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Then he noticed how pale she was. He stopped just before they walked into the pool of golden light spilling out onto the beautiful enclosed courtyard of the castle. ‘Is something wrong?’
She shook her head and glanced at him briefly, shooting him a fake smile. ‘Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Because you look like you’re about to walk the plank rather than walk amongst your peers at one of the highest profile society events of the year.’
She made an inelegant snorting sound. ‘Peers? Don’t make me laugh.’
Luc was shocked at the bitter tone to her voice. He’d never heard it before. But before he could ask her what she meant, a young officious woman in a long violet gown was coming forward to greet them. She was the PR lady. ‘Mr Barbier, Miss O’Sullivan, we’re so grateful you could both join us at short notice. Please, do come this way.’
They were led through the marbled foyer into a huge ceremonial room where the drinks reception was being held before the dinner. Luc noticed people turning to look, and how their eyes widened when they saw who it was. He usually would have wanted to snarl at them that he had as much of a right to be here as they did. But for the first time, he found himself not really caring how they were looking at him.
He was too distracted by the woman by his side.
They were served with champagne and Nessa took her arm out of Luc’s. Perversely he wanted to take it back. She was looking up at him with a minute smile playing around her mouth. He said, ‘What?’
‘You said I looked as if I was about to walk the plank but you look as if you’re about to take someone’s head off.’
Luc relaxed his features, unnerved she’d read him so well.
‘Haven’t you been to this event before?’ she asked.
Luc took a healthy swig of champagne and shook his head. ‘No. They’ve never deigned to invite me. I was too much on the edges of acceptability for them.’
‘So you don’t want to be here?’
Luc looked out over the crowd and noted the furtive glances he drew. ‘Whether or not I want to be here is beside the point. I’ve worked as hard as anyone here, harder, perhaps. I deserve to be respected and not stared at like an exhibit in a zoo. I deserve to be here.’
As soon as he’d spoken, he was shocked he’d let the words spill out. In a bid to divert Nessa away from asking more questions, he turned to her. ‘What was that outside...? You made a comment.’
She flushed and took a sip of her own drink. Luc noted that her hands were tiny, with short, functional nails and clear varnish, unlike the elaborate claws many women sported. He also noticed that her hands looked softer already. His body thrummed with an arousal he was barely able to keep in check, especially when his taller vantage point gave him an all too enticing view of her cleavage.
‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’
Luc’s gaze narrowed on her. ‘Nessa...’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t count these people as my peers, not really.’
‘Why? You come from the same world. You have a family lineage in racing to rival any one of these guests.’
‘Perhaps. But that counts for nothing when you’re losing it all. When my father got ill and the stud started to go downhill, most of these people turned their backs on us, as if we were cursed. See that man over there?’
Luc followed her eyeline to a portly man with a face flushed from drink. The man caught Nessa’s eye and went even redder, sidling out of sight like a crab disappearing under a rock.
‘Who is he?’ Luc asked.
‘He’s P J Connolly. Used to be one of my father’s oldest friends. They grew up together. He runs the state-owned stud. He was in a position to help us out but he never did. It was only when Nadim bought us out and the farm started to recover that we became personae gratae again.’
Luc was stunned. He hadn’t expected to feel any sort of affinity with Nessa. He’d assumed she’d be air-kissing old friends and acquaintances within minutes, but she too knew how the cold sting of rejection felt.
She turned back to him then and looked up. ‘How do you know so much about horses? I can’t believe it was just through your work with Leo Fouret.’
Luc balked at her question. Most people were usually too intent on believing one of the many rumours about him to ask him such a question directly.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ he said with a lightness he didn’t feel. ‘I’m descended from gypsies.’
Nessa just looked at him and cocked her head to one side as if considering it. ‘I don’t think so.’
A weight lodged in Luc’s chest at her easy dismissal of such a lurid claim. At that moment the PR lady came back to them, smiling widely. ‘Mr Barbier, Miss O’Sullivan, there are a few people who would love to congratulate you on your win today. Please follow me.’
