empty-headed celebrities. I want people to know that there is a more serious side to me too.
‘Yes, it’s a party,’ he went on, surprised at how anxious he was to convince Miranda that the ball was a good idea, ‘but it will also be a fund-raising event in aid of the projects I worked on in Africa. A serious cause should appeal to serious people, serious
Among all those interesting, capable women, there were bound to be some who were also attractive and sweet and ready to be fallen in love with, surely?
‘If nothing else, it will raise a lot of money for a very good cause.’
Rafe paused, wondering if Miranda understood how important this was to him. ‘That’s why it has to be properly organised. I want you to set it up, and target invitations to make sure a good cross-section of people come. I’ll need you to liaise with the projects in Africa too, and make sure the money goes where it’s needed.’
‘It’s a bigger job than I thought,’ said Miranda slowly, still not entirely convinced about the idea but unable to think of any real objections.
‘It’ll be good experience if you want to improve that CV,’ he pointed out with an unfair smile.
‘True,’ said Miranda, resisting it like mad.
Rafe got to his feet. ‘Well, the first thing is to find somewhere to have the ball, so let’s go and see the ballroom at Knighton Park, and take it from there.’
Knighton Park wasn’t quite the monstrosity that Rafe had described, but it was certainly enormous. It was a vast, rambling Victorian house built in the Gothic style, complete with turrets, battlements, and an imposing gatehouse. Its walls were half smothered in ivy, and what the house lacked in beauty it made up for in size, with two massive wings flanking the central facade.
‘Gosh,’ said Miranda as the car crunched to a halt on the thick gravel. She was used to grand houses, but this one was something special.
Rafe laughed. ‘It’s an acquired taste, I know, but I’m fond of it.’
‘Will you live here once you’re married?’
He rested his hands on the steering wheel and looked at the house. ‘I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest,’ he said slowly. ‘I suppose it depends on my grandmother and how she gets on with my bride. She can be a bit… intimidating, but her bark is usually worse than her bite.’
A posse of little dogs jumped up, yapping, as a smiling housekeeper showed them into a sunny sitting room overlooking the gardens at the back of the house. Muttering under his breath, Rafe stepped through them to greet his grandmother, who was rising from her chair, while Miranda stooped to say hello to the dogs.
When she extricated herself from their greetings, Elvira Knighton had turned from her grandson and was watching her with keen eyes. She was stooped with rheumy eyes and gnarled hands that glittered with diamonds, but Miranda could see from her bone structure that she had once been a great beauty.
‘Miranda is here on a special assignment,’ Rafe explained when he had introduced them. ‘I’ve decided that you’re right, and that it’s time I got married.’
Elvira’s brows shot up as she turned to look at Miranda once more.
‘Not me,’ Miranda said hastily, holding up both hands. ‘I’m just the hired help!’
‘I’m planning a ball, Elvira,’ said Rafe, and explained his plan to his grandmother, who listened carefully. When he had finished, she looked at Miranda.
‘Hmmph,’ was all she said.
‘Have we got time to look at the ballroom before lunch?’ asked Rafe.
‘Yes, yes, off you go.’ She waved him away as if irritated. ‘Don’t be late back, though.’
‘She likes you,’ Rafe said to Miranda as he led her to the ballroom.
‘How on earth can you tell that?’
‘She was watching you while you were talking to all those yappy little dogs.’
‘They’re not yappy. They were just being friendly.’
‘That’s what she says.’
Rafe stopped and threw open some double doors. ‘This is the ballroom. What do you think?’
Slowly, Miranda stepped inside.
Stretching almost the entire length of one wing, the ballroom was lined all along one side with full-length windows opening onto a terrace, and from there steps led in their turn onto a sweep of lawn. The walls were painted cream, the floor was polished. Dust motes danced in the sunlight striping through the long windows and dulled the sparkle of the chandeliers.
The whole room echoed with the ghosts of balls past, and Miranda narrowed her eyes, almost able to see the couples twirling around the floor, hear the beat of the music and the swish of silk dresses, smell the perfume adrift on the air, and feel the frisson of bodies moving together, palms touching.
‘It’s perfect,’ she said.
Rafe let out a long breath. He hadn’t realised how much he had been hoping that she would like it.
‘We’ll need a band,’ he said.
Miranda nodded, still caught up in the atmosphere. ‘It would be lovely to have a traditional ball, with an orchestra. It’s a pity nobody knows how to waltz any more,’ she said.
‘I know how to waltz,’ Rafe objected.
‘You
‘Of course. Don’t you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve never learnt how to dance.’
‘I’ll show you,’ said Rafe, taking her hand before she had time to protest, and swinging her into the middle of the floor.
‘Oh, no-’ Miranda broke off breathless as he pulled her back towards him, smiling, and caught her by the waist to draw her against him. ‘I didn’t mean…’
He ignored her attempts to protest. ‘You’ll probably find this difficult,’ he said conversationally. ‘It means following me. For once you’re not going to be the one that takes responsibility and decides what to do.’
‘Now, look,’ she began, but the rest of her protest died on her lips. She was too flustered by his warm hand around hers, by the nearness of his body, the feel of his hand pressing against the small of her back, holding her close.
‘Relax,’ Rafe instructed. ‘You’re too tense.’
Of course she was tense! How could she not be tense when her heart was thudding and her nerves were fizzing and her whole body was thrumming with his nearness?
Rafe could feel her slender and rigid in his arms. She refused to meet his eyes. It wasn’t fair to tease her, but she smelt fresh and clean, and when he looked down he could see the arch of her brows drawn together in a disapproving line and the sweep of her lowered lashes. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, and something tightened inside him at the sight.
Humming off key, he swept Miranda around the dusty floor. ‘You don’t need to think,’ he assured her. ‘Just follow my steps.’
It was so ridiculous that after a moment Miranda started to laugh. It was ridiculous and yet somehow magical and exhilarating too as he twirled her round and round the dusty floor. Once she stopped trying to work it out for herself and simply gave herself up to him, letting him move her, it was much easier.
She was breathless and still laughing by the time Rafe spun her in a final circle and let her go, retaining a firm grasp of her hand so that he could bow low.
‘There,’ he said, not sounding at all breathless. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
Their eyes met for a moment and Miranda felt her heart flip alarmingly.
‘This isn’t getting the ball organised,’ she said, trying to sound severe but instead she could hear that her voice was high and tight.
‘Just getting in the mood,’ said Rafe, thrown by an unexpected clench of desire. She had felt surprisingly right in his arms, warm and slender, and when she laughed up at him something tightened around his heart.
‘You were getting the hang of it,’ he said. ‘Imagine what you could do if there was music! You’ll have to keep a dance for me at the ball.’
