For Alice Tate, sleeping past six a.m. on any given day was considered sleeping in. Even on weekends, she rarely rose after six thirty, regardless of what she had done the night before. So, when she opened her eyes to a clock that read almost nine a.m., she realized that the previous night must have been one for the history books.

Her suspicions were only confirmed when a decidedly larger form shifted in bed behind her. The dark-haired woman sat up slowly, draping long raven waves over her shoulder before she gazed over at the figure sharing her bed with a sigh.

She could barely remember his name – Daniel something or other. He was the lead guitarist for some up and coming rock band that played at a function she’d been invited to the previous night. It had been a long while since she’d enjoyed the company of a man as musically talented as he was – and as physically arresting to boot.

Even now, she could appreciate his long, lithe limbs, leanly muscled chest and that careless fall of blonde hair. Daniel was American, and Americans were usually entertaining enough to garner her attention for at least a few weeks, but this one had been too inebriated to do much of anything last night.

That much she remembered. With a long-suffering sigh, the young woman slipped from bed, wondering how much longer her guest would be sleeping. She was fonder of men who woke before she did and slipped out, than she was of those who lingered with romantic notions. They might think they were giving her the slip, but in Alice’s opinion, they were doing her a favor. She didn’t need to be burdened by men who thought they needed her.

Naked, she padded across the room to the immense drapes that covered the window before yanking them open with gusto. Instantly, the entirety of the ornate bedroom suite was filled with bright morning sunlight. The man in her bed groaned, immediately diving under a pillow to block out the light and she scowled.

So much for her attempts to be subtle.

If he wasn’t going to take her subtle hints, she would have to resort to less than ladylike means to get him out of her penthouse. Luckily enough for Alice, she had someone willing to do her dirty work for her.

Still, stark as the day she was born, she pranced across the suite to open the door and start down the hallway. There was only one other resident of the penthouse besides herself, and at the sight of her without a stitch of clothing on, he merely exhaled a long-suffering sigh.

“Where is your robe, Miss Tate?”

Alice merely yawned, stretching to her full, diminutive height of five feet three inches as she attempted to ease her sore muscles. “I can’t find it. Did you have it sent to the cleaners, Tom?”

His dark eyes held not the slightest hint of predatory or sexual interest. Instead, the tall, slim, middle-aged man before her merely turned to the linen closet without a word and extracted a deep blue silk kimono hanging from a hook. “Here’s a spare. I’ll see to it immediately.”

“Thank you, Tom.” She plucked the garment from his fingertips, swinging it around her body to belt it around her waist. The garment had been a gift to her from one of her many admirers, and the Versace silk was smooth and buttery against her skin. “Can you also please see to the guest in my room? My schedule’s been thrown off, and I’ll be in my study.”

“Of course, Miss Tate.” Beaming, Alice rested a hand on the tall man’s shoulder, and he dutifully lowered his cheek to present to her for a kiss.

“You’re an angel, Tom.”

“Thank you, Miss Tate.”

In her world of glitz and glamour, very little was as depicted in the movies and film. Alice had long learned that things were rarely as they seemed when money was involved. It was one thing to be born into the lap of luxury, have a silver spoon shoved in one’s mouth, and live off your family’s fortune forever. It was quite another to make your own way in the world; and regardless of what path you chose, one always had to be careful. There was a high chance of the riches overwhelming one’s individuality.

But Alice had never encountered that problem.

Even if she didn’t rule upon high, from a plush Hermes chair barking orders to interns and only eating from gold dishes, one of the many perks that actually existed in her world was the luxury of well-trained, professional butlers.

Tom was a gem, and she wouldn’t trade him for the world. In the five years the man had worked for her, he’d seen everything under the sun. In all honesty, she in her birthday suit was comparably tame when juxtaposed to some of the things he walked in on.

But true British butlers were a rare breed. Classically trained and completely resistant to any ruffling, they were loyal, efficient, and, in the modern era, almost completely monopolized by the royal family.

But Alice was a Tate.

In her opinion, the best thing her name afforded her was the right to employing a man like Tom.

A man who could hand a naked woman a robe in the morning, serve her tea, and eject her unwanted guest.

Life was bliss.

When Alice shut herself into her study, she shut out memories of last night’s boozy and somewhat underwhelming event, and settled at her desk.

Her study was her favorite room in the penthouse. Of course, when she purchased the property, her properly posh, countess mother had gushed over the terrace and the entertaining space. But Alice herself had only been interested in the workspace.

Her penthouse had been her first major real estate purchase with her own money – a declaration of her spreading her wings, and a physical representation of her success as an up and coming fashion designer. All the young woman had ever wanted throughout her pampered youth was to make a name for herself – to escape the thumb of her overbearing, title-obsessed parents and find what she truly loved in life.

It had taken her until she finished school with a degree that she had no interest in to finally discover what she was passionate about, but once he had, Alice hadn’t looked back.

Fashion.

Fashion made the world go around.

When she was a child, carted from class to class that her mother dictated she take to fit into the right crowds, one thing that had always helped to pacify her – to calm her when she was at her most rebellious – was observing the high fashion of the women around her. Modern high society British noblewomen could be stuck up twats, but their clothes?

Dear God, their clothes.

Alice had learned from an early age that Louis Vuitton was king and Atelier was God. That a good pair of pumps could make or break a woman, and that the right pair of calfskin gloves could have all eyes on you. Even when she resented her mother and father for making her take ballet and French, she would sneak into their room to run her hands over the gorgeous gowns and jackets they wore to events and even their usual garb.

She would never forget the day her persnickety mother had found her trying on one of her Chanel jackets. One would think the uptight countess would have lost her mind, but instead, she merely told her ten-year-old daughter that she could never wear a camel colored jacket with purple pants. It was simply unheard of. That clarified, she’d redressed Alice in a black dress, strung her with a strand of her own real pearls and replaced the jacket on her shoulders.

It was one of few fond memories Alice had of the countess. Her childhood had mostly consisted of moments of her mother trying to mold her in her image while Alice fought back tooth and nail. At the time, she told herself she fought for both she and her brother, who had always been pretty complacent when it came to their parents. But Mike had recently blown all of that out of the water when he’d gone gallivanting to the Dark Continent on the whims of a woman.

