Charlotte was still listening, fascinated, as they drew up outside Carmichaels. In a privileged position overlooking Hyde Park, it was quietly discreet on the outside, openly opulent on the inside.
The latest smart society venue, it smacked of money and privilege—public school, Oxbridge, skiing in the winter, taking the family yacht to Monte Carlo in the summer.
In such a setting Charlotte could easily have felt underdressed and overwhelmed, but strangely enough she didn’t. With Simon Farringdon’s hand at her waist, she felt supremely confident.
When they had been greeted with deference and her coat had been whisked away, they were shown to a table on the edge of the dance floor.
Most of the other tables were occupied, and a few couples were already dancing to an old Jerome Kern tune played by a six-piece orchestra.
As soon as they were seated, and had been handed gilt-edged menus, the wine waiter appeared with a bottle of Bollinger’s Recemment Degorge in an ice bucket. Having eased out the cork, he poured the sparkling wine, and waited for Farringdon’s nod of approval before moving away.
Smiling at Charlotte, Simon lifted his glass in a silent toast.
She smiled back and took a sip. It was the finest champagne she had ever tasted, and she said so.
‘I hoped you’d like it.’ He looked straight into her long-lashed eyes, eyes of a clear dark grey with an even darker ring round the iris.
His look was so direct it was more like being touched than looked at. After a moment, her head spinning, she dragged her gaze away and tried to concentrate on the menu.
God, but she was lovely, he thought, studying that haunting heart-shaped face with its wide mouth and delicately pointed chin, the neat little ears tucked close to her well-shaped head and that long, graceful neck…
Now he knew what poets meant by swan-like.
And though she might have neither morals nor scruples, she had class. She wasn’t the kind of woman he could have paid off, even if the Carlotta Stone hadn’t been rightfully hers. So that left him with only one alternative. To seduce her away from Rudy.
Which would be no hardship.
Glancing up, she was shaken afresh to find that Simon was still studying her closely, a lick of flame in his eyes that made her stomach clench.
‘Seen anything you fancy?’ he asked smoothly, indicating the menu.
‘Lots. I just can’t decide.’ To her annoyance, she sounded breathless.
‘Do you like fish?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Then may I suggest Sole Veronique, followed perhaps by the blackcurrant cheesecake?’
‘Sounds delicious,’ she agreed.
His glance brought the waiter hurrying.
When their order had been given and they were alone once more, he asked, ‘Is there a current boyfriend?’
Taken by surprise, she stammered, ‘N-not exactly.’
He waited, his eyes on her face.
When she made no attempt to elaborate, he said, ‘Tell me about yourself. What made you decide to keep a bookshop?’
‘I’ve always liked books, so it seemed the right thing to do, especially as I had quite a lot of stock that I’d inherited from my mother.’
He raised a brow in tacit enquiry.
‘She used to run a second-hand bookshop in Chelsea before she remarried and went to live in Australia,’ Charlotte explained. ‘I’d hoped to take over her business when I left college, but the premises were due for demolition, so when I was offered a lease on the shop I have now and the accommodation above it, which was quite nicely furnished, I snapped it up.’
‘And it’s worked well?’
‘Yes, very well indeed. At first I had a bit of a struggle financially, but now sales are up and I’m able to afford an assistant.’
‘How long have you been in business?’
‘About two and a half years.’
‘Not bad going,’ he said admiringly.
As the orchestra started to play a quickstep, he rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Would you care to dance?’
The mere thought of being held in his arms made her go funny all over, and as she hesitated he added with the faintest hint of derision, ‘Or perhaps you only disco?’
‘I’d love to dance,’ she said coolly. Rising to her feet, she put her hand in his and quivered as shock waves ran through her.
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