The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen

of purported supposition.’ She waited a beat. ‘And you’re too street-wise to have skated over the edge of the law.’

      ‘Gracias.’ His voice held wry cynicism.

      The waiter presented their main, topped up their wine glasses, then retreated.

      Cassandra picked up her cutlery and speared a succulent morsel. ‘Do you have family in New York?’

      ‘A brother.’ The sole survivor of a drive-by shooting that had killed both their parents. A shocking event that happened within months of his initial sojourn in Sydney, the reason he’d taken the next flight home…and stayed to build his fortune.

      It was almost nine when they entered the gallery. Guests stood in segregated groups. The men deep in discussion on subjects which would vary from the state of the country’s economy to the latest business acquisition, and whether the current wife was aware of the latest mistress.

      The women, on the other hand, discussed the latest fashion showing, which cosmetic surgeon was currently in vogue, speculated who was conducting a clandestine affair, and what the husband would need to part with in order to soothe the wife and retain the mistress.

      The names changed, Cassandra accorded wryly, but the topics remained the same.

      Tonight’s exhibition was more about being seen than the purchase of a sculpture or painting. Yet the evening would be a success, due to the fact only those with buying power and social status received invitations.

      Should nothing appeal, it was considered de rigueur to donate a sizeable cheque to a nominated charity.

      Uniformed waitresses were circulating proffering trays with canapés, while waiters offered champagne and orange juice.

      ‘Feel free to mix and mingle.’

      Their presence had been duly noted, their coupling providing speculation which would, Cassandra deduced, run rife.

      Had news already spread about the financial state of Preston-Villers? It was too much to hope it would be kept under wraps for long.

      ‘Let’s take a look at the exhibits,’ Diego suggested smoothly, and led her towards the nearest section of paintings.

      Modern impressionists held little appeal, and she found herself explaining why as they moved on to examine some metal sculptures, one of which appeared so bizarre it held her attention only from the viewpoint of discovering what it was supposed to represent.

      ‘Diego. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

      The silky feminine purr held a faint accent, and Cassandra turned to see Alicia move close to Diego.

      Much too close.

      ‘Cassandra,’ the model acknowledged. ‘I haven’t seen Cameron here tonight.’

      A barbed indication she should get a life, a lover…and not resort to accompanying her brother to most social events? Cameron relied on her presence as a cover, while she was content to provide it. A comfort zone that suited them both. Two previous relationships hadn’t encouraged her to have much faith in the male of the species. One man had regarded her as a free ride in life on her father’s money; the other had wanted marriage in order to gain eventual chairmanship of Preston-Villers.

      ‘Cameron was unable to attend,’ she answered smoothly. It was a deviation from the truth, and one she had no intention of revealing.

      Alicia looked incredible, buffed to perfection from the tip of her Italian-shod feet to the elegantly casual hairstyle. Gowned in black silk which clung to her curves in a manner which belied the use of underwear, she was a magnet for every man in the room.

      Alicia’s eyes narrowed fractionally as a fellow guest commandeered Diego’s attention, drawing him into a discussion with two other men.

      ‘You’re here tonight with Diego?’ The query held incredulous disbelief. ‘Darling, isn’t he a little out of your league?’

      Cassandra kept her voice light. ‘The implication being…?’

      ‘He’s rich, primitive, and dangerous.’ Alicia spared her a sweeping glance. ‘You’d never handle him.’

      This was getting bitchy. ‘And you can?’

      The model cast her a sweeping glance, then uttered a deprecatory laugh. ‘Oh, please, darling.’

      Well, that certainly said it all!

      She resisted the temptation to tell the model the joke was on her. Handling Diego was the last thing she wanted to do!

      ‘In that case,’ Cassandra managed sweetly, ‘why did Diego invite me along when you’re so—’ she paused fractionally ‘—obviously available?’

      Anger blazed briefly in those beautiful dark blue eyes, then assumed icy scorn. ‘The novelty factor?’

      If you only knew! ‘You think so?’ She manufactured a faint smile. ‘Maybe he simply tired of having women fall over themselves to gain his attention.’

      Alicia placed a hand on Cassandra’s arm. ‘Playing hard to get is an ill-advised game. You’ll end up being hurt.’

      ‘And you care?’

      ‘Don’t kid yourself, darling.’

      ‘Are you done?’ She offered a practised smile, and barely restrained an audible gasp as Alicia dug hard, lacquered fingernails into her arm.

      ‘Oh, I think so. For now.’

      Anything was better than fencing verbal swords with the glamour queen, and Cassandra began threading her way towards the remaining exhibits, pausing now and then to converse with a fellow guest.

      There was a display of bronze sculptures, and one in particular caught her eye. It was smaller than the others, and lovingly crafted to portray an elderly couple seated together on a garden stool. The man’s arm enclosed the woman’s shoulders as she leaned into him. Their expressive features captured a look that touched her heart. Everlasting love.

      ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ a male voice queried at her side.

      Cassandra turned and offered a smile. ‘Yes,’ she agreed simply.

      ‘Gregor Stanislau.’ He inclined his head. ‘And you are?’

      ‘Cassandra.’

      His grin was infectious. ‘You have an interest in bronze?’ He indicated the remaining sculptures and led her past each of them. He was knowledgeable, explaining techniques, discussing what he perceived as indiscernible flaws detracting from what could have been perfection.

      ‘The elderly couple seated on the stool. It’s your work, isn’t it?’

      He spread his hands in an expressive gesture. ‘Guilty.’

      ‘It’s beautiful,’ she complimented. ‘Is it the only piece you have displayed here?’

      He inclined his head. ‘The couple were modelled on my grandparents. It was to be a gift to them, but I was unable to complete it in time.’

      She didn’t need to ask. ‘Would you consider selling it?’

      ‘To you?’ He named a price she considered exorbitant, and she shook her head.

      He looked genuinely regretful. ‘I’m reasonably negotiable. Make me an offer.’

      ‘Forty per cent of your original figure, plus the gallery’s commission,’ Diego drawled from behind her, and she turned in surprise as he moved to her side. How long had he been standing there? She hadn’t even sensed his presence.

      Gregor looked severely offended. ‘That’s an outrage.’

      Diego’s smile was superficially pleasant, but the hardness apparent in his eyes was not. ‘Would you prefer me to insist on a professional appraisal?’

      ‘Seventy-five