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“Oh, an Englishman. I adore your accent. Such a funny coincidence, my guest is from the UK as well.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And there she is.” Connie’s hand brushed Ryder’s coat sleeve. “Let me introduce you to her.”
Ryder followed the direction of Connie’s gaze and stiffened.
Grace Winfield stood in the doorway, elegant and casual in a taupe dress and matching sweater, writing her name on one of the peel-and-stick tags provided.
On paper, Grace slid seamlessly into his world. Both worlds—the one he’d been raised in and, given her work in the defense industry, the one he now inhabited.
Yet he wasn’t drawn to her as more than a friend. She lacked the raw sensuality and passionate embrace of life that attracted him to a woman.
His gaze slid to Nathalie. She’d been his saving grace once. A counterbalance to his reserve. Now, her passion appeared buried beneath the demands of her job and her dead father’s expectations.
He knew the feeling. Ironic that she’d become more like the person he used to be.
Connie reached Grace, and, after a hug and a kiss on the cheek, she pointed to Ryder.
Grace’s face lit with surprise. She said something to Connie, whose eyes widened before narrowing on Ryder with a rampant curiosity he could read across the room.
The two women made their way toward him and Nathalie.
With an internal sigh, Ryder braced himself. Grace had told him she’d be in the States visiting clients for her father, who owned one of the UK’s largest defense firms. What were the odds?
“Ryder, darling, what a pleasant surprise.” Grace kissed his cheek, her hand coming to rest on his front lapel. He caught a whiff of her sweet, floral perfume. “When I saw you Saturday, you didn’t mention you’d be in the US this week,” she chided. “By the way, your mother did a brilliant job with Arborleigh’s charity event.”
“Hello, Grace.” He could feel the surprise rolling off Nathalie in waves. “Mum certainly knows how to throw a party. My company’s headquarters are here. I’m in town on business and decided to say hello to a friend from uni. I’d like you to meet Nathalie Williams, President of Williams Advanced Avionics.”
His attention shifted to Nathalie. “This is Grace Winfield, an old friend.”
Winfield.
Nathalie stared at the other woman, stunned into silence. As in The Winfield Group, one of Great Britain’s largest privately owned companies, that included Winfield Aerospace in its portfolio. Oliver Winfield, Grace’s father, was Philip Montague’s closest friend.
The familiarity between Grace and Ryder made her wine sour on her tongue. This was the woman Philip Montague had wanted Ryder to marry. Not her.
“Nathalie.” Ryder’s sharp tone brought her out of her head. “Is everything all right?”
She ignored his concerned look and pulled herself together to give Grace a smile she hoped hid the chaotic stew of emotion threatening to burst from her chest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grace. The Winfield Group, I presume?”
It seemed she wasn’t the only one taken by surprise. Grace’s gaze darted back and forth between Nathalie and Ryder. “I remember talk of Ryder having an American girlfriend at Oxford before he ran off and joined the military. Would that be you?”
Connie Hubbard’s eyes gleamed at Grace’s words.
Nathalie cringed inside. The woman loved gossip, especially when it involved people she viewed as competition.
“That was a long time ago,” Ryder cut in smoothly. “I haven’t seen Nathalie in eight years.”
Damn him.He didn’t look the least bit ruffled when he said that while she wanted to sink into the floor.
Or cry.
Big Girls Don’t Cry.
Shut up, Fergie. Your song got it wrong.Big girls just waited until they were alone to do it.
Grace’s attention shifted to Connie. “Ryder and I grew up together, you know. At one point, our parents were hoping we’d marry.” As if realizing how that sounded, she sent Nathalie an apologetic look. “That was before he went off to Oxford and met you, of course. Then joined the army.”
“Of course,” Nathalie uttered through stiff lips. Her cheeks were on fire. She hardly needed the reminder that Grace had been the chosen one. The one with the proper family and social status. The right skin color.
She avoided Connie’s eyes. If there was an “Inside the Beltway” gossip rag, Connie, the nosy beeyotch, would be editor-in-chief.