Kate couldn't blame her; they were both bent, heads tilted to the side and backs pressed against the bottom of the table. Kate had to really respect the woman for coming under here with her. There had been no need, but Lady Barrow had that kind of if-there's-something-to-do, let's-get-it-done personality. Energy and enthusiasm seemed to shimmer off her.
Sighing, Kate forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. One last pin to free and they would be out of there. Then she was going to insist Lucern head straight to the men's room and remove the jeweled pins. She couldn't imagine he had put them on his damned codpiece in the first place, and was grateful she hadn't danced with him before this had happened—she might have found her dress caught. Wouldn't that have been fun, to untangle right there in the middle of the dance floor for everyone to see? As it was, enough people knew she was under a table working on Lucern's codpiece; she didn't need every last attendee of the conference seeing her author's predicament.
"Got it! You're free," Kate called out in relief as the last pin came loose. She started to pull away, only to find her sleeve pulling up short. Somehow, while she had been untangling the tablecloth from the last pin, her sleeve had gotten caught on another. She was now attached to Lucern, wrist to codpiece.
"Damn," she said.
"What is it?" Lady Barrow asked, frowning. Something of an uproar started on the other side of the tablecloth. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
"I'm caught on one of the pins of his…" Kate gasped, rushing forward on her knees to keep her sleeve from ripping as Lucern suddenly scooted backward. The squeal of his chair legs on the floor drowned out her cry of alarm, and she was forced to hurry out from under the table as he started to rise. Kate blinked against a sudden flash, heard Lucern cursing, but was briefly blinded. It had been dark under the table.
"Watch out, Mr. Amirault," Lady Barrow warned, crawling out from under the table. "She's got her sleeve caught on your…"
Lady Barrow went silent upon seeing the newest additions to their audience. Kate became aware of them, too, her eyes adjusting and slowly noting the film camera pointed in her direction. There was a photographer, too, with a very professional-looking camera. The flash had been him taking a picture, she realized.
Lucern, doing his best to ignore her hand hanging in front of his groin, said in a pained, polite tone; "Call me Luc, please, Lady Barrow."
"My, my, my," the man with the professional-looking camera said. "You didn't mention this event to me, Lady Barrow."
"Who… ?" Kate began, just knowing she didn't want to hear the answer.
"The local paper," Lady Barrow said grimly. She got to her feet. "And now that this emergency is over, I guess I'd better take care of the next."
Jodi and the other writers helped the woman brush down her skirts; then Kathryn Falk took the reporter's arm, turned him away and started to walk him toward her own table.
"I'll lay money she has that man eating out of her hand in ten minutes," Jodi said with admiration. Turning to Lucern and Kate, she smiled encouragingly. "That picture won't make the papers. I guarantee it."
Chapter Fourteen
They made the front page of the Daily News.
"That weasel of a reporter swears he didn't give it to his editor, but I don't know who else could have," Kathryn Falk said in a disgruntled tone. She had called Kate and Luc first thing in the morning and requested they meet her in the main restaurant for breakfast. Kate had immediately suspected the worst. And she'd been right.
She stared miserably at the newspaper photo. There was Lucern, half-standing and looking all handsome in his froufrou costume, and there was she, looking like some cheap wench crawling out from under the table to grab him by the… She sighed miserably and read the headline again. "Medieval Moments?" it screamed in big letters.
Roundhouse Publishing Editor Kate C. Leever grabs all the gusto she can from vampire romance author Luke Amirault, as Kathryn Falk, Lady Barrow, CEO and founder of the Romantic Times Magazine, looks on at the Renaissance Ball last night.
Kate groaned and started to slam the paper down, but paused to reread the byline. She looked more carefully at the picture.
"When I get my hands on that man, I'm going to—" Lady Barrow began.
"I think he's telling the truth," Kate interrupted wearily. "It seems to me that newspaper man's flash went off just as I came out from under the table. You were still under there. But you're in this picture."
Lady Barrow took the paper and peered at it, a frown forming on her face. "I think you're right. But who else could have taken it? Cameras weren't allowed. We had hired a photographer to take photos of people. The only guests with cameras were reporters and…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes narrowing. "Why, that…" She cut herself off, clearly displeased. "If you'll excuse me, I have something to take care of."
She stood, then paused and forced a smile. "Don't worry about this. It's all a tempest in a teapot. It'll pass quickly if you don't give interviews about it."