Second Chance with His Cinderella Read online

  Kitty glanced down at her watch and Sebastian felt a stab of panic. It was vital he did something to convince her to work with him. He didn’t trust this sudden attraction. He needed to test this feeling. Give it time. Get to know her.

  “On second thought, it isn’t a housekeeper I need. It’s more of a household manager.”

  “Not someone to scrub the bathrooms and cook your meals? I warn you, I’m not great at housework.”

  “No,” he said dismissively. “A person who could oversee what needs to be done, find the people to do it.”

  She crinkled up her nose in a way he found delightful. “And you seriously think that person could be me?”

  “You’ve proved yourself to be formidably organized and efficient.”

  “But I know absolutely nothing about your needs.”

  “My needs?”

  Needs of a kind that had nothing to do with furniture or wallpaper and everything to do with this lovely woman came immediately to mind. The sudden flush high on her cheekbones made him aware her thoughts might have followed a similar path.

  Dear Reader,

  People often ask me if I have a favorite among the heroes and heroines I’ve written. It’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is! I couldn’t possibly choose; I love each of them. After all, I spend a lot of time with my characters and find myself missing them after I type “The End.”

  None more so than Kitty and Sebastian in Second Chance with His Cinderella. In spite of the betrayal and heartbreak she’s suffered in her past, Kitty is warm, kind and fun. To gorgeous, brooding Sebastian Delfont, she is a ray of sunshine in what he feels, despite his wealth and privilege, to be a life defined by loss.

  The attraction between them is instant and powerful—but there are barriers stemming from their past traumas and disappointments on which they stumble before reaching the happily-ever-after they so richly deserve.

  The setting for Kitty and Sebastian’s love story is a wonderful old house that Sebastian has inherited in one of the most prestigious areas of London, which helps bring them together.

  I hope you enjoy Kitty and Sebastian’s journey to realizing they are each other’s once-in-a-lifetime love.

  Warm regards,

  Kandy

  Second Chance with His Cinderella

  Kandy Shepherd

  Kandy Shepherd swapped a career as a magazine editor for a life writing romance. She lives on a small farm in the Blue Mountains near Sydney, Australia, with her husband, daughter and lots of pets. She believes in love at first sight and real-life romance—they worked for her! Kandy loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at kandyshepherd.com.

  Books by Kandy Shepherd

  Harlequin Romance

  Christmas at the Harrington Park Hotel

  Their Royal Baby Gift

  Sydney Brides

  Gift-Wrapped in Her Wedding Dress

  Crown Prince’s Chosen Bride

  The Bridesmaid’s Baby Bump

  Greek Tycoon’s Mistletoe Proposal

  Conveniently Wed to the Greek

  Stranded with Her Greek Tycoon

  Best Man and the Runaway Bride

  Second Chance with the Single Dad

  Falling for the Secret Princess

  One Night with Her Millionaire Boss

  From Bridal Designer to Bride

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  To Julie O’Loughlin and Lynne Bartlett, who so expertly and cheerfully packed up my possessions for me when I moved house—and gave me insight and inspiration for this story.

  Praise for

  Kandy Shepherd

  “Falling for the Secret Princess is a sweet and swoon-worthy romance. Author Kandy Shepherd wrote this beautiful romance which would take you far, far away.... As a romance reader this is the ultimate escape. The storyline had plenty of twists and turns and would keep you engrossed till the end. Highly recommended for all readers of romance.”

  —Goodreads

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Excerpt from One Week in Venice with the CEO by Kate Hardy

  CHAPTER ONE

  SEBASTIAN DELFONT STOOD still and silent on the balcony of his Docklands penthouse as he gazed for the last time at the early-morning mist rising from the Thames and shrouding his view of the London skyline. His fists curled over the top of the cold metal railing so tightly it hurt him. But he scarcely noticed. He could no longer evade his duty to the name he bore. He had to leave here and say goodbye to his independence, his freedom to live his life on his terms. Death had swept through his family and now it was his time to step up.

  He heaved a deep profound sigh, knowing there was no one nearby to hear him. How could he possibly feel sorry for himself? Immense wealth. Privilege. A place in the highest echelons of society. All came with the inheritance. Yet the family history was scarred by tragedy and loss. He felt trapped by that story. But he could not walk away from it. He was a Delfont and with that came responsibility and duty, no matter how unwelcome.

  The women he’d engaged to pack up the apartment would soon be here. PWP had come highly recommended as specialist packers giving discretion, skill and care. He could only have the best professionals handling his possessions. Of his books, artworks and collectibles some were valuable, others valuable only to him. All were important. In some way they cocooned him with the security he had longed for while growing up. Many of the items would have to go into storage as they wouldn’t suit the period house on Cheyne Walk. Like he himself didn’t suit, had never suited.

  Once the packers arrived, his home here would be dismantled until it would no longer be his own; he had already let it for a hefty rent. He could only ever regard the house he was moving to as his grandfather’s, no matter what the deeds of ownership might say. And he had never spent a happy moment there.

