Free An Exception to His Rule by Lindsay Armstrong Page A

hurl it at the door, only to realise it was the ivory dolphin.
    She lowered it to the table, breathing heavily, and she said to Tottie, ‘That was a close call.’
    Tottie wagged her tail and went back to sleep.
    * * *
    By eight o’clock the next evening, Charlie’s party was starting to hum. The lounge had been cleared for dancing, a disco had been set up and the dining room hosted a magnificent buffet and a bar.
    Guests from all over the Northern Rivers had descended on Heathcote, some from further afield like the Gold Coast.
    Harriet got to know this because Charlie personally came to escort her to the party.
    She looked down at herself just before Charlie climbed the stairs to the flat—not that she’d known he was coming. In fact she was grappling with nerves and the desire to find a hole to fall into. She was also hoping she wasn’t over-or underdressed.
    She wore a black dress with a loose skirt to just above her knees with white elbow-length sleeves and white panels in the bodice. It was a dress that emphasised the slenderness of her waist. With it she had on a ruby-red chunky necklace, her legs were golden and long and bare and she wore black suede high heels with ankle ties.
    Her hair was pulled back into a knot but she’d coaxed some tendrils to frame her face. Her lips were painted a delicious shimmering pink and her eyes were made up with smoky shadow, her lashes just touched with mascara to emphasise their length.
    ‘Holy Mackerel!’
    Charlie stopped dead as he stepped into the flat and took in every detail about Harriet.
    ‘Oh, boy!’ he said then.
    Harriet twisted her hands together. ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘It’s not that, it’s the opposite. Poor old Damien; is he in for...well. I hope you know what you’re doing, Harriet.’
    ‘Doing?’
    Charlie blinked and frowned. ‘You didn’t set out to drive him wild?’ He gestured to take her in from the tip of her head to her toes.
    Harriet opened her mouth to deny this accusation but she closed it and coloured slightly. ‘I haven’t actually worn it before. Is it too...?’ She didn’t complete the sentence. ‘I can change.’
    ‘Don’t you dare!’ Charlie looked horrified. ‘So you did set out to drive him wild?’
    ‘I did not,’ she denied.
    ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Charlie offered. ‘I’m on your side.’
    ‘I...’ Harriet hesitated. ‘He made a remark that cast me in the light of a docile priggish bore. So I thought I’d show him otherwise. But now, if you must know, Charlie, I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to go to your party.’
    ‘Made a remark, did he?’ Charlie ignored the rest of her statement. ‘He’s done that to me. He has a way of doing it that makes you want to throw things—but what sweet revenge would this be. Come, my lady Harriet.’ He held out his arm.
    ‘Charlie...Charlie, this is not really me and I’ve changed my mind about...showing him anything.’
    ‘No, you haven’t,’ Charlie disagreed as he led her to the top of the stairs. ‘You’ve got a slight case of stage fright, that’s all. But I’ll be there!’
    * * *
    ‘So.’
    Harriet stood on the terrace, sipping champagne and fanning herself.
    There was a moon. There were also flaming braziers in the garden and the music flowing out was of a solid rock beat and loud enough to drown the sound of the surf beyond the garden wall.
    ‘So,’ she repeated without turning.
    ‘You don’t mind a dance, Miss Livingstone,’ Damien observed, moving forward to stand beside her.
    ‘I don’t. At the right time and place,’ she replied. She took another sip of champagne as she registered the fact that he was wearing a tweed jacket over a round-necked shirt, and jeans.
    ‘I thought you were just going to put in an appearance.’
    ‘I was. Your brother had other ideas.’ She shrugged.
    ‘You look—great. Quite unlike your alter ego.’
    ‘Thank you. I suppose you mean my academic, neurotic—’ she waved a hand ‘—and all the rest of