high-born girl of her rank, and that the conditions surrounding the attainment of his money were even more so. She was firmly waving him off, knowing that any girl in the ballroom would gasp at treating the rich Mr Keynes in such a manner. Then again, they’d come to play his game. She had not.

      To his credit, Mr Keynes took the rebuke smoothly, as he apparently took all things, except ballrooms full of girls he’d invited but appeared not to want. ‘Of course not. I would not think to presume. I appreciate the clarification.’ He cleared his throat. ‘May I ask, Principessa, are you always this plain-spoken?’

      She glanced up with a coy smile on her lips. ‘A necessary measure for one in my position, Mr Keynes. I find it prevents unpleasant surprises, much like your bedroom guards.’

      ‘Touché.’ He pressed his free hand over his heart in an exaggerated gesture, his eyes laughing as if to reassure her she had not truly hurt his feelings. ‘Now that’s settled, we can move on with our evening. Might I persuade you to call me Sutton?’

      ‘Familiarity is dangerous, Mr Keynes. I thought we had established that,’ Elidh cautioned.

      ‘We’ve already established there is no danger here. We said nothing about first names,’ he countered easily. ‘Besides, I’m about to show you my...ancestors. Surely one can’t get more familiar than that.’ He was a dreadful tease. For a man who gave the appearance of eschewing crowds, he was extraordinarily confident and funny when he was alone. Yet one more thing she could add to the list of items she knew about Sutton Keynes. He was a charming man possessed of a sense of humour, who’d arranged a party he didn’t want. There was a mystery in that. If she was smart, she would leave it alone. To solve it would be to know him and to know him might lead to other things she’d not come here for. She’d do best to leave the mystery alone, make her excuses and walk back into the ballroom. But that’s not what Cinderella had done and it wasn’t what she was going to do either. This was a moment out of thousands. Surely it would not endanger her masquerade entirely if she prolonged that moment, just this once.

      Elidh laughed up at him. ‘Well, if we’re about to view your ancestors, you should call me Chiara.’ She would take the middle ground and enjoy this interlude now and worry about it later.

      He led her through the gallery, narrating with dry humour as they went. ‘Shall we start with my uncle, the man who’s caused this whole mad tangle? That’s him right there just to the left, Sir Leland Keynes, my father’s brother. He was knighted for establishing a British presence in the extremely lucrative Soojam Valley of Kashmir, a place noted for its sapphires. Too bad he hadn’t found some more. He might have been made baron and this whole fiasco could have been avoided.’

      Elidh furrowed her brow. ‘How so?’

      He looked surprised for a moment and she worried over a misstep. Should she have known? Was the reason obvious to anyone but her? ‘Because everything would have been entailed,’ he explained, ‘Nothing could have stopped my cousin from getting his hands on it. Not even if I married the Queen herself.’ The bitterness was self-evident in his tone. She didn’t understand entirely why. The gossip column had only provided so much detail.

      They started to stroll again, moving on to the next portrait, this one of a great-grandfather on his mother’s side. ‘You make it sound as if you don’t want the money.’ Elidh slid him a sideways glance. She couldn’t imagine not wanting that much money or the security that came with it. ‘Or is it the marrying you’re opposed to?’

      ‘Both, I suppose, but especially the latter. I doubt any one of those women in there is interested in me. I am just the living embodiment of British pound notes.’ He chuckled drily, but she could see the admission bothered him. ‘I am sure you understand.’ He sighed, his blue eyes seeking hers, two sombre flames. Oh, how that gaze seared her with its attention, its intensity, a slice of his soul on display. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. ‘It’s ironic. You are a stranger to me, entirely. But you are the only one here I can confess that to who would know how it feels to lose their humanity, to become a representation of something other than who they truly are.’

      Elidh was silent. For a moment, she mistook his meaning and thought he’d somehow guessed her ruse and seen through the disguise. Then she understood and the knife of guilt twisted a little deeper. She’d not come here to mislead this man. She hadn’t her father’s nerves for deep schemes. She tried to push the guilt away. An attractive man was showering her with attention. But that only made it worse. He was showering the Principessa with attention. Sutton Keynes would never look twice at plain, twiggy Elidh Easton, a girl who knew nothing about titles and fortunes, who was, in fact, the embodiment of what he professed to hate: a representation of something other than her true self.

       Chapter Six

      She’d been worth leaving the party for. The promise of that red dress had not disappointed.

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