And not just any woman –Rose Lithgall. A noblewoman and their parents’ front-running choice for his wife.

Of course, things hadn’t worked out exactly as Mother and Father had planned. Rose wasn’t exactly the picture of a high society lady. On the contrary, she was against the status quo and everything involved with it. She was noble by birth and blood, but she was far more comfortable in a third world country doing charity work than she was hobnobbing it with the royals at Buckingham Palace.

In fact, she was only in London now because she was about six months pregnant with Mike’s child and they were planning their wedding. Somehow, Michael had let the Lithgalls and his own parents wheedle him and his bride to be into coming back from the-middle-of-fucking-nowhere Thailand.

And Alice was glad. She adored her brother without question. As much as he might annoy her, she considered him one of her best friends, and she absolutely loved his bride-to-be as well.

In fact, Rose was one of the reasons she’d been so eager to get to her study this morning. If she’d woken when she usually did, Alice might have been able to get an earlier start on finalizing the designs she’d been working on for the past few weeks. She had promised Rose a new line of maternity clothes before her daughter was born, and now her time was running woefully short!

Of course, Cat had complained that Alice didn’t design her maternity clothes, and so the young woman knew that she would have to specialty make a dress for her dear friend as soon as she was done with her current task. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to go through the woman’s arrogant and pretentious husband in order to talk to her.

At the thought, Alice grinned. She simultaneously loved and hated Elias. The billionaire architect was one of many braggarts she knew in the world of the extraordinarily rich; and if he wasn’t careful, people would find out that he wasn’t nearly as much of a windbag as he put himself forth to be. Somehow, Alice let her brother and Cat convince her that the man was a stand-up person.

As long as she didn’t have to do the standing.

As things stood, Alice planned to release the designs she created for Rose as part of her new collection. She didn’t know why it had never occurred to her before to start a maternity line, especially with the frequency with which her friends and family were turning up with buns in their ovens.

Fondly, the dark-haired woman smiled at a picture on the corner of her desk that showed her with her brother and Cat, as she was cradling her friend’s baby boy on her lap. Everyone had bloody baby fever and here she was struggling to get the flavor of the night out of her apartment.

But honestly, Alice enjoyed her solitude. She prided herself on it. As her parents had always pressed her brother to get married in order to continue the family line, she’d enjoyed a more relaxed foray into adulthood. Even when her parents had pressured her, they hadn’t done it very attentively- they’d been far too focused on Michael for that.

And now it was too late.

The Duke and the Countess had learned a resoundingly severe lesson from trying to interfere in Michael’s affairs. The scandal had, ultimately, resulted in what they wanted, but that was only after they had nearly lost everything, revealed that Michael was, in fact, a Russian adoptee, and betrayed his trust and respect so profoundly that he almost absolved himself of them altogether. In Alice’s eyes, it was fitting that such a man become heir to the Tate name. It just went to show that the Tates needed to hold themselves in check when it came to meddling with their children, lest they end up with no Tate heir at all.

As Alice was working on a bit of gorgeous shading for a deep purple, autumn maxi-dress, a brisk knock came on her study door.

“Come in.”

The double doors swung open to reveal Tom. He was, as always, dressed impeccably, without a hair out of place. He carried her breakfast tray in one hand and her mail in the other.

A wonderful British butler was indeed a thing of beauty, and Alice stopped to admire the man’s poise as he all but glided across the room. “I’ve seen your guest out, madam. And also taken the liberty of preparing your breakfast: wheat toast and two three-minute eggs, as well as fresh chamomile tea with soymilk.” He set the tray ever so gently on her desk before uncovering it and pouring her an excellent spot of tea.

“Bless you, Tom.”

“As you say, Miss Tate.”

If she could, Alice would take Tom everywhere with her – but her parents were reluctant to allow him in the family manor, where he would be impeding on their family butler’s domain. There were few other times where she left London for more than a week or so – after all, her studio was here, as well as her family and everything she held dear.

“Can you please lay out my beige Louboutins, the ones with the four-inch heels, as well as the cream Prada shift?”

“Of course, my lady.” With a deep bow, the man quietly left the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

As Alice enjoyed her breakfast, she pondered what was on her docket for the rest of the day. She had a skype meeting with one of her junior designers in about two hours, after which she would spend the rest of her afternoon in the studio, going over the final designs for her new collection. She planned to spend the rest of the week in working seclusion, emerging only to have dinner with Michael and Rose at the end of the week at one of her favorite restaurants. It was then that Rose promised to tell her some of the names they were considering for their daughter, and Alice hoped that some of the collection would be ready for her future sister-in-law.

It would be the perfect ending to a very productive week.

As she nibbled on her toast, Alice sifted through her mail. There were several invitations to upcoming galas, a bill or two, a letter from her grandmother, and the daily paper.

She arched a brow upon seeing herself on the front page holding hands with blonde Daniel.

The picture had obviously been taken the previous afternoon when she was on her way out of the party with him. Luckily, she didn’t look too terribly intoxicated, and Daniel looked handsome enough – eager to be home so he could have his way with her.

The headline for the paper read Tate Heiress Finally Snatched for Good?

Alice snorted into her tea in mirth. It seemed like every week the British tabloids were intent on her being off the market “for good.” Of course, they could never prove any extenuating connections with the men they photographed her with, but that didn’t stop them from printing the stories. Alice doubted she would even see Daniel a second time, if ever. The sex had been completely uninspiring, and though the man was a talented guitarist, there wasn’t much else upstairs.

Men like Daniel were a common product of British high society. He wasn’t a noble or a royal, but he was famous, and under that fame, there was very little depth of character. Alice prided herself on being an excellent judge of character. All of her favorite people were excellent – her brother, Elias’ wife Catherine, a number of her close fashion friends, her future sister-in-law – they never had any problems impressing her.

Most men, on the other hand, already had quite a lot riding against them. The boys in the circles Alice ran in intended to be self-absorbed, prideful, and dull to the point of inciting suicide. They expected women to flock around them like flies and yet did nothing to garner any type of awe or intrigue. Generally, they made her flee in the opposite direction, and if she happened to decide to jump into bed with one of them, she was usually disappointed.

