Page 32 of The Rented Bride

“I’ll admit, it’s strange,” he said. “But I’m not going to convict anyone yet.” He softened his gaze. “Including you.”

“It’s your party, Mr. Weston.”

“Yes, and it’s past time I rejoined the festivities.” He glanced toward the ballroom. “I need to find Annie, my grandfather’s nurse. I don’t want him left alone for long.”

“I’ll find her. Go to your guests while I wrap up this party, hopefully without further incidents.”

“Thank you for handing everything so well. I appreciate it.”

The first blush of embarrassment showed in her expression. “Even when I laid you out on the hallway carpet?”

“My fault. I should’ve corrected your mistake the first time. I admit, it was a bit of fun not being recognized in my own home. I’m not usually on the receiving end of orders,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to my guests.”

She nodded. “Of course. I will make arrangements for someone to take care of our friend in there.”

“Thank you,” he said, and headed toward the ballroom.

The hour grew late. The iguana was safely stored in a duffel bag, which Henry had taken to one of the garages until animal control could pick it up in the morning. Annie, Mr. Weston’s nurse, was upstairs with her charge, and Trent Weston had moved through the guests as if he were performing a dance. Cassie took clean wine glasses from a tray she’d brought to the bar and stacked them on the rear counter. She couldn’t resist a glance in Trent’s direction. He sat, his back to her, in conversation with a small group of people seated on a leather couch to the right of the bar. Laughter spilled from his lips in an intoxicating timber. He sipped a glass of scotch. Cassie swallowed hard as the crystal glass brushed his slightly parted lips.

Earlier he’d been clean shaven, but now a hint of shadow darkened his angular jaw as it had when she’d mistaken him for the deliveryman. The man had a dangerous edge that startled her. She pictured wealthy billionaires as older men who sat at desks all day ruling their empire from a high-powered computer. Even Trent’s grandfather didn’t fit the image she’d had. If Trent hadn’t told her how ill James was, Cassie would have thought him fitter than most men his age.

As for Trent, the only thing about him that fit her mental picture was the close cut of his hair at the sides. The dark locks were a bit longer on top, however. She’d touched just enough of his body when they’d nearly taken a tumble together to know that beneath the fitted slacks, starched white shirt and tailored jacket, he was solid muscle. Not at all what she expected of a man who spent his time in the office. But he definitely moved like a man who had mastered his body in the bedroom. Her cheeks warmed. Those were the kinds of thoughts that would get her booted faster than Teri Gallagher had been. She started when Trent rose. His gaze shifted and she focused so hard on the glasses she stacked that her neck tensed.

“He’s not paying the slightest attention to you,” she whispered. “Your place is behind the scenes.” The invisible girl. Her job was to make sure the champagne flowed and the plates of hors d'oeuvres remained filled. Most guests now filtered back into the ballroom from the formal dining room where the buffet was being served. They were now enjoying cocktails and dancing. Through it all, Cassie remained keenly aware of Trent, and the shock she’d felt when he’d called her darling. She hazarded a glance in the direction he’d been sitting and released a slow breath when she discovered he’d left that group.

“There you are. Cassie, I’ve been looking for you.”

Cassie spun at the gravelly voice behind her. James Weston stood at the bar, with Annie beside him. Her heart began to pound. “Mr. Weston, you should be resting.”

“I told you to call me Granddad.”

The bartender cast a curious glance her way. By all that was unholy, how was she going to explain this?

“He insisted,” Annie said. “Said he had to be with his granddaughter-in-law.”

The bartender’s gaze snapped onto her, but Cassie forced a smile as her heart thundered, and said, “And that would be me?” Even to her own ears, it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“I told you,” he said to Annie. “Now leave us.” He clasped Cassie’s hand then curled it around the crook of his arm. “Shall we dance?”

Cassie chuckled. “I think we’d both be in trouble. Let’s sit by the fire.” Along the wall opposite the bar, a fire burned in the mammoth stone hearth. Clustered seating encircled the area.

Cassie helped him into a plush loveseat with a low back. He patted the space next to him. “Tell me about you.”

A server walked past with a tray of canapés.

“I thought they were serving dinner,” he said.

“Yes, there’s a buffet in the formal dining room. Lobster tails and sea bass, garlic butter asparagus—”

He smiled broadly. “Perfect. Will you have dinner with me?”

Cassie started. Dinner? She glanced around the room. Where was Trent? He wouldn’t be pleased that his grandfather was out of bed.

James rose, forcing her to follow suit. “Should we find Trent?” How was she supposed to get out of this without weaving more into Trent’s tapestry of lies?

Once again, James tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and started away. “Trent is fine.” He leaned close and whispered, “I know when you’re in love it’s hard to be apart, but you’ll have plenty of time to spend with him later. Do you like Brettonwood, lass?”

She nodded. “What’s not to like? It’s a castle.”