‘Lady Lucinda...? We need to get started now. Will you...?’
She turned, and a sickening grey mist swept down over her vision. A hand moved, sweeping out to show her where she should proceed. Blindly she moved ahead, her eyes focused on the little podium that had been built up at the head of the ballroom.
To its left and right were the various objects and artefacts that had been gifted by her mother and her coterie of high society friends who had been persuaded to be part of this. A couture gown here...a handbag there... Jewellery, silk scarves, cosmetics and more. A week on someone’s island in the Indian Ocean...a fortnight at an English country house in the shooting season. A signed polo shirt and tickets to a match in Dubai...
Dazedly she realised that that was who he was—the polo player. The one her mother had practically passed out over when she’d heard he’d be coming. The one who was an ‘utter Lothario’.
But what did any of that matter now? Her mother wasn’t here and she was—and she had to step up, get on with this auction. She had to.
She stared again at the tables set up with all the goodies. She could list each and every one. She had typed them into the programme that she’d sent out, into the advertising copy she’d placed in various local and international publications—she knew every single thing and who had donated it.
But there was no way she would be able to say that. Say anything at all. Her voice was buried under a rock of anxiety.
There was nothing she could do—nothing she could do. The suffocating fear built, the tightness returned, and the terror of being right here, right now, became excruciating. She looked for one of the staff from the conservation centre. She scanned the room, but all she could see was the crushing crowd of people, hovering and staring. They were all around her, gawping as if she were some kind of crazy. Which she was.
She had to get out—had to get out or she’d pass out.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’
She could see jewel-bright colours, dresses,, jewellery, glasses... She could hear voices, feel the daggers of their derision.
‘Hey.’
A warm, strong hand wrapped around her arm. She jumped at the sudden contact and tried to jerk away, but the sickness was overwhelming.
‘Get your hands off me,’ she whispered.
‘Slow down, Princess. You trying to take someone’s eye out?’
Lucie slowed...stopped. He was right behind her, his hand still on her arm. Her skin, clammy now, felt the chill of the night breeze and the warmth of his touch. She reached out, tried to lay her hand on the railing—missed. She stepped forward, unseeing, stumbled...
‘Steady on. Stand still.’
She grasped the rail and stood staring down at the black sea. Her stomach still heaved, but the spinning had stopped and the whirling grey settled as the world became centred around a solid warm wall behind her, stabilising her. A large male body. He laid one hand beside hers on the rail and placed the other at her neck, weighted and heavy, and for once she didn’t flinch.
‘This is the last thing I want to be doing, but you look as if you’re about to pass out.’
She felt the warmth seep through her. Her freezing skin was suddenly soothed, enveloped and wrapped up in another human’s body. How many times had she been held like this? Ever? Never?
Could she remember a time when the touch of another had been accepted, never mind encouraged? No. She wasn’t the type. The Bonds did not hug each other—never mind strangers.
She pushed away from him—put her hands against the solidity and shoved hard as she could.
‘Get off me—go away.’ Her voice came out like a hiss.
He stepped back, hands up in mock surrender. Her eyes flashed to his face and she caught a look of surprise.
‘No problem.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the auction is about to begin. Can you please take your places in the salon?’
‘No problem at all—and believe me when I tell you this: there won’t be a third time.’
‘Can Lady Lucinda please make her way to the podium for the start of tonight’s charity auction? So many wonderful items for such a wonderful cause.’
The voice, like a call to the gates of hell, boomed out across the Tannoy.
‘I can’t...’ she breathed to the wind. ‘I simply can’t...’
He turned. The blue shirt, broad back, warmth and strength moved away, and she knew that there really was no way out.
‘Me either,’ he said, and he was stepping away, leaving her in the grip of the suffocating black velvet night and the sickening dread of the sea of upturned, staring faces.
‘Please...’ she said, reaching him, grabbing for his arm.
He turned immediately, glancing down at the hand that gripped his elbow.
‘What?’
She opened her mouth, looked over his shoulder.
The tinny voice boomed out again, calling people forward, making some kind of apology about her mother’s lack of appearance. Her fingers gripped his arm. Pressed into his flesh.
‘I’ve got to say, Princess, you’re sending out some very conflicting signals. So allow me to be clear...’
He put his hand over hers and slowly began to prise her fingers up.
The voice sounded again. Everyone was in position. She had to do this. She had to locate her breath, count in and out slowly, and then she’d be fine. She would be absolutely fine.
Her fingers, now free of his arm, hung in mid-air like a wizened claw.
‘I can’t go in there. I can’t be in front of all those people.’
He stepped back into her space, blotting out the view. ‘You can’t be in front of all those people? Hang on—is this your party? Are you Lady Lucinda?’
She clenched her eyes and nodded.
He looked behind him, as if expecting to see something horrifying, then turned back to face her. ‘What’s going on? Is this some kind of emotional blackmail?’
She could barely breathe now, the panic had gripped her so fiercely.
‘It’s the auction,’ she gasped.
‘You’re telling me that’s what’s got you like this? Is that what this is all about? Really? The auction?’
He was staring at her as if she was deranged. Which was exactly how she felt.
‘You might have thought of that before you organised it, then, wouldn’t you say?’
She nodded, swallowed, put her hand on her chest and tried hard to slow her furious heartbeat.
‘Just another example of your consideration for others? Impressive. Awesome. You really are something else, Princess.’
And he turned on his heel.
‘No—no, you can’t. Please!’ Lucie heard herself begging and saw herself reach out, grab his arm, pull him back. She really pulled him back.
He turned. Looked down at her, hands on hips.
‘Please? Please, what? What do you expect me to do? Help you? Are you serious? After the way you’ve acted?’
‘I can’t go in there.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I simply can’t.’
She didn’t know herself what she expected him to do. All she knew was that for some reason his presence, his body—whatever it was—she felt warmed