With a sigh, Alice flipped open the paper to read the new beyond the cover story. Unsurprisingly, there was a full half-page feature about her brother’s upcoming wedding, which she read with no small amount of interest. Next to the story was a picture of Michael and Rose walking in Hyde Park together. At the sight of her brother’s obviously elated smile, as he looked upon his bride-to-be, Alice’s lips curved upward fondly. Michael was so in love that it made her heart hurt just to look at him. She was happy for him. After all, a mere year ago the man had insisted that he would die alone and be buried with his surgical instruments.

He might have been a tad dramatic, but he was so picky when it came to women. At a certain point, Alice had considered that the man might be asexual.

But no. It had just taken a very specific atmosphere for Michael to find what he was looking for.

And now that he had, her brother never ceased to hound her about when she would find the one.

Alice thoroughly enjoyed laughing off his every inquiry. She was just a year shy of her thirtieth birthday, attractive and successful. What need did she have for a husband?

And even, Alice considered, if she did want one, where on earth was she to find him. She’d travelled to half the countries in the world, met sheikhs, princes, and billionaires, and she’d yet to find a man that made her knees weak.

Perhaps there was some small part of her that wanted a man to look at her like her brother looked at Rose, but her brother as one of the rare few men in the world to garner Alice’s admiration – and she was related to him. In reality, she barely had the time for romance. She was too busy being a socialite, media idol, and world famous designer.

If that didn’t fulfill her, what could a man possibly bring to the table?

 

**

 

He was absolutely knackered.

Yawning widely, Russell forced himself to look over the forms on the computer screen before him with burning eyes. He’d been up all night with nary a cup of coffee to keep him going, and now, he was certain that his body was about to fail him. Though he worked out regularly and took care of himself, there was no substitute for a good night’s sleep.

But he couldn’t sleep. Not now. The Academy Awards were in less than a week, and he had to make sure that all of the appearances were lined up. He was an integral part of the planning committee and agent to some of Hollywood’s biggest superstars.

Which meant that, even if they could sleep, he certainly couldn’t.

With a wide yawn, the tall, broad man stood up, sending an e-mail before he stretched his long limbs languishingly. It was almost eight in the morning. If he was going to continue like this, he damn well needed some caffeine.

And quite possibly another ten hours in a day.

While his coffee brewed, Russell stood before the floor to ceiling windows in his living room, looking out over the traffic of Fifth Avenue below. He loved New York City – always had. When many of his colleagues in the industry suggested that living in LA would be better for his career, he told them to bugger off. New York always had and would hold his heart.

After London, of course. There was no replacing the city of one’s birth.

Though born and raised in England, Russell had pond-jumped over to the USA as soon as he was finished with university, hell bent on making his way in the west. At the time, he hadn’t been quite sure what he was going to do, but after meeting an agent by happenstance at a party, everything had clicked.

At the time, he’d been young and impressionable, convinced that he could do absolutely anything. He hadn’t known the meaning of the world failure.

But he had learned.

Russell couldn’t count the number of times he’d failed trying to get ahead in his business. Good agents were few and far between. They had connections, they knew where to go to catch the big fish, and they never, ever gave up. These were habits that he had worked hard to instill in himself – but nonetheless, he hadn’t landed his first big client until he was in his late twenties.

Now he was almost forty, and after twelve years of wheeling and dealing, he was at the top of his game. It didn’t matter if he wanted to live in New York instead of LA – his clients flew out to him without a single complaint.

It was gratifying to be good at what one did, and knowing that he had worked hard, despite coming from a privileged background, tended to impress more people than simply waving around one’s credentials.

But even after how far he had climbed, he still refused to leave the grunt work to people beneath him. It was important to Russell that he be deeply involved in every detail of setting up events and choosing projects for his clients.

Which was why he never got any proper sleep.

When his coffee finished brewing, Russell inhaled the heavenly aroma as he poured himself a cup. He might be native British, but in his profession, sometimes tea didn’t cut it. There were days when one needed strong, concentrated caffeine to get through the day.

As he took a long, satisfying sip of coffee, he paused to examine his reflection in the mirror above the sitting area.

His peers always told him that he didn’t, and would never look his age. Russell had to admit that not seeing a single gray hair at thirty-nine was a blessing most men didn’t get the chance at. His thick, dark mahogany hair curled about his collar and was in need of a trim. In his opinion, the color accentuated the honey color of his eyes. Eyes, his mother always impressed upon him, that were made to break hearts.

Russell didn’t know how many hearts he was going to break, but he looked good for his age. He kept his cheeks clean-shaven with just the barest hint of a moustache and goatee. He was tall and lean from the swimming and tennis he enjoyed during his spare time and, after a full eight hours of sleep, he liked to think he could look quite dapper when dressed for an event.

Luckily, there were no women he needed to impress just now – unless you counted his clients who were waiting to hear what awards they were presenting. Russell’s duty would always be to them first and foremost. His job was important to him – everything else could come after.

Of course, to be seen working with some of the most beautiful women in the world was to be connected to them. It didn’t matter to the media if they were married or not. Whenever Russell was photographed with a starlet, inevitably, it had to be because they were having an affair. After twelve years, he had learned to simply shrug off the gossip. His clients found it amusing most of the time – except for the one or two times a genuinely shaky relationship had been shunted even more off-kilter by the rumors. In those instances, Russell was pretty certain that his clients were better off without those trappings. No one needed an insecure partner on their arm.

Why on earth would he have machinations on the women who made his career? He might have been insulted by the media’s assumption that he couldn’t get his own woman if he could bring himself to care that much.

But Russell supposed that, in his lack of significant other, he invited the stories and the scandal. He never stayed with one woman for long – perhaps because he couldn’t truly satisfy them.

It wasn’t that he didn’t respect them. Russell’s mother had raised him to put women on a pedestal, and he was more than happy to do so. But he could never really raise any true interest in any one woman. The moment she saw that he wasn’t willing to commit, almost every woman he dated burst into tears, threatened and cajoled, and eventually took their leave.

It was an irksomely predictable pattern, but one he couldn’t avoid.

When it came to women, Russell pleased only himself – and it pleased him to keep his private matters private.

