Her Own Prince Charming

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She played it straight. “Good evening, sir. May I get you something? A drink or—”

“Allow me.” He took the champagne from the ice bucket, uncorked it with practiced dexterity and poured two glasses. He handed one to her, touched it with his own. “To us.”

What was going on? She set the glass down. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t drink while working.”

“You are not working. Tonight you are my guest.”

“I—I . . . Beg pardon?” What kind of game was this?

“I said tonight you are my guest. So, please...” He pulled out a chair and smiled.

She did not move.

“Come now,” he coaxed. “I’ve gone to a deal of trouble to arrange this bit of time. Let’s relax and enjoy.”

She saw the mischief lurking in his eyes. Remembered all she had heard of him.

She didn’t like this arrangement. Didn’t like being alone with a well-known lover boy, somewhere out in the Pacific, in his private quarters at the top of his yacht, locked...

Locked? Her throat felt dry. She moved to the door. It swung easily open, and she felt a flush of shame.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you, Cinderella?” he asked, laughing.

Anger replaced the shame. “My name is not Cinderella.”

“Oh? But you did run away at the stroke of midnight. Deserted—”

She was halfway out the door, but he blocked her way. “Wait. Don’t go. Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not angry. I just—” She bit back the words don’t intend to be one of your easy pickups. “I don’t indulge in fairy-tale games, Mr. Vandercamp.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“Whatever you call it, I don’t like it. I came here to work, and I find myself tricked into . . . into this!” Her gesture expressed what she couldn’t bring herself to say.

“What’s wrong with this? How else was I to find you?”

“What?”

“No name. No place of residence. I didn’t even know where you worked. Naturally I assumed you were in the employ of the Moodys, and made several calls there. Saw no trace of you. It was only by lucky chance that during one of these visits, Sam, Moody’s son, dropped a hint. The costume ball was served by an outfit called Harry’s Catering Service. So—”

Paula, who had been fascinated into silence as much by his clipped British accent as his rapid words, broke in. “So why didn’t you just ask Harry? That would have been simple.”

“You think so? Of course I considered that avenue. But it seems Mr. Harry is reluctant to release information concerning his employees, ostensibly for their protection but, I surmise, more for his own. According to my father, one hates to have key personnel stolen from one.”

“Oh.”

“And what could I say? Blond hair...no, more gold than blond. Laughing blue eyes. About five foot four, with a just-right figure. Great dancer... light as a feather in my arms.” His mouth twitched. “Such a description might have a certain . . . well, unsavory connotation. I would not like to create such an impression. You do understand?”

“Of course.” In spite of herself, her lips curved in accord with his infectious grin.

“Likewise, the idea of a detective was abhorrent to me. As if I were in pursuit of a criminal or had some devious intent.”

“Yes, that would be rather tacky,” she said, entering into the game.

“Right. So you see why there’s a party aboard the Renegade tonight. And why it’s being catered by . . . guess who?”

She stared at him. “All that trouble. All these people. Why?”

“I just told you. I was having the devil of a time. I didn’t know your name. Still don’t, incidentally. Nor—”

“No. I mean why did you want to find me?”

The question seemed to puzzle him. He hesitated, smiled. “We do dance well together, don’t we?”

“That’s no reason.”

“It’s a beginning. There may be other things we do well together. Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

Again she saw the mischief in his eyes. “I . . . I don’t think—”

“Oh, don’t be so wary. I am a gentleman. And,” he added quickly as if he just remembered, “there was another reason I had to find you. I had something of yours that I was anxious to return to you. See?” He reached into his pocket and held it out to her.

“My necklace! You found it.” She was genuinely pleased.

“Actually, you left it with me when you withdrew. The chain snapped and—”

“And you had it fixed. No, replaced it,” she corrected, examining the new chain, a little heavier and obviously more expensive. Some basic rule about accepting expensive jewelry from a man... Maybe she ought not to accept. But she was so pleased to have it back. She looked at him, her face glowing. “Thank you. It’s very special to me.”

He touched the small charm. “You like horses?”

“Oh, yes!”

“I knew it! A lady after my own heart.” He took her arm and ushered her to the table. “Sit down. Let’s eat, drink and be merry while finding what else we have in common.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vandercamp. I do appreciate what you’ve done, but—”

He picked up her glass and handed it to her. “My name’s Brad. What’s yours?”

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU’VE hardly touched this,” he said later, as he removed their salad plates. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh. Yes, I am, only I feel...” Unreal, like she was floating on some imaginary cloud. But this was real. And it wasn’t true that he didn’t know how to pick up a plate. He’s waiting on me! Deftly, with the same casual ease with which he opened the champagne, she thought as he set a filled plate before her.

She tried to smile. “I’m not used to being waited on.”

“Enjoy. Tonight, I am here to grant your every wish, my fair lady.”

The savory scent of Harry’s famous Maiale al Pepe drifted from the plate. She looked at the succulent circles of pork in the tasty herb sauce, the tiny, crisp, not overdone string beans, rice with its separate grains still steaming. Amazing. Sent all the way from the galley and kept piping hot on—

He looked at her from across the table. “Now what are you thinking?”

About how the other half lives, she thought. “That this is very delicious,” she said.

“Then bon appetit!” He lifted his wineglass.

She touched it with hers, trying to relax.

“And stop looking as if you’re about to pull that Cinderella act again!”

“What?”

“As if you might run out on me any minute.”

“I . . . I do feel a little awkward,” she said honestly. “It’s like... Well, you have run out on your guests, and—”

“I did no such thing. I welcomed each one as they came aboard.”

“But now you’re here, and they—”

“Are eating and drinking, just as you and I. The decks, dance hall and private parlors are at their disposal. They won’t miss me.”

“But you...” She stopped, taken aback by the revelation. He really didn’t know that he was the main attraction.

“Well?” he prompted. “You were saying?”

“That you should be with your friends. It doesn’t seem right for us to be hiding away up here while your party goes on below.”

“But I’m trying to make a new friend.” He smiled, and she was caught by the way his eyes laughed as if at some mysterious joke. “That’s the whole point. I wanted us to have this time to ourselves so we could really get acquainted and...” He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, and frowned. “Hiding? Oh, I hadn’t thought... You’d prefer us to be more public?”