She wondered if the warmth of his thigh against hers bothered him as much as it did her, then forced herself to ignore the tingling that crept over her skin.
“I’m really looking forward to this,” she said. “It was very thoughtful of your father—and you, of course—to invite us.”
“Thank you,” Clay said, but his voice sounded dry. He glanced out the dark-tinted windows and smoothed an imaginary crease from his immaculate navy blue slacks. His nervousness was the first real emotion he’d shown since the night they’d spent together. A thrill of satisfaction shot through her.
Lethimsweat for a change.The bastard. She was ready for him, ready even for Gabriella Marchbanks, or the contessa, or any of the other bits of fluff he might be bringing along.
“You look lovely,” he said to her, his eyes going over her more sophisticated appearance. “Both of you,” he quickly amended. Prissy had worn a simple beige silk dress. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Ellie.”
Ellie flashed him a carefully controlled smile. With her hair slicked into a stylish chignon at the nape of her neck, expensive high heels, and a little more makeup than she usually wore, she looked older, more remote. It was exactly the look she wanted.
“It’s time I changed my look, begun to dress a little more mature. This makes me appear more cosmopolitan, don’t you think?”
Clay couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I rather liked you the way you were,” he said gruffly.
“Well, I love it,” Prissy put in before Ellie could reply. “It gives her an aura of sophistication, a certain presence. If your father throws his usual gala affair, we’ll be able to see if the effect is as dazzling as I think it is.”
Clay just grumbled and looked out the window.
“When I get back to the States,” Ellie said, “I’m going to throw out my entire wardrobe, make a trip to Saks and start all over. Then I think I’ll get a new car. Somehow I don’t think my little Toyota will be right for my new image.”
“What kind of car so you want?” Clay asked, brows pulled together in disapproval.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a Porsche. That might be fun.”
Prissy smiled at Clay. “You know the difference between a Porsche and a cactus, don’t you?” She flashed Clay a grin. “The pricks are on the outside of a cactus.”
Ellie laughed. “What’s the difference between a woman and a car? A car doesn’t get excited when you shove a hose into its—”
“Don’t,” Clay said, his frown even deeper. “It doesn’t become you. Or is that part of your new image as well?”
Prissy sliced him a glance. “When did you turn into a prude?”
“I’m not a prude. I just don’t think what happened between Ellie and me should turn her into something she’s not.”
Ellie just smiled. “I think that’s a rather conceited statement, Clay. What makes you think a little romance could have that much effect on me?”
“A little romance! Is that what you call it?” Clay’s face turned red, and Ellie felt a rush of satisfaction.
“I’d rather we didn’t discuss this in front of Prissy,” she said. “Maybe we can find a moment or two this weekend, if you really feel there’s something that needs to be said. In the meantime, you were right about the scenery. It’s quite spectacular.”
As the caravan of limousines headed out of Dublin, Clay clamped his jaw and leaned back against the deep red leather seat.
“What’s that?” Prissy asked, leaning across Ellie to get a better look at some sort of battlements atop Mount Pelier.
“That’s the Hellfire Club,” Clay said with studied nonchalance. “Or what’s left of it. The ruins can be seen for miles. It was a club for eighteen century rakes, people who wished to take part in immoral acts.”
Ellie lifted an eyebrow. “Really? I suppose you would know more about that than I.”
Clay glanced away. Ellie didn’t miss the lines of tension around his mouth.
They drove on through the lush green landscape, along roads lined with bright yellow gorse, past ancient churches, weathered cottages, and centuries-old monuments. The drive took them past Glencullen, Kilteman, and the Scalp, into Enniskerry, one of the prettiest villages in Ireland.
“It’s lovely,” Ellie said softly, for a moment forgetting her newly acquired role of sophisticate. “Like something out of a storybook.”
Clay flashed her a questioning glance, reminding her of her new, woman-of-the-world role, so Ellie added, “Of course there’s probably so little to do, one would find oneself bored in a fortnight.”
Clay started scowling, and Prissy pressed Ellie’s thigh in a sort of female code for a high-five. It was all Ellie could do to stifle a triumphant grin. Clay obviously preferred the ingénue to the sophisticate. Someone naïve enough to fall for his phony charm instead a woman who would laugh at his practiced lines.
