Page 10 of Forbidden Until Midnight

It irritated Santo that this was, in fact, the case. It might have been called Roughbridge House, but the damn thing was a castle. It hadn’t escaped Santo’s notice that the greater the wealth, the greater the likelihood that they would downplay it. As if calling a sprawling Jacobean estate of nearly one hundred acres a ‘house’ was a private joke amongst the higher echelons.

Guests were welcomed into the large entrance hall, squarely positioned beneath more rows of mullioned windows than Santo had ever seen before. Staff dressed in black and white uniforms led those invited through to various exquisitely decorated rooms with names like ‘the salon’ or ‘the drawing room’, quaint references to rooms with much less grandeur than the Carsons had on full display that evening. Santo scanned the faces of the guests, acknowledging and ignoring whoever he chose, but in truth he sought only one person.

Although Pietro had not expected him to keep tabs on Eleanor beyond these annual events, knowing that it would be too much of a risk to draw attention to himself in that way, it would have been nearly impossible to miss the headline news of the ending of her engagement. And once again Eleanor had surprised him, because seeing the way she’d run back to her mother last New Year’s Eve, he’d thought she’d buckle, just like his mother had. But she hadn’t. And while there had been much speculation on the reason behind the split, both camps were insistent that it was mutual and amicable.

Of course, behind the scenes it was a completely different story. The stock market changes read like a roadmap of retribution. Things had been quiet for the first few months, presumably while Eleanor was being convinced to maintain the engagement. And presumably, Eleanor proving immovable on the matter, Carson had gone on the offensive before the Fairchilds could do so. All of this was conjecture, of course. However, the jagged, angry slashes across shareholder prices and through the ownership signatures of both families’ companies looked like a bloodbath. Rumour had it that the other families had been forced to intervene, bringing Edward and Archibald Fairchild to the table for peace talks.

Santo retrieved a glass of whisky from a passing waiter as he moved slowly from room to room. Antony’s betrayal of Eleanor Carson had cost the Fairchilds billions. But what had it cost Eleanor?

She had interrupted his thoughts more than he liked over the course of the year. The way she’d looked up at him, so shocked and hurt.

‘My father wouldn’t do that.’

Santo shook his head.Cristo, he wondered what lessons she’d learned this year.

As he looked around the impeccably decorated ballroom, there was a heady sense of expectation amongst the gathering. It reminded him of some spectator event, as if it were the Colosseum, and the audience were waiting to be entertained. They were practically baying for blood.

He peered into the crowd, seeing the way that certain groups had gathered together. It seemed that in the aftermath of Eleanor’s broken engagement, lines had been drawn and sides taken.

He caught sight of Antony Fairchild, his ruddy health only slightly dimmed by the events of the past year. Of Dilly Allencourt, Eleanor’s so-called friend, there was no sign at all. Her father was here and her grandmother, but only those two. They had positioned themselves as far away from both the Carsons and the Fairchilds in the ballroom. He doubted they’d stay for more than an hour.

He was reluctantly impressed. Eleanor had singlehandedly achieved what no other person had done in the near five-hundred-year history of these gatherings; she had created divisions. And a ruthless person, a truly calculating one, could use that to their advantage.

If it had been any other year she might have got away with not attending, but as it was Edward’s turn to host it would be painfully obvious if she were absent. He thought of the girl he’d first met two years before and wondered if she had the strength to stand up to the scrutiny she was sure to be under. And for just a moment, he found himself wishing it could have been different for her.

‘It’s really quite something, don’t you think?’

He turned to find Eleanor standing beside him on the fringe of the crowd.

‘All these people, all this power. Money,’ she clarified.

Santo nodded, something in his chest turning over at the realisation that she was finally beginning to see the truth about the people around her. And when he looked at her he could see the lines of maturity marked in her face. Slightly thinner cheeks, a knowing glint in her eyes, slightly harder than the sparkle that had been there in previous years.

‘You survived,’ he observed, relieved in a way he didn’t want to examine.

Something passed quickly across her eyes. ‘Just about,’ Eleanor replied. A thin smile pulled at lips that deserved better. ‘Can I borrow you for a moment?’ she asked hesitantly.

He shouldn’t, not really. There were too many eyes on her, but a connection had been formed between them. A connection that would only help him achieve the promise he’d made to Pietro. Severing it now could make it much harder for him in the future. And Santo would do nothing to jeopardise his vow to Pietro.

Santo nodded slowly and gestured for her to lead the way. Relief flooded through Eleanor, a strange and unfamiliar feeling these days, and she began to weave through the crowd towards the part of the house that was off-limits to the guests.

It had cost her more than she would ever admit to hold to what Santo had told her the year before. It had taken some of her innocence, a lot of her naivety and more strength than she’d thought herself capable of.

But finally, Santo was here. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d waited for. Through all the months following the awful argument that had broken out between her, Tony and her father, shortly after New Year. Through all the horrible predictions that Santo had made coming true, she’d clung to one single thought: that at least she’d see him again.

She wasn’t quite sure how, but he had become the point on her map that was fixed, allowing her to find her North Star. She had told herself that if she could just get here, just see him again, that maybe things would be okay. Because somehow last year he had become her armour. Her protection. She’d reminded herself of his words and had clung to them with a ferocity that had surprised both Tony and her father. It had surprised even herself.

A familiar laugh resounded from the living room, casting a shiver across her skin. It was edged with cruelty—Tony, as if he were taking pleasure in the fact that he was here, in her home, despite all that had passed between them. The last time she had seen him had been horrible for her. The things that were said, the anger she had seen in him had shocked her terribly.

She had believed that this was someone she loved, someone she would spend the rest of her life with. It was unimaginable to her now. So much so that sometimes she wondered if she’d gone a little mad.

But she hadn’t. Nor had she forgotten what Santo had said. Without that, Eleanor honestly thought that she might have actually taken him back. Tony and her father had persisted in their near constant attempts at persuasion for months, until Eleanor had sent the photographs to Tony’s father, informing him that if he didn’t take his son in hand, the images would appear on the front cover of several internationally respected newspapers.

The fallout had been devastating. Not because Tony’s father had ignored her, because he hadn’t. It washerfather who had been the cause of her greatest hurt. She had never disappointed him before, and the sharp sting of it had been brutal. As if she’d lost the warmth of the sun from her life, the coldness harsh and visceral.

She turned back to the party to make sure they weren’t spotted, before leading him up the back stairway to the library on the second floor. She could have laughed at herself, feeling as if she were sneaking around her own home. But these days she felt like a stranger here. Uncomfortable. Aware of everything. Trying not to put a toe out of line, when she wasn’t the one who had done something wrong.

Behind her, Santo’s presence felt solid, constant. He wasn’t tiptoeing around, yet moving through the house as if it were more natural to him than her. His confidence...it was something she yearned for. Admired.

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