  It was shaping up to be a typical October day in London, unable to make up its mind whether to be crisp and autumnal or cloudy and drizzly. As Sebastian started to turn and go back inside, a shaft of sunlight pierced the grey clouds. He watched for a long moment as its brilliance illuminated the sky and the water below. His Spanish mother had been superstitious, and a part of him could not help hoping that this was an omen for the times to come.

  * * *

  Kitty Clements never felt nervous at the start of a new assignment. Why would she? Launching their company PWP—People Who Pack—two years ago with her friend Claudia had been an excellent way for her to make a new start. Packing prized possessions for clients moving house was straightforward, interesting—who could resist a peek into other people’s lives?—and gave her the under-the-radar anonymity she craved.

  But today her hand wasn’t quite steady as she keyed in the code to admit her to the private elevator that would shoot her up to the ninth floor and the Docklands penthouse that their client, Sebastian Delfont, was vacating. She’d been warned the client might be ‘difficult’ and she wasn’t quite sure what that could mean. She had ca
use to distrust difficult men. But this was a client. And the job was the most lucrative they’d contracted in their two years of business. Everything here had to go without a hitch. Their business relied heavily on recommendation and word of mouth. Who knew where a testimonial from a wealthy client like Sebastian Delfont could lead?

  The elevator deposited her in the starkly elegant marble foyer of the penthouse. Her nervousness dissipated at the reassuring sight of folded flat packing boxes propped against a wall, along with bales of wrapping paper and boxes of sealing tape that had been delivered the evening before by a member of their team. The tools of her new trade. She would find more placed in each of the rooms. This was a substantial job and she and Claudia would be here for several days. As soon as she was inside, she would put in her earbuds, switch on some get-those-boxes-packed music and get going. She knew what she was doing. There was nothing to worry about.

  As the double doors to the penthouse opened Kitty looked up. She caught her breath. Difficult wasn’t the thought that came to mind at her first sight of Sebastian Delfont. Outrageously handsome was more to the point. And young, thirtyish she guessed. Why hadn’t Claudia told her? Claudia was the one who did the initial negotiating with clients; surely she hadn’t failed to notice he was hot, if a touch forbidding? Hotter than hot.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, with black hair that looked as if it was past time for a cut and a lean, chiselled face with more than a morning’s dark stubble, he was dressed in black jeans and black turtleneck sweater that made no secret of a strong athletic body. Not that she should be noticing. How could she not notice?

  ‘Mr D... Delfont,’ she managed to stammer out. ‘Kitty Clements from PWP.’

  Dark brows furrowed. ‘I was expecting Claudia.’ His voice was deep, resonant and very posh.

  Kitty felt a quick flash of the self-doubt she still battled to overcome. Of course he would be disappointed. Claudia was tall, red-haired, glamorous in her own understated way. Kitty was shorter and curvier, more cute than couture. Not, perhaps, to be taken as seriously as her friend. How had that horrid red-top tabloid headlined her? Pretty, Plump and Predatory. She shuddered at the very thought of it. The man who’d lost her a promising career in public relations had been the predator, not her. But no one had believed her.

  She forced a bright professional smile. ‘Claudia is caught up in traffic; a lorry overturned on the motorway. She’ll be here as soon as she can. In the meantime, I’m ready to start packing if you’d like to point me in the right direction.’

  ‘I’ll show you exactly what I require,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. It wasn’t in her nature to be subservient but in this business the client’s needs ruled.

  Kitty followed him into the apartment, taking care to keep a good distance apart. She couldn’t help a heartfelt silent ‘wow’. PWP had packed up flats, suburban houses, country manor houses, even a houseboat. But nothing as spectacular as this. The enormous apartment was all stainless steel and glass and stark designer furniture. She looked through walls of glass doors to a spectacular view of the Thames.

  ‘Very impressive,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sorry to leave here.’

  I would be too, she almost said. But her own feelings and thoughts didn’t come into this job. Sometimes clients didn’t even bother to remember her name. And that anonymity suited her very well.

  Kitty knew this client was moving to an even more impressive house on Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, one of the most prestigious and expensive addresses in London. PWP had been employed to unpack there. But it was not her place to chit-chat about his move. She was just here to pack up what her grandfather called ‘goods and chattels’ as quickly and safely as possible. It was PWP policy that packers didn’t get personal with clients.

  Sebastian Delfont picked up a small black digital camera from the console and handed it to her. ‘Before you start to pack, I want you to photograph everything so it can be placed in exactly the same way in the new house. The library is particularly important.’

  It was an unusual request, but nothing she couldn’t handle. ‘I can do that,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll take you to the library first,’ he said.

  Kitty followed him through the living areas and past the kitchen. The rooms were all furnished in the same modern style, shades of grey and metallics a foil for a collection of contemporary paintings and sculptures. It was very masculine. Was there a Mrs Delfont? There was certainly no feminine touch here.

