Читать книгу Her Own Prince Charming - Eva Rutland - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

“HEY, wait!” Too late. She had slipped through the crowd and vanished. All that was left of her was a slender gold chain dangling from his fingers. Feeling strangely bereft, he started after her. She would be in that room where—

“Brad Vandercamp, take off that disguise!” The daughter of his host blocked his way. She tugged at his mask. “You didn’t fool anybody, anyway. We all knew you.”

“Oh?” He looked at the costume that hugged her figure and glittered with sequins in the shape of fish scales. “Well, my little mermaid,” he said trying to remember her name, “some of us are not as clever as—”

A sultry voice interrupted. “No matter how clever, you couldn’t hide that copper hair.”

“No more than you could hide those eyes.” Sensuous and suggestive, he thought.

Whitney gushed with pleasure. “So you knew me! Tell me, are my eyes distinctive?”

“Indeed they are. They’re, er, so...so expressive,” he said, thinking of the last dance. She had been as light as a feather in his arms, and her blond curls had a fresh soapy scent, more tantalizing than any perfume. He must see her again, ask—

“Come along.” The mermaid took his arm. “Let’s have a refreshing drink. They’ll be serving breakfast in a few minutes.”

She will be serving, he thought, as he was borne off between the two women.

Breakfast, however, was served buffet-style, with several well-groomed waiters attending. No sight of long slender silk-clad legs beneath a short maid’s costume. No sight of merry blue eyes and golden curls topped by a frilly bit of lace.

“You don’t have a thing on your plate. Here, try this.” The woman with the eyes popped a small sausage into his mouth. “Like it?” He nodded, and she piled more on his plate. “There. Now what kind of omelet would you like?”

“Spanish!” Carl, Brad’s closest friend and teammate, ordered. “Give him some of that old San Diego flavour.” He punched Brad on the back and added in a whisper, “Get with us, buddy! Where’s your mind?”

In the kitchen, Brad thought, as he watched the chef preparing the omelet. Was that where she was? Best not go back there asking if someone had lost a necklace and, if so, what is your name and where do you live?

Never mind. Later. He would find her. The slender gold chain rested in his pocket...like a promise.

“Nobody knows who she was, but she was dressed as a maid.”

“Maybe she was a maid.”

Paula’s heart lurched, and she stopped in the hall to listen. The sisters’ voices were clear as they discussed last night’s ball from their adjoining rooms where they were dressing for the first game. If they even suspected...

“Don’t be silly. She wasn’t a maid.” Rae sounded sure. “She was a guest. She had a mask on. And—” Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the shout from across the hall.

“Paula! Where’s that girl!” Mamie Ashford demanded somewhat piteously.

“I’m right here,” Paula said, hurrying to her. “Just lie still and allow that bromide to settle.” She adjusted the pillows and replaced the ice bag. “There now. You’ll feel better soon.”

“My poor head. I don’t see how I’ll make that committee meeting.”

“You’ll be fine,” Paula assured her. “Just rest for a little while. I’ll be back in time to help you dress.” She felt sorry for the always-anxious woman. Not easy on her limited budget to buy the proper outfits and maintain the proper social commitments so important to her and her demanding daughters. Seeing that she was about to fall asleep, Paula closed the draperies and tiptoed from the room.

As she emerged, Whitney called, “Paula, where’s my dress?”

“Almost ready.” Paula rushed downstairs to finish pressing the dress. She returned to find Rae in Whitney’s room holding out two outfits.

“Which should I wear?” she asked.

Whitney didn’t answer. She carefully applied eye shadow and stared dreamily into the mirror. “He said my eyes are so expressive.”

“Bet he didn’t look at you like he looked at her,” Rae said a little spitefully. She frowned. “Who could she be? I don’t remember anybody dressed as a maid, do you, Whitney?”

“Plenty of serving maids around.” Whitney peered into the minor to inspect her makeup. “Maybe one of them sneaked onto the dance floor. I wouldn’t put it past that kind.”

Paula gulped, but Rae answered her sister. “I told you. She was a guest. And Brad knew her very well! The way he was holding her—”

“I thought you didn’t see her.”

“Sylvia did. She and Rod were dancing right next to them, and Sylvia said he was staring at her like there wasn’t anybody else in the room, and when he kissed her...”

Paula’s breath caught as Whitney turned to glare at her sister. “Kissed her?”

“Right there on the dance floor!”

Whitney frowned, then shrugged. “Doesn’t mean a thing. Don’t you read the tabloids? He’s always kissing somebody.”

