A/N: For Searider Falcon.

Chapter 1

CC Babcock breezed into Maxwell Sheffield's townhouse one evening, her stilettos on the marble tile announcing her arrival before she even called out her usual greeting. She had chosen an ivory scoop-necked dress for the occasion, and she knew she looked lovely.

Maxwell's son huddled on the stairs near the doorway, and CC narrowed her eyes as they were drawn immediately to the blond boy. He might be small, but she knew from unpleasant experience that he carried a wallop. She had had to throw out her favorite Chanel bag after he—working in conjunction with that butler, she'd swear it—had filled it with the chicken salad she made sure never to tell Niles she loved. And, well, since then, she wasn't so keen on the stuff anyway.

So when she saw the boy watching her closely, his eyes open wide in an expression of exaggerated innocence, she knew to be on guard.

"What are you doing down here?" She asked sharply, not bothering to honey her voice. She knew Maxwell would be upstairs at least another half hour; a vainer man she had never met. But then, his vanity was easily explained, and she bit back a smug grin at the thought of how he would look in his tailored suit for the soirée they were hosting together. He would be on her arm, and she didn't intend to allow a child to ruin her evening.

"He lives here, Miss Babcock, unlike someone else I could mention," Niles responded for the child as he closed the door behind her.

CC barely spared him a dismissive glance. "You know very well the children are meant to be upstairs during this party. Where's the nanny?"

"Ah," Niles smiled at her with no hint of good humor. "She quit this morning. It seems Master Brighton somehow gave her the impression that he had injured his younger sister quite severely."

CC scowled.

Niles continued, "But don't worry—Miss Grace is fine after all." Sarcasm dripped from his words; he knew Babcock was in no need of reassurance as to the health and safety of any of the young Sheffields.

"Then why don't you take him to his room, if the nanny is gone?" She said unpleasantly, and it was clearly more an order than a request.

"Unfortunately, Miss Babcock, I have other responsibilities. Master Brighton, perhaps you could show Miss Babcock the nice artwork you made earlier," he suggested with a smirk as he headed towards the kitchen.

CC curled her lip. "Ah, no, that won't be necessary. I'll check that the musicians have all they need," she said, then directed her gaze at the boy. "You had better not make any trouble tonight." Her voice was low and menacing.

"Or you'll make sure Dad sends me to boarding school?" The boy laughed at her. "That hasn't worked before," he taunted.

"Don't push your luck," she said grimly, and turned to speak with the musicians who were arranging their instruments near the piano.

An hour later, Niles was serving hors d'œuvres to the first of their guests and Maxwell had emerged from his toilette, as handsome as expected. CC kept him firmly by her side as she charmed their guests, trying just a little too hard to play the role of hostess to his host. Deep down, she knew it was an illusion, but she usually managed to avoid those recesses of her mind, and tonight was no different. It would only be a matter of time, she was determined, before the play became reality, in spite of Maxwell's misplaced sense of loyalty to his dead wife.

During a quiet moment as the musicians took a break, CC reached out to Maxwell, running her fingers over the fine wool of his dinner jacket and sipping from the champagne flute she held in her other hand. "Maxwell, darling, this is going beautifully. We should have no problem financing our next production."

Her heart skipped a beat when he stopped scanning the crowd and turned to grace her with a grin. "I think you're right," he said, squeezing her hand. "Excuse me for a moment, will you? I see someone I must speak with." He smoothly disengaged her arm from his and stepped away from her.

CC's smile dropped just for a moment, before she quickly replaced what had been a genuine expression of pleasure with one that was more forced.

Not before the butler caught her in her moment of weakness, though. "Don't fret, Miss Babcock. It's much better for everyone if you don't get the chance to sink your claws in too deep." He appeared at her elbow out of nowhere, and she only just managed not to jump.

She looked down her nose at him. "Don't you have something to serve?" She emphasized the last word as she drained her glass before exchanging it for another off his silver tray. She took a sip that was rather too like a gulp to be elegant, then turned her back to him and approached an older, well-dressed couple, her smile firmly in place. CC didn't notice Niles watching her go, a speculative look on his face.

The party was going full swing by 11 o'clock, and the noise level in the house had climbed considerably as the champagne flowed and inhibitions loosened. Having ducked into the kitchen a couple times for a taste of something a little more her style than champagne, CC herself finally felt relaxed and confident again after Maxwell's almost charming rejection earlier.

