Page 3 of Forbidden Until Midnight

‘Now, over by the tables, you should probably be able to recognise some familiar faces.’

Eleanor’s gaze found a pair of deep brown eyes joining with hers, under a mop of rich blond hair and lips that had curved into a smile. Her heart beat just a little quicker, recognising Antony Fairchild.

‘Of course, you know Tony already.’

‘I wouldn’t say Iknowhim,’ Eleanor confessed.

‘Looks like he knows you though,’ Dilly teased with a nudge of her shoulder.

Eleanor felt her cheeks pink under the older boy’s perusal. He’d been a few years ahead of her at Sandrilling—the boarding school on the outskirts of London that many of the children of the families gathered here had attended. She’d not thought that he’d even known her name, but the way he was still looking at her made her heart trip over itself.

Unable to stop an answering smile from curving her own mouth, she allowed Dilly to pull her attention back with a roll of her eyes.

‘Smitten already?’ Dilly asked.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she replied, a wry smile on her lips.

Eleanor looked across the hall and from amongst the nearly two hundred people gathered in the glorious hall found her parents talking to the Fairchilds, her mother looking a little distracted. Unease twisted in Eleanor’s gut. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to come tonight, but Eleanor didn’t know why. For years, all Eleanor had wanted was to be a part of this. To be part of the world her parents kept hidden from her. The glamour, the exclusivity, thesecrecy... Being here meant they trusted her with that and it was as much a signifier of adulthood as her eighteenth birthday. Now her life couldreallybegin.

Dilly was distracted by something over Eleanor’s shoulder. ‘Give me two secs? I’ll be right back.’

Eleanor didn’t mind one bit. She’d actually been hoping for a moment to herself, just to take it all in. It was so muchmorethan she’d expected. The noise was quite something from a crowd of nearly two hundred or so guests. A couple passed in front of her, forcing her to take a step back out of the way and to bump up against something hard.

Someone.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, turning to see who she’d crashed into.

Horror filled her as she took in the sight of a dark-haired man staring down at the amber stain soaking into his white shirt.

‘Oh, no, I’m so sorry!’ she exclaimed, reaching quickly for some napkins on the side table beside them and pressing them against the spilled alcohol in the hope of limiting the damage.

The moment that her hand met his chest the man moved back, his arms raised, as if to avoid any possible contact with her. But no matter the distance, the simmering anger in the man’s gaze was palpable.

She bit her lips together and raised her eyes from the man’s chest to his face and then stopped. Everything stopped. The brief flick of the man’s gaze to hers and then back to his shirt was all it had taken to strike her still.

Rich, dark, sumptuous curling hair covered a head that was bent to stare down at his now ruined shirt. But even then, she could tell that he was nearly a foot taller than her in her heels. The sharp lines of his cheekbones and patrician nose led her gaze down to near cruelly sensual lips that sent a shiver down her spine. A delicious one.

But it was the bright aquamarine of his eyes that struck her hardest. They were unexpected, against the clear Mediterranean stamp of his heritage. Greece maybe, Italy more likely. She was caught staring when he looked up and held her gaze when most would have looked away.Sheshould have looked away. She would have, but for the moment when she thought that she saw something other than disdain in his gaze, but then he snatched the napkins from the hand that had dropped to her side and dabbed ineffectually at his ruined shirt.

‘I really am—’

‘Sorry, yes. I heard you the first time. And the second.’

Shame and embarrassment coloured her cheeks a hot pink. She felt gauche, foolish and a little childish next to this man.

But that was no excuse for bad manners. Shaking herself out of it, she put on her best smile and held out her hand.

‘Eleanor Carson,’ she said by way of introduction.

Santo hadn’t intended to actually have to speak to her. He’d thought, naïvely perhaps, that he might be able to keep watch over her from afar. So this awkward exchange had certainly not been a part of his plans.

As she stared up at him, her face strangely determined, he took a moment to take in the ‘exquisite’ Eleanor Carson. Oh, he could understand what had got the younger generation’s knickers in a twist. Eleanor Carson would grow up to be quite a beautiful young woman, he was sure. Dark hair swept back stylishly from skin as pale as milk. Her eyes, a deep brown, were almost infuriatingly innocent. An innocence he’d never had the luxury of.

Her dress made the most of it, of course. Never one to be particularly interested in women’s fashion, other than when he was taking it off his chosen companion, he supposed it suited her. Little puff sleeves capped her shoulders...his eyes skimming over a simple neckline and a corseted top...before flaring out into wide skirts, the entire thing made of a golden material that made him think of long-forgotten fairy tales.

But he had stared too long and just as he held out his hand, hers dropped away. He bit his teeth together, intensely disliking the awkwardness of the entire encounter, and waited. Belatedly recovering herself, she met his hand with her fingers, which left him fairly sure that the Carson girl was disappointingly insipid.

‘Isn’t it just incredible?’ she asked, full of a wholly unwarranted exuberance.

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