always dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. Oliver couldn’t quite square the no-nonsense midwife he was used to with the woman in the navy satin prom dress. Her dress had a sweetheart neckline and was drawn in sharply at the waist to highlight her curves before flaring out again to the knee, and she was wearing high heels which made her legs look incredibly long. She looked utterly gorgeous. Right at that moment, Oliver really wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until they were both dizzy.
‘Stop being so shallow, Darrington,’ he chided himself.
And then he realised that Ella had hesitated in the doorway; she was clearly scanning the room, trying to work out where the rest of the team was. For just a moment, she looked vulnerable—which was odd for someone who was always so confident and cheerful at work. And that look of uncertainty made him go straight to her rescue.
‘Good evening, Ella. You look lovely,’ he said as he joined her in the doorway.
Her fair Irish skin turned a delicate shade of pink. ‘Thank you, Oliver. But you’re not supposed to recognise me with a mask on, are you?’
‘Your hair’s a tiny bit of a giveaway.’ That glorious dark red. And tonight it was in a sophisticated updo, with a few loose, soft curls framing her face, making him want to release the pins and let it fall like silk onto her shoulders... Oh, for pity’s sake. Now was definitely not the time to start fantasising about her. He forced himself to concentrate. ‘So how did you recognise me?’ he asked.
‘Your voice is pretty distinctive.’
As was hers, with that soft Irish accent. ‘Fair cop,’ he said easily. ‘The rest of the team from Teddy’s is over there.’ He gestured in the direction of their table. ‘Come and have a glass of champagne.’
* * *
Even though Oliver was a good six inches taller than she was, Ella noticed that he kept his stride short to match hers as they skirted round the edge of the dance floor. She was really grateful; the last thing she wanted to do was to make a fool of herself by walking too fast and tripping over in her unfamiliar high heels. Especially here, at such a glamorous do. Right now, she felt seriously out of her depth. She’d never really been much of a one for parties and balls; at university, she’d missed out on most of the big events, because she’d been concentrating so hard on her studies. It had been such a struggle to get to university in the first place, she hadn’t wanted to jeopardise her career by partying when she should’ve been studying. And it was one of the reasons why she was still a virgin at the age of twenty-six: she’d concentrated on her studies rather than on serious relationships. Part of her felt ridiculously self-conscious about it; in this day and age, it was so old-fashioned to still be a virgin. Yet, at the same time, she felt that sex ought to mean something. She didn’t want to have a one-night stand with someone just for the sake of it.
Last year, she’d been on duty so she hadn’t been able to make it to the famous Royal Cheltenham Masquerade Ball; this year, she was off duty so she didn’t have a good excuse to avoid it. But either Oliver hadn’t noticed that she was a bit flustered, or he was too sensitive to make an issue of it. He simply chatted to her as they crossed the dance floor to join the rest of the team.
Ella, you look lovely.
Typical Oliver: charming and kind. It was one of the skills that made him popular to work with on the ward, because he always managed to make their mums-to-be feel more at ease and stop worrying. Just as he was clearly trying to put her at her ease now.
Ella had worked with the consultant for the last eighteen months; although she’d been instantly attracted to him, she’d been very careful not to act on that attraction. Although there had been moments when they’d accidentally touched at work and it had made her feel as if her heart was doing a backward flip, and sometimes she’d caught his eye in an unguarded moment and wondered if he felt that same pull, she hadn’t acted on it because Oliver Darrington was way, way out of her league. According to the hospital grapevine, the string of women he dated all looked like models or had aristocratic connections; no way would he be interested in a junior midwife who came from a very ordinary family in County Kerry. So she’d kept things strictly professional between them at work, not even confessing to her best friend Annabelle how much she liked Oliver.
And she’d be strictly professional tonight, too.
Which was a real effort, given how gorgeous Oliver looked right now. He usually wore a suit to work, but she’d never seen him wearing evening dress before. He reminded her of Henry Cavill in his The Man from U.N.C.L.E. role: tall and handsome, debonair even, with his dark hair perfectly groomed. Except Oliver’s eyes were grey rather than blue, and his mouth was even more beautiful than the actor’s...
Get a grip, Ella O’Brien, she told herself, and she managed to smile and say the kind of things everyone expected to hear when she and Oliver joined the rest of the team.
The warmth of their welcome dispelled the remainder of her nerves, and she found herself chatting easily.
‘Dance with me?’ Oliver asked.
This was the stuff dreams were made of: waltzing around a posh ballroom with Oliver Darrington.
Except Ella couldn’t dance. She’d always been horribly clumsy. The only thing that she was worse at than dancing was spelling, thanks to her dyslexia. And she’d spent so many years as a child believing that she was stupid and slow and hopeless at everything that she didn’t trust herself not to make a mess of dancing with Oliver.
‘I should warn you that I have two left feet,’ she said. ‘And I’ve never danced to this sort of music.’ She gestured to the jazz trio on the stage. ‘I’ve only ever watched Strictly Come Dancing on the telly. So on your head—or toes—be it, if you really want me to dance with you. But now’s your chance to escape with all your toes unbruised.’
‘You won’t bruise my toes.’ He smiled. ‘Just follow my lead and it’ll be fine.’
Was it really going to be that easy? Ella didn’t share his confidence. At all.
But then Oliver led her onto the dance floor and they actually started dancing together.
It felt like floating on air. The way he guided her meant that she was moving in the right direction and her feet were always in the right place. And she’d never, ever experienced anything so magical. It was even better than she’d dreamed. Right at that second she felt like a fairy-tale princess in her swishy-skirted dress, dancing with the handsome prince. And she loved every moment of it. Being in his arms felt so right—as if this was where she’d always belonged. It made her feel warm and safe and cherished; yet, at the same time, there was the slow, sensual burn of attraction, dangerous and exciting.
Oliver danced with her for three songs in a row; and she was greedy enough to want to dance with him all night. Except this was the hospital’s charity ball and Oliver was a consultant. He should be mixing, like the rest of the senior staff.
‘Shouldn’t you be—well—dancing with someone else?’ Ella asked, feeling guilty both for being selfish and for wanting Oliver all to herself.
His eyes glittered behind his mask. ‘No. It’s up to me to decide who I dance with—and I want to dance with you.’
Her heart skipped a beat. Was Oliver telling her that he’d noticed her, the way she’d noticed him over the last few months? That for him, too, this had been building up for a long time? Or was she misreading him and hoping for too much?
‘Though would you rather be dancing with someone else?’ he asked.
‘No, no—not at all.’ Though she rather thought that Oliver might have spoiled her for dancing with anyone else, ever again. Not that she was going to admit that to him.
‘Good.’ He kept her in his arms, and Ella’s pulse went up a notch as they moved round the dance floor.
* * *
Oliver knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He’d meant to dance with Ella once, to be polite and friendly,