She caught a glimpse of Maxwell standing entirely too close to a short but shapely young woman and began to make her way over to him. Walking by the staircase on her way back to join the crowd, she felt the shock of something cold and wet trickling down her bare shoulders. She glanced up into the mischievous eyes of Maxwell's son, and didn't bother to hide the rage in her own. The child, recognizing an impending explosion when he saw one, stood and ran wordlessly up to the second level of the house and disappeared down the hall.

Dreading what she would find, CC slipped into the first room available—the library. Her fists clenched, she flipped on the light switch and walked over to the ornate, gold-inlaid mirror near the fireplace. Her expensive dress was drenched with what she suspected was a sugary drink those children enjoyed, and she closed her eyes as she tried to tamp down the homicidal urge she felt surging through her. The red stain would never come out of the delicate lace that decorated the garment's bodice.

Distracted, she didn't hear the faint click of the door as it opened and then closed again. She did, however, hear the dismayed, "Oh, Miss Babcock, your dress."

She didn't manage to keep from flinching this time. "Damn it, Niles, don't pretend you're sorry for me. Get out," she growled, without turning around.

"Sorry for you? Never. But that poor dress has had a terrible time of it, not least of all because you've been wearing it." Biting his lip to hold back a smile, he pulled the startlingly white towel from where he had it draped over his arm and crossed the room.

CC watched him approach in the mirror. It surprised her when she shivered as he gently lifted the towel to her shoulders, wiping off the liquid that hadn't already been absorbed by her dress.

"I'm sure you put that little bastard up to this," she spat at him.

"And I'm sure you know I'd never do anything to jeopardize a fundraising event. I know we don't like each other very much, but I thought you knew me better than that, Babcock." He continued to caress her shoulders through the towel, long after he'd done what he could to clean her up.

She raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror. "Even if you could make me look like a fool in front of Maxwell?"

He grinned. "Well, there is that."

She turned quickly and pushed him away from her. "I knew it," she fumed.

"Calm down. I assure you I had nothing to do with this. And I'll speak with Master Brighton," he added, his voice briefly severe. "Now, what are we going to do about your dress?"

"We? Since when are we in anything together?" She asked, shrugging her shoulders in an attempt to hold the sticky, damp fabric off her skin.

"Since…" he drifted off, his eyes drawn to the rather generous cleavage revealed by Babcock's movements.

"Hello," she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "Eyes up here, butler." She didn't bother to hide her smirk. Maxwell never noticed such things, and she would deal later with the twisted little tremble of pleasure it gave her that his butler apparently did.

"I guess we…" he blinked and shook his head. "Well. Let's get you out of here and then we can try to find something of Mrs. Sheffield's for you to wear."

An expression akin to horror on her face, CC gaped at him. "I'm not leaving the library looking like this. And I'm certainly not wearing Sarah's clothing. You may think I'm desperate, but I'm not that far gone."

Niles rolled his eyes. "Let's not split hairs over the advanced level of your desperation. What do you want me to do, then?" He asked her, exasperated.

She thought a moment. "Go to my penthouse and bring back my other ivory dress. The neckline is different, but hopefully no one will notice."

"Are you insane? I'm not driving across town. I have food and drinks to serve."

"It's hardly across town; it won't take half an hour. Just go, Niles." Her voice took on a wheedling tone in spite of the order she had just given him.

She had never addressed him like that before, and to his great chagrin, he realized that he would do anything she asked of him in that tone of voice. "What's in it for me?" He asked, though he knew he wouldn't refuse her this.

"How about I don't tell Maxwell you helped the boy plan this?"

Affronted, he began, "You know damn well…"

And then she winked at him, and he came to a stop. In the ten years he had known her, she had never done such a thing.

"How about I let you help me with the zipper when you bring back the dress?" She let her voice drop, and she knew she was at her most seductive. She also knew she shouldn't, but it had been a long time since a man had looked at her the way Niles was doing, and she couldn't help but luxuriate in the feeling of being desired. Even if it was by the help.

Niles was rarely tongue-tied, but Babcock had just accomplished it. "Are you—do you—I'll be right back." He walked quickly across the room and slipped out into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him.