The Socialite and the Cattle King Read Online Free

dance past—he’d left their table and was standing at the bar—and he found himself pondering the nature of love. Sue felt she shouldn’t be able to love Brendan Murray now but was that all it took in matters of the heart? Dictating to yourself what you should or should not feel?
    Which led him in turn to ponder his own love life. The nature of his life seemed to ensure that the women in it were only passing companions, but there had been no shortage of them. The problem was, he couldn’t seem to drum up much enthusiasm for any of them.
    Not only that, perhaps it was the inability of those partners to disguise their expectations that he was getting tired of, he reflected. Or the fact that none of them ever said ‘no.’ Well, one had quite recently, now he came to think of it. His lips twisted with amusement at the memory.
    He shrugged and turned to watch the passing parade.
    He’d come, courtesy of Mike Rafferty, as a masked Spanish aristocrat with a dark cropped jacket, dark, trousers, soft boots and white, frilled shirt, complete with scarlet cummerbund and black felt hat.
    Dinner was over and the serious part of the evening under way—the serious dancing, that was. They were all there, strutting their stuff to the powerful beat of the music under the chandelier: the Cleopatras, the Marie Antoinettes, the belly dancers, the harem girls, the Lone Rangers, the Lawrences of Arabia, the three Elvises, a Joan of Arc and a Lady Godiva in a body stocking who looked as if she was regretting her choice of costume.
    Some of them he recognized despite the masks and towering wigs. All of them, he reflected, bored him to tears.
    He was just about to turn away when one girl he didn’t recognize danced past in the arms of an eager pirate complete with eye patch, one gold earring and a stuffed macaw on his shoulder.
    She was quite tall, very slim and dressed almost all in black. Something about her, probably her outfit, stirred something in his memory, but he couldn’t pin it down.
    ‘Who’s she supposed to be?’ he enquired of an elderly milkmaid standing beside him. He indicated the girl in black.
    The milkmaid beamed. ‘Isn’t she perfect? So different. Of course, it’s Holly Golightly—don’t you remember? Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. That gorgeous black hat with the wide, downturned brim and the light, floaty hat-band; the earrings, the classic little black dress and gloves—even the alligator shoes. And to think of using her sunglasses as a mask!’
    ‘Ah. Yes, she is rather perfect. You wouldn’t happen to know who she is in real life?’
    The milkmaid had no idea and Brett watched Holly Golightly dance past again.
    She looked cool and detached, even slightly superior, but that could be because the pirate was having trouble containing his enthusiasm for her.
    In fact, as he watched she detached herself from her partner as he attempted to maul her, swung on her heel and swept away towards the ballroom balcony with a hand to her hat.
    The pirate looked so crestfallen, Brett could only assume he was either very young or very drunk.
    Without giving it much thought, he took a fresh glass of champagne off the bar and followed the girl onto the balcony.
    She was leaning against the balustrade, breathing deeply.
    ‘Maybe this’ll help to remove the taste of the pirate?’ he suggested and offered the champagne to her.
    Holly straightened and wondered if she was imagining things. She’d been rather darkly contemplating the fact that she’d been right about very young men such as the pirate who was the son of her mother’s friend; he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her!
    But could this tall, arrogant-looking Spaniard be who she thought he was? Could you ever forget Brett Wyndham’s voice, or his athletic build? Or the pass he’d made at her? More importantly, did she want to be recognized? As a serious journalist, perhaps, but like this? As a serial socialite… ?
    In a lightning decision