No one had ever come closer to him than in his youth.

But that had been a long time ago, and he had learned from that particular, agonizing pain.

He finished his coffee quickly before settling back down at the computer. Luckily, the awards panel had already answered his e-mail. It looked like he wasn’t the only one working overtime.

It pleased him to know there were people in the business that took their jobs at least as seriously as he did.

When all of this was over, he’d definitely be due a vacation. But, for the first time in a long time, Russell considered returning to London over somewhere balmy and tropical. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his little jaunts to exclusive beach resorts – he just realized that it had been a shockingly long time since he’d been home. He’d been so wrapped up in work that he hadn’t noticed, and now, when he struggled to recall…he realized that it had been something like two years.

That wouldn’t do at all.

When he was finished with the awards, he’d book a ticket to London and visit his family. His clients knew how to contact him, and if there was any direly pressing emergency, he could always fly back to New York.

Yes.

That sounded absolutely splendid.

 

**

 

“Oh my God, Alice. I love it.”

With a smug smile, Alice watched her future sister-in-law, Rose Lithgall, run her hands over the exquisitely twisted bodice of one of the dresses she made for her. Of course, she’d known that Rose’s taste catered more towards the simple, so she chose to save some of the most elaborate pieces in the collection for later perusal. It seemed she’d made the right choice.

Rose had completely forgotten the sparkling water and salad she was enjoying in favor of admiring the piece, and at her side, her fiancé frowned.

“Isn’t the neckline a bit low?”

Alice laughed at his overprotective nature. “Fashionably low, darling. It will show off her figure wonderfully.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed in warning, and he took a very threatening bite of his salad. “I’m going to marry her. Who else needs to see her figure besides me?”

“Oh, Michael.” Rose slapped his shoulder gently. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

“Yes, Michael.” Alice was enjoying this entirely too much. “Do calm down.”

“You’re the devil.” Michael pointed first at his sister, and then his fiancée as they shared a grin. “Both of you.”

They were having an enchanting evening. Alice had just managed to finish all of her work for the week and make it to their reservation on time. She had ordered her favorite broiled scallops and could already taste them, even with the tart tang of her salad’s vinaigrette lingering in her mouth.  “Oh, Michael, calm down. I’m sure Rose will try it on for you first before anyone else.”

“She’d better,” her brother grumbled, taking a sip of his wine. Rose merely sighed, gazing at the libation longingly, and Alice chuckled, patting her round tummy.

“Three more months, darling. Then, I swear, I’ll monopolize the little darling and you can have all the Rose your heart desires.”

Michael rolled his eyes playfully. “I won’t have you turning my daughter into a high maintenance social butterfly.” He jibed, gesturing to the waiter to fulfill his glass. “She’s going to be her own woman.”

“Of course, she will!” Alice immediately agreed without reservation. “A very fashionable woman.”

Rose merely smiled, taking another bite of her salad.

As they continued their leisurely meal, Alice introduced a few more of the pieces she’d brought with her. Rose was particularly enamored of a yellow top with easy access for nursing and a pair of comfortable, stretchy wool leggings. Michael was forced to admit that the purple dress was gorgeous and, he admired a more form fitting, long sleeved, wine colored dress.

At his choice, Rose merely grimaced slightly. “That will show all my bumps and lumps.”

In response, the man only bit at her neck playfully. “I adore all your bumps and lumps.”

Alice merely rolled her eyes, feigning disgust. “Honestly, you two. Save it for the wedding night.”

“And every night,” Michael piped up gaily, making his bride-to-be blush.

“Not the night of October second,” Alice chimed authoritatively. “You’ll be busy that night.”

“Will we?” Michael arched a brow in wary intrigue as he raised his head from Rose’s neck. “And what, pray tell, will we be doing?”

Alice chose that point to pin her brother with the most charming smile in her repertoire.  “Well, I only assume that you’ll want to come, of course. I don’t mean to force anything on you.”

And truly, she didn’t. But, sometime in the past week, she’d come up with a marvelous idea made even more so by the prospect that her brother and his intended might attend.

“Well, while I was designing this week, I came up with a marvelous idea for how to debut my new line!”

Her brother, of course, looked far less enthusiastic than her about the prospect, but that seemed to happen whenever she wanted something from him, in all honesty. Considering that she was the one who had snapped him out of his woe-is-me funk and sent him after the woman of his dreams, he practically owed her one.

When Michael didn’t inquire as to her wonderful idea, Rose gave him a stern look before turning back to Alice with a smile. “What is it?”

Alice beamed. “A fashion-show fundraiser!”

Immediately, the blonde’s face lit up, and Alice knew that she’d hit the jackpot. Regardless of whether Michael wanted to go or not, if it was for a good cause, his fiancée was likely to want to be front and center. Rose was such a giving person and an absolute dear. “What a wonderful idea!”

“Why do we need to be there?” Michael was only half teasing as he winked at his sister, partaking of his second glass of wine.

“Oh, come on, you adore fundraisers. We could send money to the Congo! They do love you there.”

Though Alice was serious, her brother flinched slightly. Though the man who had done so had been long arrested, it was a Congolese militiaman who had exposed the fact that he was adopted to the rest of the world – much to their parents’ shame. “I’m not allowed back for the next five years,” he grumbled lowly. “I’ll remind you.”

“And since you can’t go in person,” Alice returned sweetly, “It would be prudent, then, to show your support by sending what you can their way. Perhaps they’ll be lenient with you.”

Rose winced. “Somehow, I doubt it.”

“Well, that’s alright. I wouldn’t want Mum and Dad to send me after you again anyway.” She chose to change the subject quickly rather than linger where it hurt. “But the fundraiser could still be amazing. We could have people bid on the sample pieces, and all the proceeds could go to an African cause. You two can help me host it. It will be amazing.”

And it would. Though Alice wasn’t usually the biggest fan of stuffy fundraisers, she could see herself enjoying one with Rose and her brother by her side. It would be one of the premier fall events in London – a way to debut her line and raise money for a wonderful cause. She would be keeping busy between the release of her fall and spring lines and, atop that, she would get to spend time with the people she loved the most.

“I don’t see any reason why not.”