  The library was a surprise; it was lined with bookshelves crammed with books from top to bottom. The limited wall space was covered in brightly coloured paintings that jarred with the sombre tones of the rest of the apartment. Claudia had warned her there’d be a lot of books. They’d had to order more of the smaller book boxes than ever before. Paper was heavy and a bigger box packed with books would be too heavy to handle, both for the packer and the mover who would transport them. Thankfully, there was a library ladder that would help her access the top levels. Still, it was a daunting task.

  ‘That’s a lot of books,’ she said. ‘I’d better get started.’

  Her client put up his hand in a halt sign. A masculine hand yet somehow elegant, long fingers with well-kept nails. The man had the looks to be an actor or a model. But she had never heard of him. And that accent didn’t come from lessons at drama school.

  ‘Not just yet,’ he said. ‘First, I want you to photograph each row of books. They have to be placed in exactly the same order on the bookshelves in the other house. There mustn’t be one book out of place.’

  Kitty swallowed hard. So this was what Claudia meant by saying their client might be difficult. Obsessive, it seemed. Would he be standing over her shoulder, directing her every move? She gritted her teeth at the thought. But that was okay. He was the client. His demands were nothing she couldn’t handle, although she would have to tread carefully. As long as he didn’t get too physically close to her. She couldn’t deal with that.

  ‘I understand,’ she said very seriously. ‘I think I might also record the order of the rows in a notebook as an extra working document and then label each box with a code.’

  ‘Good,’ he said as he nodded. And she saw what she could only interpret as a flash of gratitude in his slate-grey eyes.

  * * *

  Sebastian went to turn on his heel to leave the room but then paused, arrested by the way Kitty Clements’s hair, loosely tied behind her head, glowed golden in that sole shaft of sunlight that filtered through the window.

  She was very pretty. He fought for a less clichéd word to describe her. Blonde hair, a heart-shaped face, blue eyes—what else could he think but pretty? Pretty, cute, curvaceous. They all worked. Her black leggings and a long baggy black T-shirt with a bright pink PWP logo emblazoned across her chest did nothing to hide her shape.

  But it was more than her pretty face and shapely figure that made him look twice. He’d seen warmth and kindness in those blue eyes, understanding without condescension. She hadn’t questioned his requests, just thoughtfully suggested further ways of making sure she did what he needed. His doctor had reassured him he did not have obsessive compulsive disorder, but he knew his desire for control over certain aspects of his personal environment wasn’t everyday behaviour and it sometimes made people uncomfortable around him.

  Not, so it seemed, Kitty Clements. After all he’d been through with Lavinia, his former fiancée, who had fought to turn him into what she wanted and ruthlessly mocked his need for orderliness in his library, he was grateful for Kitty’s quiet understanding. Even though she was just a woman he had engaged to pack up his possessions.

  He knew he should leave the library and let her get on with it—after all, he was paying her by the hour—but he found himself compelled to stay.

  ‘What made you go into packing as a job?’ he asked. The PWP website had li
sted both her and her business partner Claudia Eaton as directors.

  ‘I wanted to be my own boss.’

  ‘Understandable. Why packing?’ He noticed how sleekly muscled Kitty’s arms were; her workday was probably equivalent to a weightlifting session at a gym.

  ‘I had to pack up my flat in a hurry, had no time to pack for myself and wasn’t in the slightest bit happy with the way the movers did it.’

  No explanation of why she’d had to pack up in such a hurry. Sebastian felt he was on the receiving end of a practised spiel she no doubt gave to any client who showed interest. It did nothing to deflect his interest; rather it made him intrigued about what story lay behind those guileless blue eyes.

  ‘I see,’ he said.

  ‘Claudia had a similar experience. We knew we could do better. Much better. At first we worked freelance with a big removals company then set up on our own. We found there was a demand for women packers. People believe we take more care with their possessions, and some people feel more comfortable with women in their house.’ Her smile was like a practised punctuation to her story. Yet it lit her eyes and seemed to up the wattage of the sunbeam that danced through her hair.

  ‘Why PWP?’ he asked. The small specialist company had come highly recommended for honesty and discretion.

  ‘People Who Pack,’ she said. ‘We started with Ladies Who Pack. After all, our earlier clients referred to us as “those ladies who pack”.’ Her smile dimmed and she gave a small, almost imperceptible shudder. ‘But it brought us the wrong kind of attention. We were also accused of being discriminatory. So we amended the name and went from there. It keeps us fit and we enjoy it. Now we have a team of women working for us.’

  She looked pointedly at her watch. ‘And, talking of working, I have a lot of books to pack.’

  ‘And you want me out of here,’ he said.

  ‘Please. I know what I have to do, and I don’t need you to direct me. I’ll call you if I need any clarification.’ Her words were lightly said and delivered with another smile, but it was a definite dismissal.