Reunited With His Long-Lost Cinderella. Laura Martin
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of the estate manager she’d spent her summers playing with.
Ben. She looked up quickly, but the idea was absurd. This man, this charming and confident and attractive man in front of her, was not Ben Crawford. The son of an estate manager wouldn’t be so self-assured in a room full of lord and ladies, and of course he couldn’t be here, he’d been transported to Australia all those years ago. Francesca suppressed the feelings of sadness that always threatened to overtake her when she thought about her childhood friend. Now wasn’t the time.
She glanced at her companion again. He did have something about him though, the same cheeky smile and the same mischief in his eyes. Perhaps that was why she thought the man looked familiar. He reminded her of the friend she had lost all those years ago.
The music started and Francesca felt the pleasure diffuse through her body. She felt as though she was walking on the clouds whenever she danced, loving the instinctive way her body would move to the music. Her partner was both well practised and a natural dancer, twirling her round effortlessly and all the time managing to keep those lively eyes fixed on her and a smile on his lips.
For a second Francesca wondered what it would be like to have a man like this slip into her bed every night, to feel his hard body on top of hers and his soft lips on her skin. Instinctively she knew he would not be selfish in taking his pleasure and a blush spread across her cheeks as she imagined an unending night of passion with him.
‘Now you must tell me what has put such a beautiful blush on your cheeks,’ he murmured, leaning in close so his breath tickled her ear.
Francesca was unable to speak, knowing her voice would come out as a muted squeak if she opened her mouth.
‘Perhaps you’re thinking of moving in just a little closer,’ he whispered, pressing his hand ever so slightly harder into the small of her back. Against her better judgement Francesca allowed her body to press closer in to his, feeling the delightful swish of his legs against hers as they danced. ‘Or perhaps you’re imagining how it might feel if I kissed you here,’ he said, raising a finger and oh-so-briefly trailing it across the skin of her neck.
Now she was imagining that.
‘Or here.’ His fingers had dropped to her collarbone.
Guiltily Francesca glanced around the ballroom to see if anyone had seen the entirely inappropriate touch she’d just allowed. No doubt the gossips were already judging her for dancing when she was still in half-mourning. Even though this was a masquerade ball she was under no illusion that no one knew who she was.
Thankfully the music stopped and she felt the spell break. Her companion stepped away and bowed formally, only the sparkling of his eyes hinting at the inappropriate way he’d acted during their dance.
‘I hear the private terrace is a beautifully secluded spot,’ he murmured in her ear as he escorted her back to the perimeter of the ballroom. ‘If you go out of the ballroom, through the third door on the left and into the library, there are glass doors leading on to the private terrace there.’
He bowed again, then placed a kiss on her gloved hand before disappearing off into the crowd.
Francesca watched him go. There was no way she could join him on this private terrace, no matter how much her body wanted her to. Sighing, she turned back to look for her father and Lord Huntley. It had been a wonderful interlude with her mysterious gentlemen, but nothing more. She had to focus on coming to terms with marrying yet another man she did not particularly like.
Ben watched her from a distance. It was strange seeing the girl he’d once known so well gliding across the ballroom, turning heads as she went. When Ben had been sentenced to transportation at the age of twelve, Francesca had only been ten. Of course she’d been pretty, but in a wild and unfettered sort of way. Now she was elegant and there was no hint of the girl who used to race him across the fields on horseback or dare him to boost her to the top of a hay bale.
It was unsettling, talking to her again. For eighteen years he’d been unable to rid his thoughts of her. They’d only been children when he’d been arrested for stealing jewellery from her father, children who had spent every moment they could together. He’d loved her then, in the pure and innocent way one child could love another, and he knew she had felt the same way. Even when her father had cajoled and threatened her, trying to stop her from speaking up in Ben’s defence, she’d spoken out, she’d protested his innocence. It hadn’t changed the outcome—no one had been willing to listen to a ten-year-old girl when her father—a viscount, no less—had told a different story, but she’d defied her father all the same. All for him.
He’d thought about her a lot over the last eighteen years, wondering how her life had turned out, wondering if she would still be living in luxury as he toiled away under the heat of the Australian sun. Once he’d finished his sentence and little by little bought up parcels of land, turning them into one of the largest farms in Australia, he thought he might move on, but still he couldn’t forget about her.
Ben wasn’t so naïve to think she even remembered him from all those years ago. She’d probably never thought of the young boy who she had played so closely with, but he hadn’t been able to forget her. So when his friend Sam Robertson voiced his plan to come to England Ben had been eager to accompany him. He wanted to look her in the eye, to see if she was the same girl he’d known all those years ago or if she had been irretrievably changed by almost a lifetime of socialising and living by the rules of the ton.
Never had he expected to feel quite so unsettled at seeing her again, though. She was beautiful, but Ben had known a lot of beautiful women throughout his life and none of them seemed to have this power, this pull. Throughout their dance all he could think of was sweeping her away from the ballroom, finding some deserted room and depositing her on something soft so he could spend the night exploring her body.
That was why he’d had to leave her, to give himself time to dampen down the entirely inappropriate desire he was feeling. Of course he knew she wouldn’t take him up on the offer to meet him on the private terrace, but he’d been unable to resist making the suggestion, just in case she decided to surprise him.
He didn’t know what he wanted from Francesca now. All his thoughts had been on seeing her again, looking into the eyes of the girl he’d once cared for so much—he hadn’t thought past that initial meeting.
Liar, the little voice in his head called out. He knew exactly what he wanted from her. He wanted to gather her in his arms and sweep her away somewhere private. Somewhere he could spend the whole night becoming acquainted with the most beautiful woman in the ballroom.
‘Who was that?’ George Fitzgerald asked as he found his friend at the edge of the ballroom.
‘A very pretty lady,’ Ben said with a grin. ‘Can you do me a favour?’
‘Of course.’
‘She’s finding it a little difficult to slip away from her companions. Could you go tell her that her father is a little worse for wear and is recovering in the library, show her the way—it’s the third door on the left out of the ballroom. Do it discreetly, but not too discreetly.’
‘You have a trick for everything, don’t you?’ Fitzgerald said, clapping his friend on the shoulder and making his way through the crowd.
Ben watched for a moment then slipped away, wanting to get to the library before Francesca. It would be private and, if they were caught alone together, no doubt a scandal would ensue, but it was unlikely that would happen. Everyone was too caught up in the revelry of the masquerade ball to notice their absence. He just wanted a few minutes alone with her, a few minutes to find out what her life had been like in the years he’d been away. If he could just hear she was happy, then maybe that would be enough for him. Maybe.
* * *
‘Lady