When Rose agreed almost immediately, her fiancé looked somewhat alarmed. “I can. By that time, you’ll be almost seven months pregnant. Will it be healthy to be on your feet all the time?”

In answer, Rose merely glared at him. “Do you honestly expect me to spend my last trimester lounging around your flat like an invalid?”

Alice hid her smile behind her wine glass. Hopefully, her brother was smart enough to know not to answer that question. Instead, Michael merely took a large bite of his meal before clearing his throat. “No, of course not.” He turned to Alice, clearly beaten. “Alright, you win, Ali. We’ll help out.”

The small woman threw her arms around her brother, squeezing him tightly. “You’re a darling. I adore you.”

Michael accepted her affection good-naturedly. “Until I piss you off, you do.”

She never denied that she was volatile. Funny that Michael should mention that when he was actually one of the men she wasn’t usually annoyed with.

“So, now that that’s settled,” she turned to Rose with a conspiratorial grin. “Baby names. What on earth have you two come up with?”

They had come up with quite a lot, actually. The front-runners were Victoria, Annette and Elizabeth – all classic English names. Alice, for her part, contributed a few more exotic choices like Jasmine, Lily and Margot.

They spent the rest of the evening lingering leisurely over their dinner while Rose planned the wines she would have once the baby was born. Though Rose had always been a ball of energy, Alice was sure that growing a new life inside her was no easy feat. When Rose began to nod, she respectfully paid the tab and saw the couple on their way.

They were outside, waiting for a taxi when Michael started in on her. Honestly, Alice was surprised she’d escaped the prying for the entirety of dinner.

“Saw a picture of you with your new blonde flavor,” he commented off-handedly. His sister immediately shot him a warning glance, her blue eyes narrowing.

“He’s not my flavor. And please, don’t, Michael. Not today.”

With a sigh, her brother turned back to wave at his fiancée, seated on a bench by the curb.  “If you get to recruit me for your fashion show, can’t I at least ask a few questions to see how you’re doing in return?’

A few? Somehow, with Michael, a few always turned into a bloody interrogation. How was he so wonderfully adept at guilt tripping her? When she thought about it, Alice supposed it had something and everything to do with the man being her brother, blood be damned.

“So ask.” Even as she invited him, Alice crossed her arms over her chest confrontationally, anticipating a lengthy lecture.

“So…you’re not dating the blonde?”

She could have groaned aloud. “No, Michael. I’m not dating him. I have no idea when they snapped that picture.”

“But you’re at least interested in him?” Her brother rebutted. “You were seen with him.”

“I’m seen with a lot of people, “Alice returned carefully. For all she could advise her brother on how best to keep Rose happy, he was convinced that he could butt into her love life as well. It would be one thing if she actually had a boyfriend – and if Michael were friends with him, like she and Rose. But this…this was just torture.

“And are you interested in any of them?”

Alice frowned up at him breathy. She would think the answer to that particular question would be obvious.  “Michael, why does it matter who I’m interested in?”

“Because,” her brother’s hazel eyes flashed a surprising amount of concern. “I’m worried about you.”

Oh boy. Here it went. “Why,” Alice began warily, “Are you worried about me? I’m a healthy woman of almost thirty with my own career and a very tight rein of control over my life. What can you possibly worry about?”

“I worry that you’re not happy,” he replied succinctly, arching a brow as he crossed his own muscular arms over his chest. “That all this running around with everyone under the sun is dangerous. Don't you want a man who thinks the world of you?”

What woman didn’t want a man who would think the world of her? Alice would give it to her brother, it was a nice idea, but she wasn’t keen on staking her life on it.

“It’s not integral to my current plan, no. Michael, I appreciate your watching out for me but I can take care of myself, I assure you.”

“Can you?” Michael returned blithely, his eyes narrowing. “Of all the pictures I’ve seen of you with these guys, I haven’t seen a single image of you smiling. Would you care to explain that?”

She went rigid at his request, opening her mouth, then closing it, then opening it again. Of course, Michael would notice something so completely nonsensical and of course, she wasn’t smiling in any of those pictures! She was a busy woman – and even if she was headed off to be with a man, chances were, she was always pressed for time and bound for disappointment.

She realized somewhat dully that she hadn’t been smiling in her picture with Daniel either. She’d been inebriated and headed home with a gorgeous man on a Thursday night- and she was scowling as if the entire world had gone sour on her.

Had her time with Daniel really been that bad? Not really. But it had been nothing to write home about either…and when she’d woke the next morning to kick him out of her apartment, there had been a part of her that felt somewhat…empty.

“Alice?” She flinched, returning to the present to see Michael staring down at her, his gaze entirely too perceptive for his own good. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Her tone was immediately defensive. “Perfectly fine.”

“…and there’s no one you’re seriously interested in?”

Alice blew out a breath, shoving dark hair back from her brow aggressively. “No, Michael. No one. Are you satisfied now?”

“Not really.” With that, a taxi finally came their way and her brother sighed, shaking his head. While Alice was all but ready to storm off at his obvious disdain, she was surprised when her brother caught her by the shoulder, pressing an achingly tender kiss to her forehead. “You know you can call me if you need anything, right?”

She was too shocked to answer him in that exact moment – and, all at once, Rose appeared at his shoulder. “You finally got one? You win, darling. Next time we can take the car.” She looked absolutely exhausted and Michael immediately turned his attention to her to help her into the darkly colored vehicle. Before he joined her, however, Michael shot his sister a small, reassuring smile. “Anything, Alice. Understand?”

Wordlessly, she nodded. And then, just like that, Michael shut the door, rolling the window down. “Night, Ali.”

“Goodnight Alice!” As Rose called over his shoulder, the taxi pulled away from the curb and sped off into the darkness, leaving Alice standing under the awning of the restaurant alone. With a small frown, Alice gazed after him.

Sometimes it was a blessing that her brother seemed to know her so well, and sometimes it was a curse.

Regardless, she wasn’t going to let his interrogation get her down. If he was so intent on her finding a man to spend her evening with, Alice could certainly oblige him. She had plenty of men in her address book, and she was sure any one of them would be thrilled to get a call from her.

Even if she wasn’t so thrilled to be making those calls.

