Wedding Promises. Jennifer Faye

not the dancing,’ Eloise admitted. But, before she could tell him exactly what the problem was, Melissa was striding across the floor towards them.

      ‘You’re doing it wrong,’ the bride said, grabbing Eloise’s arm and yanking her away from Noah.

      ‘I thought she had it, actually,’ Noah objected, but Melissa had already taken up her ballroom position.

      ‘No. I’ll show you again,’ she said to Eloise with exaggerated patience.

      Noah raised his arms and met Eloise’s gaze over Melissa’s shoulder. She raised her eyes to the heavens, and he smiled.

      Maybe he’d tread on Melissa’s toes while they danced. That might persuade her to give up on the lessons.

      Or at least put Eloise back in his arms, which couldn’t be a bad thing.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      MELISSA DRILLED THEM in their dance for far longer than Eloise thought was strictly necessary—she wasn’t that bad, she was sure. Eventually, though, Melissa had to let Eloise go, once she pointed out that if she didn’t there would be no one to check that everything was ready for the Frost Fair.

      Noah took the opportunity to escape too, which Eloise was grateful for. It had felt too good, dancing in his arms. And the connection between them—even if it was born entirely out of mocking Melissa—seemed a little too easy. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew Noah was just playing with her. What she didn’t understand was why he was still bothering. She’d made her position on the subject of having flings with actors painfully clear the night before.

      Maybe that was it—the challenge. She could see Noah as the kind of guy who grew tired of always getting everything he wanted handed to him on a plate. Some people were happy to carry on that way, enjoying the ease that sort of life gave them. But Noah... She got the impression he liked to work for things a little more. Hadn’t he said something last night about a new role in a film, something more challenging? Yes, that had to be it. She was a different sort of challenge; that was all. The moment she gave in, all the fun would be gone for him.

      She had to remember that.

      Dressed again in her navy work dress and chocolate leather boots, Eloise hurried down to the riverbank, her coat wrapped warmly around her. The preparations for the afternoon’s Frost Fair were well underway—which was just as well, as Laurel would be bringing the guests down from the hotel within the hour.

      Wooden stalls were laid out all along the riverbank, a temporary street of tempting offerings to eat, drink or enjoy. The river that ran beside the hotel rarely froze and, even if it had, it would have been a health and safety impossibility to hold the fair actually on the ice, like people would have done at the Frost Fairs of old. But, with the rustic stalls, the lute music drifting through the icy air as the musicians warmed up and the smell of the hog roast cooking, it almost felt authentic.

      Authentic enough for Hollywood, anyway, Eloise figured.

      Pulling out her clipboard, she did the rounds, checking in with every stallholder, every caterer, every entertainer, from jugglers to ice carvers. Everything was looking good until she reached the small stage set up at the far end of the fair, ready for the acting troupe Laurel had hired to entertain the masses with excerpts from Shakespeare’s plays.

      ‘How’s it going?’ she asked a dour-looking man unloading period costumes and props onto a rack.

      Hang on. No, he wasn’t unloading. He was taking the costumes off the rack and putting them back into the suitcase.

      ‘Not great,’ he said, reaching for another doublet. ‘The troupe minibus gave up the ghost halfway down the M4. The guy they sent out to fix it said it’s dead as a doornail. I’d come on ahead with the costumes and props, but I’m only the stage manager-slash-accompanist. You want period sound effects or music? I’m your man.’ He shook his head. ‘Not a lot of use without the actors, though. Figured I might as well pack up again.’

      ‘Wait. Don’t... Stop packing up. Please. Just stop it.’ The man held up his hands and stepped back as Eloise reached for her phone.

      ‘Your call, love, but I don’t see what good they’ll do you.’

      ‘I just need to make a phone call...’ Turning away, Eloise stabbed at her phone until it rang Laurel, holding it tight to her ear and praying that the wedding planner would have an idea.

      Click. ‘You have reached the voicemail of Laurel Sommers, wedding planner.’

      Of course, to be any help at all she’d have to actually pick up the phone. Eloise hung up and tried again.

      After she got put through to voicemail for the fifth time, Eloise gave up.

      ‘Okay, look, we’ll sort this out,’ she said, turning back to the man with the props. Except now he wasn’t alone.

      ‘Alas, poor Yorick!’ Noah held a skull at arm’s length as he quoted the line from Hamlet, looking utterly in his element.

      Hadn’t he said he’d been a Shakespearean actor once? Maybe he could be again...

      Spotting her, Noah put down the skull and walked towards her. Eloise pasted on her brightest, most winning smile and hoped he still wanted to keep playing their little game. Because she needed a big favour.

      * * *

      The Frost Fair, Noah had to admit, was quite the set-up. It looked like something from some high fantasy epic movie, rather than a historical. Stallholders were wandering around in that pseudo-period costume that seemed to work for peasants of all eras, mostly in shades of brown and green with the odd berry-red hat for a spot of colour. The river rushed past beside the stalls, flowing over rocks and under bare trees. The spot must be beautiful in the summer, he realised. No wonder Melissa had wanted to come back here.

      When he came across the stage, he couldn’t resist—especially when he saw the box of props waiting there, just asking to be used. It might be a cliché, but in his experience it was a rare actor who could resist a bit of Hamlet.

      Then he saw Eloise, lowering her phone from her ear, her red hair the brightest thing in the whole fair. Even her sensible brown knee boots and knitted navy dress made him want to reach out and touch her.

      And when she smiled...his heart contracted in his chest.

      Then his eyes narrowed. That was not the smile of a woman planning a seduction. That was the smile of a woman who wanted something. Well, he wasn’t above giving—as long as he got something in return.

      In all honesty, if it was Eloise asking, he’d probably do it for free. Just to see some more of that smile.

      ‘What do you need?’ he asked as she approached.

      Her smile faltered for a moment, then came back stronger than ever. ‘The troupe of actors we’d hired to perform today can’t make it. Their minibus broke down about a hundred miles away.’

      ‘That’s a shame.’ Noah was pretty sure he could guess now what she wanted, but he was going to make her ask, all the same. Given how incapable of saying no to her he felt right now, it was only fair.

      ‘I don’t suppose you’re feeling in the mood to reprise some of your more famous Shakespearian roles, are you?’

      ‘Fancying some Romeo at last, huh?’

      ‘Or Hamlet, or Benedick, or Puck...I’m not fussed, as long as there’s someone up on that stage performing when our guests arrive.’

      ‘Aren’t I one of those guests?’

      Eloise shook her head. ‘You’re the best man. That means pitching in and fixing whatever goes wrong with the wedding.’

      ‘I suppose it does,’ Noah said slowly, an idea forming in his mind. ‘And I guess as maid of honour you have to do the same,