Paula, who had gone rigid, forced herself to relax. Whitney was right. What was a kiss to Brad Vandercamp? And his kiss certainly meant nothing to her!

“Which, Paula?” Rae’s question jerked her to attention. “Should I wear this or the green one?” Rae held a yellow outfit against herself.

Paula advised the green instead while Whitney continued to muse. “So Sylvia saw her. She must know who she is.”

“No. She doesn’t. She said when everybody started unmasking, the woman...well, it was amazing, but she just disappeared. Sylvia asked Rod if he saw her face, but he didn’t. He said he was looking at her legs.”

Paula winced. This kind of talk was making her nervous.

Shucks! They didn’t suspect her. They probably didn’t even know she had been there. They knew she sometimes worked for Harry, often at affairs they attended. But, thank goodness, they were always too absorbed in themselves to notice her. Even when, as now, she was right under their noses.

Whitney didn’t even look at her when she held out the linen she had pressed.

“Here you are,” she said.

Whitney glanced at the dress, shook her head. “No. Changed my mind. Bring the dusky rose with the sexy short skirt.”

Paula fetched it, tied a green scarf becomingly into Rae’s hair and made sure Whitney’s makeup was in her bag, along with the binoculars.

As they made their way out, she heard Rae say, “He’s not playing today. Do you suppose he’ll be among the spectators?”

“Of course, silly. The players always watch the techniques of the other teams. He’ll be there. And I’m sure he’ll linger at our box. He was quite taken with me. He said my eyes...” Her voice faded, and Paula gave a sigh of relief. If she couldn’t hear them talking about him, she could stop thinking about him!

She couldn’t. She stared at the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothing, a dresser cluttered with lipsticks, bottles, crumpled tissues and traces of spilled powder. But what she saw was a man with unruly copper hair and eyes that glinted with mischief. He smiled at her and held out his arms. Had he really held her in a special way? Then, when he kissed her...

Had he kissed her?

Such a fleeting touch. She might have arranged it.

No. No fantasy. Her lips had burned like fire.

Vividly she recalled the dream... music, voices, laughter and the tolling of a clock.

Then the kiss. Light and fleeting, yes. But it had ignited a powder keg of emotion, sending strange and exhilarating sensations exploding through her. For a moment, she was immobile.

The loud “Masks off” broke the spell and jolted her into movement, thank goodness!

She shook her head to clear it. She was far too practical to let a dream interfere with reality. Quickly erasing last night from her mind, she went to wake Mrs. Ashford. By the time Lew returned from depositing the girls, she had their mother dressed and alert, ready to be chauffeured to her committee meeting.

Paula tidied the bedrooms and baths, finished the laundry and vacuumed. Dinner was no problem, as the Ashfords were dining out. Time to retire to her little room in the attic and study.

Two hours later, she had finished the outline for her English term paper and prepared for tomorrow’s chemistry test. She heard the family car coming down the drive and glanced at the clock. Almost six. That would be Uncle Lew returning, and he would be hungry. She hurried to the kitchen.

“Where’s the chow?” Lew asked, as he tossed aside his chauffeur’s cap and popped open a can of soda.

“Coming right up,” she said. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”

“Me, either. Been driving all day. Hauled the old lady to her meeting, the girls out to the polo field, back to pick her up and back to the field.” He sat at the table and took a long swallow from the can. “Waited till the game was over and squeezed out of that mess of traffic to get them into town to where they’re having dinner. Gotta pick them up at ten.”

“Did you see any of the game?” Paula asked as she set leftover meat loaf in the microwave oven and set the timer.

“Wouldn’t waste my time. Bunch of horses with bandages on their legs, all getting in each other’s way. Guys in fancy helmets whacking at a ball.”

“All for sweet charity, Lew! Lots of money,” Paula said. “Anyway, it’s a game. For fun. Like a rodeo.”

“Rodeo’s a hell of a lot more than fun. It’s . . . well, how to rope a calf, break a horse. Teaching people how to do things, not just showing off.”

Paula grinned. “Seems I often saw you showing off. Remember that rodeo where you—”

He gave a satisfied smile. “Yeah, I was good, huh? Expert at that stuff.”

“Sure, sure. I remember,” Paula said, as she fashioned cold mashed potatoes into cakes, sprinkled paprika and set them sizzling in a frying pan. “But I’ll have you know that these polo players are considered experts, too.”

“Humph!” Lew unfolded the newspaper.

