“Sounds wonderful,” Prissy said.
“Delicious,” Shep added.
“Then I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Now that her decision had been made, Ellie looked forward with relish to the coming confrontation. Two could play this game.
She’d had it up to her ears with Clayton Whitfield. Whitfield had used, humiliated, and shunned her in front of the entire show jumping world. Jake hadn’t said anything, but he’d looked at her as if he wanted to. Ellie knew what he was thinking—you were a fool, Ellie. Don’t let it happen again.
Clay had won every round so far, but he wouldn’t win this one. It was Ellie’s turn to win.
Up at first light, she packed a traveling bag. Not her usual easy-to-carry suitcase, but a big piece of luggage she packed with infinite care. Choosing an expensive, embroidered, peach-colored sweater and matching linen slacks, she dressed carefully.
She and Prissy had selected the outfit and several others on their shopping excursion last week. The clothes were all elegant. At Prissy’s insistence, less conservative and a little more forward in fashion that the usual clothes she wore.
She already had most of what she needed, and when the stores opened this morning, she intended to be the first customer through the door.
Two hours later, a shiny little black taxi dropped her off at Michael Moretti in the Westbury Center off Grafton Street. She’d never used the gold American Express card she carried for emergencies. Today she intended to.
It was extremely short notice to find and fit the perfect evening gown for the black-tie dinner Avery Whitfield was certain to host but find one she would. If the first shop couldn’t help her, Richard Allan was nearby, as well as Westbury Designs.
Though she rarely indulged in expensive fashions, she wasn’t ignorant of where to find them. After a phone call to her mother, she could find them in Dublin.
“May I be of assistance, madam?” It was the reedy voice of a thin, dark-featured man. There wasn’t a trace of an Irish accent, only clipped, no-nonsense British.
“I’m in a hurry. I need an evening gown, fitted and ready to go before I leave here in an hour. Can it be done?”
He smiled, a feral gleam that said for the right price anything could be accomplished.
“Something simple,” he said, turning her around for his inspection. “No ruffles, no fuss. Black maybe. No. A luscious emerald green to enhance the color of your eyes.”
“That sounds perfect.” She flashed him a smile that said she had complete faith in him.
“My name is Mabry Carstairs. I believe we had better get to work.”
Ellie nodded and followed him through the heavy silk draperies into the elegant fitting salon.
By twelve o’clock sharp she was back at the hotel, standing next to Prissy and the others, watching as a string of Daimler limousines pulled up to the curb.
“You’re looking good,” Prissy said, noticing Ellie’s polished appearance and satisfied smile.
“I guess I’m looking forward to this after all.”
“So I see.” Prissy grinned at Ellie’s battle stance. “One thing Clay should understand by now—you’re a tough competitor, Ellie. I’m glad to see you back in the game.”
Ellie smiled. “Thanks, Prissy.”
Chauffeurs dressed in black opened the car doors and Ellie saw Clay step out of the first limousine. His eyes flicked over her briefly, then moved on to the others waiting on the curb.
“Good morning,” Clay said to them. “I’m glad to see you all could make it. If you haven’t had a chance to see the countryside, I think you’ll enjoy the ride out to the house.”
Everyone voiced their excitement, and the drivers loaded the bags as team members filled each car. Clay had already climbed back inside.
“Why don’t we ride with Clay?” Ellie said to Prissy. Her friend’s mouth dropped open.
Ellie didn’t wait, just ducked through the open car door and sat down on the seat next to Clay. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, then drew together in a frown as Prissy slid into the seat beside them and the driver closed the door.