 

**

 

Fall in London was just as brisk and refreshing as Russell remembered. He couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without returning. Of course, the city didn’t have as many distinct seasons as New York City, but he loved it no less. It was wonderful to have a few weeks off to explore the city he’d grown up in. London was changing so fast that he couldn’t keep up, and there was intrigue around every corner.

Since arriving, he’d already been invited to a number of exclusive fall events, but as he would only be in the city for three or four weeks, he’d have to pick and choose which ones he attended.

Despite his upbringing, Russell had never been one for boring parties where people droned on about how rich they were. Neither, for that matter, had his parents been. They were fairly novel in the fact that they were both modern nobility and close to the queen without being stuffy. He supposed he was luckier than most members of London gentry. However, his inclinations here weren’t towards the gentry. Russell hadn’t considered himself an aristocrat for some time, and he didn’t want to go to an aristocrat’s party.

Thankfully, a number of his friends and acquaintances had turned him towards events that were for people with more relaxed intentions.

Apparently, one of London’s hottest fashion designers – and a Tate to boot – was having a fundraiser to commemorate the launching of her fall line. Though Russell had never been one to gravitate towards fashion shows, this one’s coordinator intrigued him.

He’d heard Alice’s name a number of times in the past few years since she’d risen to stardom in the past decade or so. She designed for several of his clients, and for the past two years in particular, there had been a hankering for her gowns to wear to premieres and shows. Of course, he had never spoken to her directly. He always spoke to an assistant or one of her head designers. But seeing as how he happened to be out and about in Britain, he was intrigued by the opportunity to catch a glimpse of her.

He spent the afternoon before the function on the high street, people watching. Londoners were ever so different than New Yorkers. They were quieter and kept to themselves. The women were curvier – far from the stick thin models that were all the rage on the streets of Manhattan. For his part, Russell didn’t mind a woman with curves. In America, several of his clients were models and they often lamented that curvier women were sexier.

Russell found he wholeheartedly agreed.

He stopped in at a neighborhood pub for a pint and a pie before heading back to his hotel to get ready.

Only once, the entire day did the smile that graced his strong jaw falter. When he passed the intersection of Birch Lane and Eastern Avenue, he paused for just a fraction of a moment. Blue eyes narrowed, staring at the bustling traffic that wound through the crowded junction, and Russell’s brow darkened. Then, he hurried past, heading back to his room with due haste.

He spent the next hour or so in his suite, nursing a tall glass of whiskey on the rocks and regaining his composure. He supposed, if he were to be honest with himself, that this particular part of London constituted a good reason why he was reluctant to return sometimes. But, it had been at least a few months since he had last dwelt so seriously on the past.

After all, what use was there in remembering something that happened ages ago? Old wounds that still had the power to hurt were dangerous.

Which was why Russell preferred to live in the now.

And tonight promised to be interesting.

The hotel had his suit sent up pressed and fresh, and once he slipped into it, Russell felt like himself again. He examined his reflection in the mirror critically and decided that he looked presentable. More than presentable.

He drove his rental car to the venue and pronounced himself duly impressed. It was a new building – one of many built by renowned English architect Elias Johnson. The concert hall was done in a classic, modern style with high vaulted windows and an open-air entryway that was strung with red and purple silk.

It must have been built in a hurry, he surmised, as the construction had been finished only in the past year. Russell heard through the grapevine that Elias, once an infamous playboy, had finally been nailed down. Not only that, but he was the proud father to a bouncing baby boy.

Would wonders never cease.

The venue was just as beautiful outside as it was inside, with red and purple being the obvious color theme. He handed over his invitation at the door and was immediately surrounded by some of the movers and shakers of Britain’s tight knit fashion world. Of course, there were a few movie stars and members of the gentry thrown in, but the affair was nothing like the stuffy parties he remembered attending in his youth. There was rousing music, quite a few people were dancing, and people were already speculating about what Alice Tate’s new collection might look like.

Russell wound his way to the bar and acquired a glass of champagne before heading back to the floor to mingle. When he laid eyes on a familiar head of vibrant red hair and a pair of stunning blue eyes, he grinned. It took him less than a minute to make his way over to the enchanting woman and tap her shoulder.

When she turned, a delighted smile split her face. “Russell, darling! What are you doing here?”

“I am enjoying some well-deserved time off.” He pecked her cheek with familiarity. “So, don’t you dare utter a word about work.”

Amelia Charter, one of the world’s most successful stage actresses and one of his premier clients, winked winningly at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it. How often do I get to see you when you’re not telling me what to do?”

Despite her teasing, Amelia was actually one of his easier clients to work with. She was exceedingly talented but remarkably humble for a woman of her accomplishments. Even though she wasn’t yet thirty, she had more than sixty prestigious roles to her name, and had performed both at the Globe Theater and on Broadway. “Almost never.” Raising his glass of champagne, he toasted her. “To lovely holidays.”

Amelia laughed gaily, clinking her glass against his before taking a frothy sip. “Lovely holidays indeed.” There was a little conversation that followed until each of them finished their drink, and Russell found himself glad that he was in an atmosphere where he didn’t have to worry about who saw him drinking. That was the old English nobility.

They were the new.

“So how long will you be in London for this time? I know I’m starting a new run in a few weeks so it can’t be for very long.” Amelia grinned prettily as she munched on a canapé. 

“Only about two weeks,” he replied, with no little amount of regret. “Then I’m off to a film premier. I’m actually booked in to fly to Scotland tomorrow morning to check on a client of mine, so there’s no real time off for me.” Indeed, when Lila had called him, Russell agreed to meet her without question. Whether he was on vacation or not, he prided himself on being available. There was that, and the idea that his clients couldn’t make decisions that might come back to bite them when he was standing right there.

“You’re a workaholic,” Amelia lamented with a long-suffering sigh. Around her, no less than five men waited, practically salivating, for the opportunity to speak with her. She had just broken up with her long-time boyfriend of four years – an American actor with a penchant for younger women. In the six months that she’d been single, she’d already fielded half a dozen marriage proposals.

“I love what I do.” He provided, smirking slightly at their audience. He wondered if any of the men surrounding them believed the tabloid stories that he and Amelia were secret lovers. While the vivacious redhead was, indeed, gorgeous, they were nothing more than close friends.

