‘Staying with the Drummonds.’ Stepping forward to finish Nia’s sentence, Farlan held out his hand.
‘The famous film director,’ said the Marquess.
They shook hands.
‘We quite often have guests from Holyrood, Mr Wilder, but never from Hollywood. So this is a rare treat.’
He had a voice like Nia’s: smooth, English-sounding, but with a tiny inflexion of Scots. And, much as Farlan wanted to hate this man, he seemed warm and genuine.
‘This is a great party, Lord Airlie,’ he said.
‘Please, call me Andrew. And, yes, it’s going rather well.’ He caught Nia’s eye. ‘Much better than last year’s effort.’
Nia laughed. She glanced at Farlan, making their private joke a shared one. ‘The dance floor broke.’
Andrew nodded. ‘During a particularly vigorous Eightsome Reel. We had to evacuate everyone while they replaced it.’ He grinned. ‘It was chaos. But I imagine compared to what you have to oversee on set our little gathering must seem like a piece of cake.’
‘Not at all. Watch out—’
Catching Nia’s wrist, somehow slipping his arms around her waist, Farlan pulled her out of the way as a group of giggling teenage girls stumbled off the dance floor.
‘My actors would be drinking tinted water, not champagne, so on the whole I’d say you have the harder task—but maybe you should come over to LA and see for yourself.’
He could feel the heat of Nia’s body, the press of her skin against his. The girls had gone now, but he was still her partner, and it was perfectly natural to let his hand rest on her hipbone, to let his fingers splay out possessively.
‘I might just do that.’ Andrew smiled. ‘And in return perhaps I could invite you to come over for lunch. I have a date in the diary with your hosts at the end of the month. It would be wonderful if you could join us.’
For a moment, the invitation quivered in the air.
Farlan felt Nia’s eyes on his profile.
It was a reason to stay. It would be just until the end of the month.
His heart beat faster.
But staying on longer would only confuse things, and he knew all too well the painful consequences of sending mixed messages.
‘I would have loved to, but unfortunately I’ll be back in the States by then.’
‘What a shame.’ Andrew glanced over at Nia, his blue eyes politely flirtatious. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be happy to step in and distract her. In fact, I was wondering if I might persuade you to part with her for “The Duke of Perth.”’
‘Oh, I don’t—’ Nia began.
The idea of Nia dancing with this confident, charming man, of her gazing into his eyes and laughing breathlessly during the turns, made jealousy burn through him. But Farlan forced himself to smile.
‘I’m happy to sit one out. I’ve had quite enough Dukes for the moment.’
His jaw felt rigid with the effort of smiling as he watched Andrew steer Nia back to the dance floor, his hand resting lightly against her back. He watched as she moved among the crowd, feeling his pulse oscillating in time with her hips.
It was obvious even at a distance that she and Airlie knew the same people. Every few yards couples stopped to greet them and share a joke. And they looked like a couple too.
Nia looked relaxed and happy. Her eyes were shining. And, watching her smile, he felt his stomach clench.
Stupid, arrogant idiot that he was, he had actually thought that he was the reason for her happiness, that he made her happy.
And he did. In bed.
But here she was at home among friends.