Rescue Operation. Penny JordanЧитать онлайн книгу.
to ever allow herself to become involved with any man who had ties elsewhere and too cautious to trust even those who did not.
Her phone rang, and she went to answer it. It was Ann, ringing to bolster her courage and thank her yet again.
‘Don’t thank me yet,’ Chelsea warned her sister. ‘All I’ve promised to do is try.’
Half an hour later, fully dressed and made up, she studied her reflection critically. The blue dress was perfect against her pale skin and dark red hair, emphasising the rich blue of her eyes which she had deliberately emphasised with her new make-up. Gold glitter shimmered in her cleavage and along her high cheekbones. As the salesgirl had suggested, she had twisted her hair into a smooth chignon and decorated it with the blue silk flowers.
It was only when she secured the band of ribbon round her throat that her fingers betrayed a fine tremble. With their coating of lip-gloss her lips looked full and softly vulnerable, matching varnish gleaming softly on the nails she had deliberately allowed to grow. She normally detested anything other than natural or faintly pearl varnish on her nails, but tonight hers were those of a predator—dipped in blood, she thought, shuddering.
For Kirsty’s sake she had to succeed, and yet already she was hating the thought of the pain she knew she would inflict upon her niece.
Rather than drive herself to the Clarendon she had ordered a taxi. It arrived promptly, and because the night was cold Chelsea pulled on a cream wool coat which had been a present to herself the previous Christmas.
The hotel was ablaze with lights when her taxi drew up outside, and in the car park she glimpsed several familiar cars. Melchester was a relatively small market town and her family were fairly well known. She and Ann had grown up there, and when Ann had married the young man who had come south from Birmingham to work for Lutons, Ralph too had been absorbed into the closely knit society Chelsea and Ann had known from childhood, hence the party tonight was well attended with the friends and families of their school friends.
The early arrivals were clustered round the bar of the self-contained hotel suite Ralph and Ann had hired for the evening, when Chelsea walked in. She left her coat with the cloakroom attendant and quickly sought out her sister.
Apart from the slight concern shadowing her eyes, Chelsea didn’t think she had ever seen Ann looking better; not even on her wedding day. Maturity suited her fair prettiness, and even as they stood side by side no stranger could have guessed at their relationship. Ann in her early forties was small and inclined to be slightly plump, her fair hair cut short and waving softly round her face.
‘Chelsea!’
They kissed. Ann was wearing Guerlain’s Chamade, and raised her eyebrows slightly as they drew apart, her murmured, ‘Very, very sexy!’ drawing a reluctant smile from Chelsea.
‘Where’s Kirsty?’ she asked.
‘Oh, she refused to come with us. Apparently Slade is picking her up.’ Ann sighed, and looked unhappy. ‘I’m so worried about her. She’s changed completely. Oh God,’ she protested feelingly, ‘there are the Rosses. I’ll have to go and speak to them. See you later!’
Humanity the world over was much the same, separated only by the greater or lesser degree of sophistication their particular society enjoyed, Chelsea reflected, observing the delicate cut and thrust of conversation between two well-known rivals and co-members of the Town Council.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a slight disturbance by the door, and the suddenly prickling awareness shivering along her spine alerted her before they came into view that Kirsty and her escort had arrived.
Wondering if she was being over-sensitive in thinking how silent the room had suddenly become, Chelsea reflected that if she was successful in detaching Slade Ashford from Kirsty he would have scant chance of restoring himself to her good books. Desertion in the face of so much interested observation would be a bitter pill for any seventeen-year-old to swallow, and she was relieved to see that the son of Ann and Ralph’s closest neighbours was obviously home from university. Was it really only last Christmas that Kirsty had been swooning over him? She had grown up a good deal in ten short months.
Discreetly keeping out of sight, Chelsea studied her quarry meticulously. Expensive dinner suit, obviously neither hired nor bought off the peg; thick silk shirt; even thicker dark hair brushing the collar of his jacket. He turned, and Chelsea automatically stiffened slightly, hoping that Kirsty hadn’t seen her. It was not part of her plan to be introduced to Slade Ashford as Kirsty’s aunt.
Kirsty had spotted her parents. Slade Ashford cupped her elbow. Poor Kirsty, she didn’t stand a chance. It was almost literally possible to see the awed reverence in the eyes of the women they walked past, as they rested appreciatively on Slade’s lean form.
For almost an hour Chelsea circulated among the other guests, deliberately creating a subtle presence, a distinct awareness of her as a woman. Several men of Ralph’s generation paid her heavily gallant compliments, while many of the younger ones were a little more obvious in their attentions, responding to her sensuously appealing aura.
To anyone watching her Chelsea’s progress across the room had neither purpose nor pattern, but it did bring her into a circle of people barely two feet away from Kirsty and Slade Ashford. Across the room she caught Ann’s eye. It had been arranged between them that when eventually Chelsea managed to get Slade’s attention, Ann would distract Kirsty.
Perceiving her signal, Ann moved discreetly towards her. Summoning every ounce of control, Chelsea stepped backwards, deliberately allowing herself to collide with Slade. Her drink spilled as he turned to apologise and steady her, a cynical awareness in his eyes which at any other time would have made her writhe with shame. Out of the corner of her eye Chelsea saw that Kirsty was about to make some comment.
Clinging gracefully to Slade’s arm, Chelsea bent to fuss over her shoe, which had been splashed with the contents of her now empty glass.
‘Oh, what a nuisance!’ she pouted.
‘I think they’ll dry.’
Chelsea was quite sure they would. Lifting her head slowly, she raised her lowered eyelashes and let her lips curve into a seductively promising smile. Beneath her tensed fingers Slade Ashford’s arm felt like solid rock.
His eyes which she had imagined to be brown shocked her by being a deep intense jade, and as coolly mocking as her own were sensually promising.
‘Oh, I’m not worried about my shoes.’ The husky softness of her voice surprised even Chelsea herself. Perhaps age had turned her into a better actress than she had ever imagined—age, or perhaps necessity.
‘It’s my drink,’ she murmured. ‘I had to wait simply ages to get it—waiters never pay the slightest attention to a woman on her own, and now I’ve lost it.’
‘Then please allow me to get you another …’
So far so good; she had managed to both capture his attention and very unsubtly let him know that she was alone. As she drew a rather shaky breath of relief she heard Ann saying urgently to Kirsty, ‘Darling, can you spare us a moment?’
For a second Chelsea held her breath. If Slade elected to go with Kirsty there was nothing she could do about it. Her own fingertips still rested on his arm, and she could almost feel her niece’s puzzled and hurt look, but she refused to yield to it.
‘Quite a sweet little thing,’ she said patronisingly as Ann led a reluctant Kirsty away. ‘A relation of yours?’
Only she knew exactly how much satisfaction it gave her to see the slightly grim expression in those dark green eyes as Slade said curtly, ‘No; the daughter of a business acquaintance—Now, your drink …’
Now came the most difficult part of the evening, Chelsea warned herself. She had managed to detach him from Kirsty, but now she had to keep him not only away from Kirsty for the rest of the evening, but also firmly and publicly attached to her.
She had to wait several nerve-wracking