“Well, that’s something found more and more seldom these days. It’s something you and Alice have in common.”

He arched a brow at the mention of the Tate designer’s name. “Alice?”

“Oh. Oh.” Amelia’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve never met her? Didn’t you speak to her when she designed my gown for the Golden Globes last winter?”

Russell smiled. She knew bloody well that he’d never spoken directly to Alice Tate. He’d made mention of the fact to her several times, as well as lamenting how hard it was to get a gown from such an in-demand designer.

“So, are you going to introduce me, or not?”

Amelia giggled gaily and Russell was certain a few of her admirers had to keep themselves from pouncing on her. “Of course, silly.”

And just like that, he was in. It paid to have connections.

 

**

 

The event was looking to be a resounding success.

Her designs were a hit, and though Alice had been harried throughout the entire evening organizing the show, she regretted nothing. All in all, they had raised over sixty thousand pounds to send to relief efforts, and she had Rose to make sure all the funds went to the right place.

Speaking of her future sister-in-law, she looked even better than Alice might have dreamed in her purple gown, and she glowed with the health of her pregnancy. Alice supposed that Michael had every right to be worried that other men might steal his fiancée away – she got her share of longing glances as she mingled through the crowd, drawing both admiration and jealousy from a few of their more well-renowned female patrons.

Of course, Michael was right by her side for the duration of the event to serve as both her bodyguard and her escort. He was suitably charming, considering he was on the prowl for those he caught staring at his bride-to-be in the wrong way.

It was good two or three hours into the actual event before Alice was free to speak to them, and once she could, it was with a flute of champagne firmly in hand.

She was making her way across a crowded floor, fielding congratulations and requests for commissions, when she was poked firmly in the side. Immediately, she whirled with a scowl, only to light up when she saw who had come to find her.

“Amelia!”

She would know that vivid red hair and those gorgeous blue eyes anywhere. With little reservation, Alice wrapped her lifelong friend in an earnest embrace. “I’m so glad you could make it! How long has it been?”

“Ages.” The red-head grinned, kissing both of Alice’s cheeks soundly. “You look wonderful, my darling. Those pumps are beyond words.” They were, in fact, beyond words. Specially made for Alice by one of Louis Vuitton’s top designers, they were one of her favorite pairs.

“And you look stunning. But then again, you always look stunning.” Amelia was considered by many of the world’s self-appointed experts to be one of the most beautiful women on the planet. Atop that, she was a supreme stage talent and sang like an angel.

“Only when I’m wearing your gowns.” Alice was pleased to see that Amelia was, in fact, wearing a piece from her spring couture line. It was a deep navy number with a plunging neckline that she personally knew to be held up with a large quantity of double-stick tape and a prayer. It made Amelia’s cleavage look positively mouth-watering.

The two of them had been friends since grade school when Amelia was skinny and freckled and Alice lamented that her new teeth weren’t growing in straight. Alice had loved Amelia precisely because she didn’t come from a privileged background and couldn’t give a whit where her family went and who they were seen with. Of course, the Countess had only started paying attention to Amelia when her talent was noticed at a precocious nineteen years of age. By that point, she and Alice had been friends for over a decade.

“You’re always first on my design list.” She beamed at the red-head. “You’re a dream to dress.”

“Is that so?” Just then, Alice noticed that Amelia hadn’t sought her out alone. She was, in fact, on the arm of a very tall man with strikingly blue eyes and a dark goatee that gave him a rather roguish appearance. He was exceedingly handsome in a very swarthy way, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, clad in a Prada suit that had very clearly been cut for his body alone. “Perhaps the next time I’m out to get her clothed for a premier I can speak to you directly then?”

His voice was a deep, chocolatey tenor that send chills down her spine. Alice’s grin was instant and very feminine. “Amelia, I don’t believe I’ve met your friend.”

“So he’s told me.” Amelia shot her a secretive wink before tugging her accomplice forward. “Alice, this is Russell Darwell. Not only is he a dear friend, but he’s also my agent.”

Darwell…. the name sounded familiar. Alice recalled hearing it from several of her assistants during award ceremony season. “Russell, this is Alice Tate, one of my best friends and designer extraordinaire.”

“Charmed, Miss Tate. Your talents are in high demand.” He extended a hand for her to shake, and when Alice took it, she was immediately enveloped by his clean, spicy scent. It was a cologne she recognized – one of her favorite. He had good taste.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” It was, indeed, a pleasure to meet him. Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so intrigued by a man on appearance alone.  “Darwell…your surname sounds familiar.”

“I have family in London.” Part of her expected the man to start expounding on said family- it was what all moneyed men did when they wanted to impress women. Russell, however, merely left his explanation at that, breezing on to another subject. “But I hope you might have heard of me through my clients. I work with a number of individuals in the entertainment world. Amelia is, of course, the highlight of my day.”

The red-head boffed his chin gently, glowing in embarrassment. “Don’t say such things, Russ. You’ll put me on the spot.”

Well, wasn’t he a charmer? Alice wondered vaguely if he and Amelia were together. Her friend had just broken up with her long-time boyfriend, after all. Surprisingly, the thought made her feel just a hint of jealousy.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Russell took Amelia’s hand gallantly to kiss it before dropping it gently. He didn’t, Alice notice, linger or slobber all over the digit. And he didn’t bow and scrape in obeisance. Maybe it was true- he and Amelia were only friends. “Would either of you ladies like another drink?”

“I would love some more champagne.” Amelia gave Russell her sweetest smile and Alice couldn’t wholly believe he was unaffected by it. Some of the world’s most powerful men had fallen prey to that smile. “And I’m sure Alice would too.’

“I’ll go and fetch us some then, shall I?”  Inclining his head respectfully to them both, Russell then headed off into the crowd in search of more champagne.

And Alice released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding as she watched him walk away. It was fine – very fine, she realized, to watch him go. The man had a behind like iron. “Interested, are we?” When Amelia spoke what she was thinking, Alice turned to her guiltily.

“Was it that obvious?”

Amelia laughed good-naturedly. “Not terribly, if you must know. But I know you better than most.”

“Oh?” Alice arched a brow. “And you just happened to think that your agent was my type and brought him over to meet me?”

