Chapter One
February 14, 2018
JONATHON DE Mountford relieved the circulating waiter of two champagne flutes and handed one to Mike Tattersall. “Here. You look like you need another one.”
Mike leaned in close. “What I need is to get out of this tux and into a bath. Preferably with you.”
Jonathon was glad he wasn’t sipping his champagne. “Don’t say things like that when I can’t react.” They were in the ballroom of the Grosvenor Hotel in London, two of perhaps a thousand guests at an exclusive charity ball. The entertainment was over and the dancing had begun, with champagne flowing like water.
Considering the price of the tickets, that was the least Jonathon expected. The Valentine’s Day ball was to raise money for children in need, and so far, the total amount for the event was in the millions.
For him, however, the highlight was not the five-course dinner, or the celebrity acts, or even their magnificent surroundings, but the sight of Mike in a tux. That was a first, and the only downside was that Jonathon couldn’t make it obvious he was drooling. There were enough photographers mingling with the guests to make him wary of being caught on camera, although ironically that was the purpose of their attendance.
Right on cue, Ruth Ainsworth sauntered over to him, holding her own glass of bubbly. “Don’t you think it’s time we danced?” She flashed Mike a smile. “If Hubby doesn’t mind, that is.”
Mike huffed. “Hubby. Yeah, right.” He waved his hand. “Go on, enjoy yourselves. Someone has to.” He put down his glass on a nearby table, then held out his hands for theirs. “I’ll mind the champagne. Just don’t expect there to be anything left when you’re done. I need all the alcohol I can get to survive this shindig.”
Jonathon gave him a warm smile. Thank you, he mouthed before leading Ruth by the hand to the dance floor. He put his hands on her waist, she looped her arms around his neck, and they glided to the music, joining the hundred or so couples who were already similarly engaged.
“Not a same-sex couple in sight,” Jonathon said sadly as they circled the room.
Ruth sighed. “Then you’re not looking hard enough. I saw two men dancing together ten minutes ago.” She caressed his cheek. “It wouldn’t matter if half the couples dancing were LGBTQ. That still wouldn’t mean you could dance with Mike.” She glanced over in the direction of Mike’s table. “He hates this, doesn’t he?”
“He’s not the only one,” Jonathon assured her. “And as for hating it, which part? He’s met some people who think having a lot of money is an excuse for a lack of manners. Others who’d look down their noses at him if they knew he owns a pub. Yet more who’ve only come here to be seen.” Jonathon could understand Mike’s discomfort. This was not his usual terrain. Merrychurch seemed a long way away.
“Is that what we’re doing?” she said quietly. “We’ve attended two charity balls in two months. So we’ve contributed to charities. Big deal. That’s not why we’ve come. We’re here so your father gets to see photos of Jonathon de Mountford dancing with the Honorable Ruth Ainsworth in the society pages. So he can think he’s won—for the time being, at least.”
It was Jonathon’s turn to sigh. “Do you think we can call it a night after this number?”
Ruth gave a mock gasp. “Am I that bad a dancer?”
He laughed. “You’re a wonderful dancer. But I’d rather have Mike in my arms. No offense.”
“None taken. The idea was to buy us some time while you came up with a plan. Are you saying you have one?”
“Unfortunately, no, not yet.” Jonathon looked across the room to where Mike sat, steadily draining his glass. “I asked him to come because I couldn’t bear the thought of him not being with me. But it’s torture. Not sitting too close to him. Not staring at him when he looks so….”
“Edible?” Ruth’s lips twitched.
Jonathon chuckled. “You know me far too well.”
“Why do you think I told Clare she couldn’t come? I knew how much willpower I’d need, and frankly, I haven’t got that much. But I want her here. I want to dance with her, hold her, laugh and joke with her like all the het couples are doing right now.” Ruth’s face tightened.
“You’re getting tired of it all too, aren’t you?” Jonathon hated all the subterfuge.
“Yes,” she replied promptly. “I loved the idea back at Christmas, when we talked about being seen together to let your father think we were actually considering his stupid suggestion, but now? I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up the public smiles and fending off questions from friends who want to know if wedding bells are in the future.”
Jonathon snorted. “If they were really your friends, they wouldn’t be asking such idiotic questions. Unless they want to know when you’re marrying Clare, which is totally acceptable.”
“Have you asked him to marry you?”
Jonathon’s gaze was once more on Mike. “Not yet, no. I didn’t want to propose, then keep him waiting for years. If I’m going to get down on one knee, it’ll be because I already have a date in mind.”
She chuckled. “Sorry. I’m picturing you kneeling in Merrychurch’s tea shop, proposing over the coffee and walnut cake with all the old dears clucking around you.”
He widened his eyes. “Oh, I like that.” He leaned in close and whispered, “I already have the ring.”
Ruth gaped. “You dark horse. When did you get that?”
“When I went shopping after the New Year’s Eve ball. Mike stayed at the hotel.” Jonathon grinned. “I guess I wiped him out.”
She rolled her eyes. “Spare me the details of your sex life.”
Jonathon smirked. “We were dancing. Not everything that comes out of my mouth is dirty.”
“No—only a mere 99 percent of it.” Ruth frowned. “Wait a minute. You were dancing with me all night. Mike sat and watched. How did that wipe him out?”
Jonathon bit back a smile. “We were dancing in our hotel room.”
Ruth arched her eyebrows. “Ah-ha. And now we have the truth. Horizontal dancing.”
He wasn’t about to deny it. At that moment he caught sight of a photographer getting closer. “Paste on your smile. We’ve got company.”
“I was thinking of something more along these lines.” Ruth gave him an adoring look.
He snickered. “Don’t overdo it, or my father really will be expecting imminent wedding news.”
“Too much? Got it.” Ruth smiled at him as they danced past the man with the camera, both she and Jonathon turning their heads in his direction. Once he’d taken his photo, Ruth leaned in. “Now dance me over to where Mike is, and the three of us can sit, drink, and talk—providing he hasn’t finished off all the champagne.”
“That works for me.” Jonathon steered them in Mike’s direction, loving how Mike’s face lit up when he saw them approaching. He took in the state of the glasses and signaled to a nearby waiter for more champagne.
They had plans to make, and a council of war required sufficient alcoholic lubrication.