Conflict Of Hearts. Liz Fielding

‘I thought you were supposed to be famous for your charm?’ she said impetuously.

      ‘Am I?’ He was very still for a moment. ‘And weren’t you charmed? Just for a moment?’ The faintest smile mocked her as the bright colour darkened her cheek-bones. Of course she had been. He had said that he could have her eating out of his hand, and he had just proved it with his preposterous fairy-tale. But he had caught her off guard. It wouldn’t happen again.

      ‘Charm away, Mr Jordan,’ she invited recklessly. ‘I can see right through you. I’m immune.’

      ‘In that case, Elizabeth, we should do very well together.’ He extended a hand. ‘Shall we go?’ The hand was a challenge she could not ignore, and after only the slightest hesitation she laid her fingers upon his and allowed him to lead her out to the Bentley, where Harper was waiting to drive them to the theatre.

      

      ‘So many people!’ Lizzie exclaimed as the car disgorged them in front of the Coliseum.

      ‘It’s something of an occasion,’ he agreed as they joined the throng of celebrities gathering in animated groups in the magnificent foyer.

      The great columns of the theatre had been garlanded with flowers from floor to ceiling, and everywhere the atmosphere hummed with excitement. Noah was continuously hailed as they made their way through the crush, and she found herself the subject of many speculative glances as she was introduced to the kind of people she normally only saw in the newspapers or on television.

      They made their way slowly through the throng, the black dress, the stunning jewels attracting their fair share of admiring glances, and Lizzie was a thousand times thankful not to be wearing the embarrassment that would have been her pink taffeta.

      Then she saw Peter. He had abandoned classic English tailoring for an Armani evening suit that did little for his tall, slender figure, and he looked ill at ease, as if he would rather be anywhere else. Clearly it was Francesca who had insisted on their coming. And it was Francesca who saw her first, her eyes widening slightly at this very different vision of Lizzie from the bridesmaid she had met that afternoon.

      ‘Hello, Francesca, Peter. I’m so glad you decided to come,’ Noah said, from somewhere over her shoulder.