His Blackmailed Bride

A chill danced across her shoulders. Someone was watching her; she knew it without question, just as she knew who it was. The strange man she’d noticed an eternity ago—it had to be him. She could sense his presence, feel his power.

Paige drew closer into her father’s arms. He smiled at her and she smiled back, but her eyes swept the room. Her breath caught in her throat. Yes, yes, there he was, standing on the perimeter of the dance floor, his jacket open, revealing a taut expanse of white silk shirt that clung to his chest as if it were a second skin. His hands were tucked into his trouser pockets and the material strained across his thighs. He was balanced on legs slightly apart, and his head was cocked to the side—and he was watching her. Behind the black mask, his eyes were fixed on her, burning into her, stripping her of the long, silk gown, moving now to the full curve of her breasts, watching their all too rapid rise and fall above the low-cut neckline.

Paige stumbled and her father’s arms tightened around her.

‘Paige? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Nothing,’ she repeated, tearing her eyes from the man and looking at her father. ‘I just—I must be tired.’

Her father nodded. ‘It’s been a busy week for you.’ He looked into her eyes and frowned. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

He’ll come to you if you do. You know he will…

A tremor went through her. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I… I want to dance with you, Father. Really. I…’ She swallowed and then ran her tongue across her dry lips. ‘That man,’ she said, her voice a breathy whisper, ‘I wondered—do you know who he is?’

‘Which man?’

‘That one, over there,’ she said urgently, taking a few steps so that her father had to turn around and look in the direction she’d been facing. ‘The tall one, beside the dance floor.’

‘Which man?’ her father repeated. ‘What kind of costume is he wearing?’

‘He’s not in costume,’ Paige said, looking over her shoulder. ‘He…’

He was gone. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for him, but he had disappeared. Her heart was racing as if she’d been running instead of dancing, and it seemed suddenly hard to breathe.

Andrew Gardiner grasped his daughter by the shoulders and held her steady.

‘What is it? Do you feel ill?’

I don’t know how I feel. Excited. Exhilarated. Terrified…

Paige drew a deep breath. ‘I… I think it’s time I went to the ladies’ room and checked my make-up,’ she said. She smiled, and the wary expression on her father’s face told her the smile looked as artificial as it felt. ‘After all, I want to look my best for all Alan’s relatives.’

‘Let me get your mother. She’ll go with you.’

‘No,’ she said again, more sharply this time. ‘There’s no reason to bother Mother.’ Paige patted her father’s arm. ‘I’ll just be a fe

w minutes, Father. Really. If Alan comes looking for me, tell him I’ll be right back.’

‘Paige…’

Her father’s voice drifted after her as she hurried across the dance floor. This was the price you paid for too little sleep and too much to do, she thought as she wound her way through the crowded ballroom. She was lightheaded, and who wouldn’t be after the day she’d had? Up at dawn, so that her mother could make some last-minute adjustments to her dress and veil. And then there’d been lunch with the girls she’d worked with, and tea with her bridesmaids…

‘Excuse me,’ Paige said as she moved between a laughing Marie Antoinette and a smiling Satan. Alan would understand if she begged off and asked him to take her home. She’d meet his relatives first, his Aunt Dorothy and all the rest, and then go home and get out of her costume and into a warm bath. The ballroom was just too crowded, the music too loud, the air too thick and warm. She’d comb her hair, touch up her make-up, go off and say all the right things to Alan’s family and that would be that. In three days, she could relax. In three days, all this would be over. Three days. Oh, God, three days…

There was a long queue in the ladies’ room. ‘I only want to get to the sink,’ Paige said, but it was impossible to move past anyone in the narrow space. She took a deep breath and settled in to wait her turn behind a harem girl and a lady pirate.

‘… just popped the question,’ the harem girl bubbled, holding out her left hand. ‘Look, isn’t it lovely?’

The lady pirate and everyone else looked at the girl’s ring finger and smiled. A diamond gleamed on it, a diamond considerably smaller than the one on Paige’s hand. But Paige knew, without question, that her eyes had never gleamed with the radiance she saw reflected in the harem girl’s eyes. Suddenly, she wondered if the girl’s heart raced when her fiancé looked at her, whether she ever found it difficult to breathe after his eyes had met hers and discovered secrets she’d never acknowledged. Paige had never felt that way under Alan’s gaze. She’d never felt that way in her life, not even during that one, long-ago love affair, never felt that way until moments ago when a man whose name she didn’t know had looked at her from behind a black mask.

The harem girl fell silent as a strangled gasp came from Paige’s throat.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, and she tried to smile. But she couldn’t; she could feel her lips draw back from her teeth in a terrible parody of a smile as she turned and shouldered her way past the waiting women. ‘Excuse me,’ she said again, ignoring the raised eyebrows and curious faces that turned in her direction.

Finally, back in the ballroom, Paige leaned back against the door to the ladies’ room and looked around her. Alan, she thought, willing him to appear before her. But, if Alan Fowler was one of the Romeos nearby, it was impossible for her to pick him out.

The music seemed louder than ever, the crowd denser. A heavyset man in a pirate costume was smoking a cigar. The smell of it seemed to engulf her. Paige thought of pushing her way out of the ballroom to the street. She could flag a taxi and go home…