Reunited With His Long-Lost Cinderella. Laura Martin

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СКАЧАТЬ gave you the freedom from your own conscience to come and meet me.’

      ‘You tricked me.’

      She saw him grin in the darkness, a flash of white teeth, and heard a low chuckle.

      ‘Maybe a little,’ he conceded. ‘But you wanted to come. It was just the consequences of being found here with me you wanted to avoid.’ The confidence emanated from every bit of him—he was certainly a man who knew what he wanted.

      ‘Goodnight,’ she said firmly. Part of her had wanted to come, to be wooed by a mysterious stranger and feel that giddy freedom of being irresponsible for one evening, but she wouldn’t ever tell him that.

      He crossed the room quickly, moving from the glass doors to her side in six steps, placing his hand over hers as she reached for the door handle.

      ‘Five minutes,’ he said. ‘Give me five minutes and I promise you won’t regret it.’

      ‘I know I would regret it,’ Francesca murmured, feeling the heat of his hand through her glove. He was standing close and she could sense the power of his body, but she didn’t feel scared at all. If she’d been cornered by anyone else she would be panicking, wondering if they would allow her to leave with her virtue unscathed, but she felt peculiarly at ease with the man standing next to her, as if she’d known him her whole life.

      ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

      ‘Spend five minutes with me and I’ll tell you,’ he said, his voice no more than a whisper in her ear.

      Indecisively she glanced down at where her hand still rested on the door handle. What she should do was walk out of the room and never think of this man ever again. She should seek out her future husband and ensure he agreed the details of their marriage with her father and saved her family from financial ruin.

      Slowly she turned around so she was standing chest to chest with the mysterious man.

      ‘Five minutes?’ she asked.

      ‘Five minutes.’

      ‘Then you’ll remove the mask.’

      ‘You have my word.’

      Francesca stepped to the side and around her companion, leading the way to the glass doors and the terrace beyond.

      The terrace was lit by the flickering light of a few lanterns, placed at strategic intervals along the stone balustrade. It was cold, icily so, but the air was crisp and dry and the sky clear. All in all, quite a romantic spot her mysterious companion had chosen.

      ‘Why am I here?’ she asked as he came to join her, resting his arms on the stone balustrade and looking out over the garden.

      ‘Only you can answer that question,’ he said.

      Thoughts of her impending marriage to a man she could not stand, of wanting to escape, to have one night, even one moment of freedom, of adventure, flashed through her mind.

      ‘Why did you ask me here?’ she corrected herself.

      ‘I wanted to be with you. Alone. Away from the other guests.’

      ‘Why?’ she asked, her mouth feeling peculiarly dry and the question coming out as a little breathless rush.

      He looked at her with a half-smile on his lips and she felt all the air being sucked from her body.

      ‘Can a man not want to get to know a woman away from the prying eyes of society?’

      Francesca laughed. ‘No.’

      He shrugged. It seems a foolish rule that two people can never be alone together. How do you ever truly get to know someone?’

      ‘You don’t.’

      ‘How do you know if you want to further an acquaintance then?’ he asked.

      ‘You don’t,’ she said, knowing that she was standing too close when she could feel the warmth of his body next to hers, but was unable to step away. Never was she this reckless, but there was something both charismatic and comforting about the man standing next to her. He made her feel like she wanted to fall into his arms, feel his lips on hers and spill her deepest secrets.

      Francesca felt a wave of sadness wash over her. This would never be her life. She was moving straight from one unhappy marriage to another which promised to be even worse. There was no room for a reckless liaison, no room for this sort of scandalous behaviour. Normally that didn’t bother her, but tonight she wanted more than she could ever have.

      ‘How then am I supposed to find out what’s caused the sadness in your eyes?’ he asked.

      Glancing up at him in surprise, she wondered if she were that transparent that he could read her every emotion. ‘I am in mourning,’ she said, wondering if he would accept that as an explanation.

      ‘Did you love your late husband very much?’

      She thought of his indifference to her, his belittling. His downright contempt as the years went on and she didn’t produce the heir he was so eager for.

      ‘No,’ she said.

      ‘Then why the sadness?’

      Looking up again, she wondered why she felt so easy in his company. He was a stranger, a man too confident and self-assured for his own good, a man she should feel wary around, but she didn’t. Instead she felt as though she wanted to spill her deepest, darkest secrets.

      ‘Surely a woman like you has everything?’ he pressed. ‘Wealth, family, servants to do your every bidding.’

      ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ Francesca said. It had been a long time since either her late husband or her family had been wealthy. All the money had been squandered in failed investments and business ventures years ago. Living back at her parents’ house had been depressing after being mistress of her own household, but it was made even worse when she’d explored the empty rooms which had once been filled with luxurious items of furniture, when she’d seen all the servants except the cook and two maids had been dismissed.

      ‘So you’re sad because your family is not as wealthy as it once was?’ he asked.

      Francesca laughed. If only it were that simple. She wouldn’t mind the lack of money, not if she had some say in her life to come. Seven years she’d endured her first marriage. It had been loveless and, although Lord Somersham had never been violent towards her over the years, his resentment had grown as she failed month after month to get pregnant. He’d belittled her, bullied her, made her hate him more with each passing day. She doubted her next marriage would be any better.

      ‘I don’t want money,’ she said quietly, ‘I don’t care about fine dresses or jewels. I don’t even need a lady’s maid to dress my hair and press my clothes.’

      ‘What do you want?’ he asked the question quietly, turning his masked face towards hers.

      ‘I want to be happy. To not be forced into another awful marriage, to have the freedom to choose who I spend my time with and how.’

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