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“Winston.” Adrian moved to lay his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Have you met my niece, Livia Benoit?”
A meaningless smile curved his lips. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” He nodded his head toward her. “Livia.”
“Winston.”
A silence stretched as the two stared at each other. At last, Adrian cleared his throat at the hint of tension in the air.
“Excuse me. I hear the guests arriving.”
The older man scurried from the room and Livia turned until she was directly facing her companion.
“Are you sure we haven’t met?” she boldly demanded. “You look very familiar.”
Winston’s bland expression never changed, but a wariness flickered in the depths of his eyes. The question had unnerved him.
“Please don’t tell me that I have one of those faces that looks like everyone else?” he asked, his smile thawing. As if he was hoping to ease the stiffness between them. “Because I can assure you that I would remember if our paths had crossed.”
“Maybe I saw you at an event. Do you spend much time in New Orleans?”
“Not anymore. My father’s health is declining. These days I try to work from home as much as possible.”
“I’m sorry.”
“An unpleasant fact of life.”
“True.” Livia paused, as if trying to think of a way to change the depressing conversation. “Delilah mentioned you flew in from London this morning.”
“Dublin,” he corrected. “My grandparents own an estate in Ireland.”
“An estate? I’m impressed. Lucky you.”
“Very lucky,” he agreed before pressing a hand against his mouth as if stifling a yawn. “I always enjoy my visits, but I’ll admit the jet lag is killing me tonight. I must be getting old.”
A sudden blast of expensive perfume wafted through the air before Celeste entered the room. She paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of her fiancé standing close to her cousin, her lips pursing in displeasure. Not that she would believe any man would prefer Livia to her, but she couldn’t endure anyone receiving attention but herself. Typical narcissist. Tilting her chin, Celeste glided forward, once again wearing a pair of flat shoes instead of heels and a sparkly silver dress that started an inch above her breasts and ended an inch below her butt. Livia would be terrified that one wrong move and she’d be flashing the guests.
Reaching Winston’s side, she wrapped her arm possessively through his, sending Livia a wintry smile.
“I see you have met my fiancé, Livia.”
“I have.”
“Your father introduced us, although Livia seems to think that we’ve met before,” Winston said, his gaze never leaving Livia’s face.
Celeste frowned. “Really? Where?”
Livia shrugged. It’d been a mistake to reveal she’d recognized Winston, she abruptly realized. If the man had a legitimate reason for being in her house, he would have admitted it when they first met. So either he really hadn’t been there or he was trying to cover up what he’d been doing.
“I thought I saw him at the Black and Gold Charity Gala last week,” she said in light tones. “But honestly, I meet dozens of people every week. Trying to keep them straight is why I hired an assistant.”
Winston’s expression remained impossible to read. “You work in real estate, right?”
“I do. I have an agency in New Orleans. If you ever decide to look for some property in the city, you should call me.”
“Actually, I’m always looking for potential investment opportunities—”
“The photographer has arrived,” Celeste interrupted Winston, pulling him toward the door. “I want to have a word with him before our session tomorrow.” She glanced over her shoulder, sending Livia a smug glance. “You’ll have to excuse us. Perhaps someday you’ll discover that a bride-to-be can never rest.”
Livia rolled her eyes as Celeste and the obedient Winston swept from the room. Then, ignoring the sounds of soft music that played in the background as the gathering guests mingled in the formal salon, she turned to stroll toward the sideboard that held a selection of brandy and whiskey and sweet ports.
