Dark Nights by Kitti Bernetti Page B

herself that this outing was not for pleasure, and that Sebastian Dark who had a hold over her and was using her for his own ends was not the sort of man ever to get close to. He was ruthless and would discard her once he had what he wanted as surely as he would discard his super smart car when a new model took his eye or his handmade suits when they started to fray. In the story of the thousand and one nights, the King who had a hold over Scheherazade put to death countless wives with whom he became disenchanted and Breeze wasn’t going to forget that in a hurry. Sebastian Dark was not the sort of man to whom any right-minded girl, would lose her heart.
    Still, as he paced beside her, athletic, virile, strong, she remembered that twinge she had seen on his face, the hand placed to the back of the neck and recalled that she had seen that many times before. It had never meant anything because Sebastian himself had never meant anything to her. Now she found she had begun to scrutinise him more carefully. Why she didn’t know. After all, Seb meant as little to her now as ever, didn’t he? Maybe it was just that it felt good to be next to such a commanding man, to feel the protection of his broad shoulders. She had never experienced that protection before, had always stood resolutely on her own, battling the world on behalf of her sister and mother, always the strong one, the one who provided. Sebastian knew her darkest secrets, that she stole and lied to get what she needed. But he hadn’t shopped her. In an odd twisted way, he had protected her and it felt strangely appealing. It wouldn’t last forever, he would tire of her but at least before then Richard and Mr Vanhoffer’s plan to ruin him would come into play and then Seb would no longer be a problem because he would be fighting for his financial life. She wanted him to lose his power but she was surprised to find it saddened her as well. Respect, tenderness! Those were the last things she had expected to feel towards Sebastian Dark. She wanted to shake herself to her senses, she must get this evening over with and rush back to her beloved house where she was grounded and had her priorities right.
    ‘Here we are,’ she announced in front of anonymous but imposing-looking navy blue doors.
    ‘It’s well hidden.’
    ‘Yes, there isn’t even a number on the door.’ She gave the bell a persistent jab. This place had fascinated her ever since she had waited tables here, way back when she was doing her accountancy exams and dreaming of being self-sufficient and independent. With its boot-scraper at the door and its Victorian streetlamp it was like something out of Sherlock Holmes. The heavy stone steps had been worn to a curve by the booted feet of countless “gentlemen”, key members of the establishment, prime ministers and lords who over the decades had come into this hallowed building to plot and scheme the making of kings and the downfall of enemies over glasses of whisky and five course dinners.
    ‘Yes?’ The girl at the door was Polish, in a military-style suit, with sharp eyes.
    ‘I am Lady Mary St John. My wedding is booked for here for next February and I want to see the Gladstone Room where the ceremony’s being held.’
    ‘I am sorry,’ the security girl stood firm. ‘I cannot let you in. I haven’t been told of any booking to visit the rooms.’
    ‘I don’t book when I want to see a venue where I have pledged to spend thousands. You had better let me and my brother in, or I may well investigate other venues. I believe the Athenaeum has rooms just as good …’ Breeze gave her a haughty glance down her nose, playing the consummate aristocrat in her Chanel suit, ‘… Or even better than yours.’
    The girl looked terrified. In the background there were people in overalls running hither and thither carrying huge vases of flowers with worried looks on their faces. They were obviously setting up for a major event that evening and the air was