“Not precisely,” Amelia teased, her eyes gleaming with mirth. “He wanted to meet you. After requesting your gown designs so often I’m sure he was eager to put a name to a face.”

Alice smirked at her friend’s mischief. “And you were just ever so helpful.”

“Oh, stop it, Alice.” Amelia tapped her shoulder playfully a moment before her smile faded somewhat. “Honestly, I thought it was best that he caught a glimpse of you. You’re impressive enough to intimidate any man with adverse intentions.”

At that, Alice gazed at her friend skeptically. They were at a fashion show she had planned, surrounded by those who marveled at her success, and Amelia thought her agent might have some sort of ill-will towards her? She couldn’t imagine the man being so miffed just because she was hard to reach during awards season.

“You think he has some sort of grudge against me?”

Immediately, Amelia’s face pinched in disbelief. “Oh God, no. Nothing like that. It’s just…well…I didn’t bring him over for any attempt to get the two of you together. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Now Alice was genuinely confused. She had known Amelia for most of her life, and in that time, her friend had been instrumental in searching for eligible men with her. Though Alice wasn’t often impressed by men, if she was, it was more than likely that Amelia had introduced her to them.

But now she was saying she didn’t suggest Russell as a potential interest. “Is he really that dangerous?” She smiled craftily at the redhead. “I’m afraid you’re only further intriguing me.” And, indeed, she was. Alice had a penchant for chasing after bad boys that, while very cliché, could sometimes prove a welcome distraction from the every day.

Amelia merely sighed, fluffing her already impeccable curls. “You’re welcome to him, my dear, if that’s what you truly want – but I should warn you not to expect more than a one-night stand from the man.”

“Oh?” Alice straightened the neckline of her own dress – a gorgeous Armani frock that had been lent to her especially for this event. “Heartbreaker, is he?”

Amelia laughed softly, amused by her blatant curiosity. “Indeed not. I don’t think Russell could break a heart if he tried. He’s far too bloody polite.”

“Then what is it then?” Alice pressed her, gazing through the crowd in hopes of catching a glimpse of the man who had gone to get their drinks. “Don’t bait me, Amelia. I’m dying to know.”

“It’s nothing all that earth shattering.” The red-head returned, her blue eyes gleaming in the low light of the gallery. “Simply that I don’t want you to be disappointed. When it comes to Russell…there’s just not that much there. He’s reluctant to open up to anyone – at least anyone I know of. The man has been my agent for almost a decade and I don’t know a terribly huge amount about him.”

A mystery man, was he?

In Alice’s experience, mystery men maintained their allure for one of two reasons: they really had nothing to hide and merely kept to themselves to lure women closer or they were hopelessly socially inept. Interestingly enough, Russell didn’t seem like he fit into either one of those molds. Unfortunately, she didn’t get the chance to inquire further, as at that moment, Russell reappeared with two flutes of champagne in hand.

“Ladies.” He really was incredibly dapper. Alice wondered where he got his suits tailored and – funnily enough – exactly what family he had in London. She had never before wondered about someone’s lineage upon first meeting them. Rather, questions of family were those she tended to avoid.

After all, men didn’t tend to stay in her life for very long. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not at all.” Amelia cast him another charming grin. “We were just talking about you.”

“Nothing terribly bad, I hope.” When Russell handed her the sparkling flute, his hand lingered on hers for perhaps a minute more than required, and Alice caught his vivid blue gaze.

Now she was definitely intrigued. Amelia giggled at his comment, taking a sip of her own drink. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I daresay I would, ladies, but, unfortunately, I’ve seen someone I must say hello to. I’ll be back in a moment.” Just as quickly as he had appeared, he left – leaving Alice more than a little perplexed in his wake.

She hadn’t even gotten a chance to make a general assessment, leaving her with little more than Amelia’s character description to go on.

And that left her feeling more than a little putout.

Thankfully, that was not the end of Alice’s observation of the mysterious Russell Darwell. As she shared another flute of champagne with Amelia, catching up and promising to come to her next performance, she kept one eye on the object of her curiosity.

Darwell was indeed a wonder – there didn’t seem to be anyone he didn’t know. He flitted from group to group, talking to people who obviously knew his clients, to a few members of the British gentry, and some of the elite from Britain’s artistic community. Not only that, but he treated everyone with an astounding amount of respect and deference, never mind that he was probably one of the wealthiest and most influential people in the room.

When Alice thought it was impossible for her to be more interested in a single man, she happened to overhear Russell speaking French to one of her favorite Parisian models. Her name was Madeline, and though Alice adored having her in her shows, the young woman turned up her nose at anyone who spoke less than perfect French.

Though, Russell she didn’t seem to mind, tossing her raven hair and batting large brown eyes at him as they conversed fluently. Less than twenty minutes later, he had a conversation with a group of Spanish film critics without batting an eye. While Alice could attest to speaking a fair amount of both French and Spanish, she couldn’t switch back and forth with the effortlessness that Darwell managed. He either came from a family of incredibly high breeding or he was merely that intelligent.

Alice liked to entertain the latter possibility, though she considered it vastly less probable than the former.

He was, she acquiesced, a highly impressive individual. There wasn’t anyone he spoke with who wasn’t dazzled by him – quite the feat at a party she hosted.

Eventually, Amelia hurried away to entertain the group of men that trailed after her like a crowd of ducklings, leaving Alice to entertain her guests. The dark-haired woman, however, found her mind lingering on Darwell as she checked on Michael and Rose – and even as she dispensed her beloved samples to those who had won the high bids.

She was convinced that she might have to wonder about the man forever by the time the fundraiser began dying down. Alice was on her sixth drink and feeling very fine as she talked shop with one of her assistants when the younger woman looked over her shoulder in inquiry.

When Alice turned around, there he was.

Russell Bloody Darwell.

Perhaps it was the drink, but she thought he might have gotten more handsome as the night progressed.

“Mr. Darwell. I thought you might have left.” It was quite the fib, but it sounded lovely. “Enjoying your evening?”

Elysia seemed to sense that she should find need of her conversation elsewhere and left them alone near the stage – and for the first time the entire evening, Alice had the object of her attentions to herself.

Whatever would she do with him?