Paula turned the potato cakes, set muffins to warm in the oven. “Some are quite famous, renowned for their expertise all over the world.”

Lew shrugged.

She removed the soda can, set out silver and napkins and bent to whisper in his ear. “Wanta hear a secret?” At his wary look, she gave him a conspiratorial wink and added, “I danced with the most famous one of all last night.”

Lew’s head jerked up. “You’re joking.”

She chuckled. It did seem like a joke. “The one they call the polo prince. He’s very rich, very famous and very handsome. And I danced with him. I really did.”

“You’re joking,” Lew said again, staring at her as she set out salads and filled two glasses with iced tea. “At least I hope to hell you are.”

“No, I am not joking. It was so funny. I was working for Harry at the Moodys’ costume ball, like I told you, remember? Well, I was in the pantry arranging canapés, and this man came in. I knew him immediately, in spite of his mask. Lord, I’ve heard him described a million times and I had seen his picture. Anyway, I was kinda dancing, like I do sometimes, and he...” She related the episode as she finished the dinner preparations. “He’s a real good dancer, and . . . oh, golly, I hadn’t danced in so long.... I guess I got carried away. I didn’t realize we were actually in the ballroom until—”

“My God! Mrs. Ashford . . . she’s gonna skin you alive.”

“Don’t be silly. Nobody saw me.”

“Hang on a minute—you were in the ballroom, dancing with the big shot every gal in creation’s got her eyes on, and you think nobody—Paula! Everybody saw you!”

“They didn’t know who I was. I told you. He put a mask on me,” she said, placing their filled plates on the table. “When some guy yelled ‘Masks off I hotfooted it out of there.”

“You’re crazy. How could they miss you? You didn’t have on a costume.”

“Oh, yes, I did. You should have heard Whitney and Rae this morning, trying to figure out who came dressed as a maid!” Paula almost choked on her iced tea. Now that the danger was past, it seemed very funny.

Lew wasn’t laughing. “That was a damn fool thing to do.”

“Oh, stop glaring at me like that. Nothing happened. The only thing is...” She touched her bare throat. “I lost my necklace, the one you gave me for my birthday. Remember, with the little gold horseshoe? I looked for it afterward, but—”

“You gonna lose more than that, fooling around with them high-society muck-a-mucks. Of all the damn fool shenanigans! Don’t you know the old lady don’t like nobody outshining her gals? And I don’t like you messing around with them empty-headed, do-nothing, high-society folks.”

“Oh, for goodness sake! I wasn’t outshining anybody, and I certainly have no desire to associate with the likes of Whitney Ashford even if, heaven forbid, I should ever have the chance to do so.”

“Well, seems to me you’re all gaga about messing around with that pretty polo fellow.”

“I wasn’t messing around with him!”

“I’d like to know what you call it.”

“An incident. One dance. Done. Over and out!” She spread her hands in a gesture of finality.

But there was a dreamy smile on her lips as she cleared the table and stacked the dishes. She was unaware that Lew watched her with anxious eyes.

The Green Acres polo field was a colorful sight as the players rode in and lined up for the first game of the Classic. But Brad Vandercamp was not looking at the field.

“Which is the Moodys’ box?” he asked his friend Carl.

Carl pointed it out.

Brad started to move toward it, checked. He turned to Carl. “What’s the daughter’s name?”

Carl gazed thoughtfully at him. “Sheila. But that’s not a good idea.”

“Oh?”

“When the well-padded Brad Vandercamp glances in her direction, a lady gets ideas.”

“Cut it out, Carl! Simple courtesy. Thank you for the ball, and—”

“Uh-huh. And, yes, thank you for the dinner invitation. I’m itching to come and meet that fascinating maid of yours, and oh, yes, by the way, return this thingamabob that she dropped when she danced with me at your ball. Damn it, Brad! You want to lose the woman her job?”

“Nothing so crude as that. I just want to—”

“I know what you want. And you’d do better to hang around the house somewhere near the servants’ entrance.”

“Like a stage-door johnny! Not on your life.”

“Okay, okay. Do it your own way, chum. But...” Again Carl squinted thoughtfully. “What’s the big deal? One dance. Why are you so hell-bent to find her?”

Brad shrugged but didn’t answer. He didn’t know why.

He fingered the necklace in his pocket and wondered. Why did he feel that if he let the woman with the saucy smile slip out of his life, he would lose something precious?

It was crazy, but there it was. He moved toward the Moody box and didn’t hear Carl’s last admonition. “Careful, buddy! Women get ideas even when you don’t glance their way!”