A Scandal Made At Midnight

CHAPTER TWO

LIANEWATCHED ALESSANDRO ROSSI walk towards her sister like a man on a mission. He wouldn’t be the first—half the men in the room had already been swept up in her orbit—but he would certainly be the most eligible. She forced herself to quash the tiniest flicker of envy she couldn’t keep herself from feeling as he stood in front of Ella, one hand in his pocket, his manner relaxed as he gave her a slow, smiling look.

From her position behind a potted plant Liane could study him unguardedly, taking in his tall, powerful figure, well over six feet. She barely topped five feet herself and standing next to him had made her feel small, but strangely in a good way. Delicate. When he’d gazed down at her she’d felt warmed right through, as if by the sun, as if she’d swallowed the sun. Silly to think like that, of course. Most likely he’d simply seen her as an amusement, maybe even an irritation. He’d certainly dismissed her quickly enough.

Besides, he was far more suited to Ella than to her. With his close-cut hair of burnished midnight, those iron-grey eyes and a face that looked as if it had been sculpted from marble, his classic good looks complemented Ella’s blonde goddess-like beauty far more than Liane’s less striking looks.

‘You must make more of yourself, Liane,’her mother often complained. ‘You’re so pale and mousy, you completely fade away.’

Once, on her mother’s bidding, Liane had tried to do just that—carefully applying make-up, wearing a nicer dress to work, putting her hair up in a chignon, adding earrings and a necklace. She’d felt both shy and hopeful as she’d stepped through the doors of the school.

The results had been, to Liane’s mind, disastrous—or at least humiliating. The receptionist had raised her eyebrows and smirked. ‘Ooh, who are you trying to impress, then?’ The girls in her class had tittered behind their hands. ‘Have you got a date, Miss?’ they’d asked, shooting each other looks. But worst of all had been the teachers Liane had overheard gossiping about her when she’d been in the staffroom, marking papers in the corner—they hadn’t even seen her!

‘What on earth has got into Liane? Who is she trying to impress? She looks absolutely ridiculous.’

‘There is such a thing as trying too hard, isn’t there?’ They’d shared a look as they’d laughed. ‘Poor thing. I suppose she just wants to be noticed for once.’

Liane had shrunk back into her chair, desperate not to be noticed right then. After the women had left, she’d gone into the bathroom and scrubbed off all the make-up. The next day she’d returned to school in her usual serviceable blouse and skirt, her hair back in a neat clip, her face devoid of make-up. The receptionist had given her a pitying look as Liane had marched past, her head held high, determined never to try to be noticed again. There was a reason some people naturally sparkled and shone—and some people didn’t. Besides, if you didn’t try, you didn’t get hurt, and the shadows were a far safer place than the spotlight.

As for the spotlight... Liane turned back to Alessandro Rossi and her sister. They were like Venus and Apollo, she mused, or perhaps Venus and Ares, for there was something almost warlike about Alessandro Rossi’s hard profile—the lines of his cheek and jaw were unforgiving, like two slashes of a blade. While Ella was softness and light, Alessandro was all hard, dark planes. Yet together, like two demigods of high society, they worked, that much was obvious, for the whole crowd was watching, cameras snapping, as the orchestra struck up another tune and Alessandro took Ella in his arms.

She was not going to feel jealous, Liane told herself severely, because that would be utterly absurd and frankly shaming. She’d had a few minutes of awkward chitchat with the man, about shoes, of all things. Ridiculous shoes. The fact that he made her heart skip a beat and a blush come to her cheeks when she thought about him now meant nothing. Nothing at all, except perhaps that she was completely inexperienced in matters of romance and flirtation, which she already knew perfectly well.

‘Ella is the centre of attention, as usual,’ Manon remarked sourly as she came to stand beside Liane, moving a palm frond out of the way. ‘How does she manage it?’

‘She’s beautiful and funny and nice. Why wouldn’t she?’ Liane smiled and shrugged, while her older sister tracked Ella and Alessandro with a frown. ‘Don’t be jealous,’ she entreated quietly. ‘She’s never spiteful about it, you know.’

‘I’m not jealous,’ Manon replied with a huff. ‘I’m just bored. I didn’t want to come to this wretched ball in the first place, and Maman has been throwing me at any man under the age of sixty. It’s humiliating. Why is she so desperate to see us married off? You’d think it was the eighteen-hundreds or something.’

‘She wants to see us provided for, and that’s the only way she knows how.’ Despite her mother’s stern ways and near-constant barrage of criticism, Liane couldn’t help but feel a rush of sympathy for her—she’d had two husbands, both of whom had died and left her with little more than pennies. She still managed to eke out an existence of shabby gentility, depending on a few small investments and her reputation to at least give the pretence of gracious living, but it wasn’t much, and Ella inheriting the house had been a very bitter pill to swallow. Of course she wanted to see her daughters provided for—and, as she reminded them on many occasions, working as a teacher and a secretary was not adequate provision, not in her view, anyway.

‘Why are you two standing in the corner?’

Liane tensed as her mother sailed over, dressed as always in widow’s black, a martyr to her disappointments for ever. She eyed Liane critically. ‘I don’t think purple suits you. The blue would have been better.’

Manon rolled her eyes. ‘The blue was terrible, Maman.’

Amelie sniffed. ‘I suppose Ella gave you that dress?’

‘Just to borrow.’ As usual Liane felt the need to smooth things over. ‘I’ll wear the blue next time, Maman.’ There probably wouldn’t be a next time; it wasn’t as if she went to balls every day of the week.

Amelie turned, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of Ella and Alessandro together. ‘Making a spectacle of herself as usual, I see.’ She poked Liane between her shoulder blades. ‘Why don’t you go over and say something? I saw you talking with Rossi earlier, so you’ve made his acquaintance.’

‘Only because he stepped on my foot...!’

‘Well, say hello again, then.’ Amelie poked her again, hard enough that Liane was forced to take a few steps towards Ella and Alessandro.

‘Maman...’ she whispered, horrified, while Manon smothered a laugh.

‘Yes, do go over, Liane,’ she chimed in. ‘I’m sure they’ll both appreciate it.’

Amelie nudged her again, so Liane found herself standing alone on the edge of the dance floor, frozen in embarrassment. People were looking at her, sensing that something was going on, waiting to see what she would do.

‘Go on, Liane!’ Amelie barked, loud enough for people nearby to hear.

Liane closed her eyes. Why did her mother have to be so pushy? And why did she let herself be pushed?

‘Are you hoping to cut in?’

Her eyes flew open as, mortified, she saw Alessandro and Ella standing before her. Oh, no...

‘I...’ The syllable came out in a squeak. Alessandro looked bemused, Ella sympathetic.

‘Yes, go on and dance, Liane. I’d like to sit down for a bit.’ As easily as she did everything, Ella drew her by the hand towards Alessandro. Before Liane even knew what was happening, Alessandro had taken her in his arms and Ella had disappeared. A pity dance, she thought miserably. How awful. Yet even so she couldn’t keep from being affected by the citrusy tang of his aftershave, the muscles bunching his arm as she rested one hand on his shoulder, and his hand spanned the dip of her waist, warm and heavy.

‘You know Ella?’ Alessandro asked as he gazed down at her, moving her about the floor with grace and ease while Liane did her best to keep up.

‘Yes, she’s my sister.’

‘How surprising. You two are nothing alike.’

A flush came to her cheeks at the implied criticism. Of course she already knew she was nothing like Ella. ‘We’re stepsisters, actually.’

‘Ah, I see.’