6
The first time Simon awakened, it was due to the customary clink of drapery rings sliding back and the scent of early tea. But upon opening his eyes, he’d been hit with a shaft of bright morning sunlight that felt like a spike piercing his skull, a painful reminder of why he didn’t drink. Closing his eyes again, he’d ordered his valet to shut the damn drapes, take away the tea, and send word to Ross that he was ill.
He had then drifted back into blessed sleep, only to be awakened again sometime later by the sound of a knock on his door and the low murmur of voices.
This time, he opened his eyes gingerly, but though the light in the room was now much dimmer than before, his head was still aching fit to split, his eyes felt as if they had sand in them, and he could only wonder how someone had managed to stuff cotton wool into his mouth while he slept. With a groan, Simon pulled the covers over his head.
“My lord?”
His valet’s voice was a soft murmur, but to Simon, it sounded like a gunshot, making him wonder why he’d ever thought becoming a viscount required a valet. He pulled the counterpane down, bestowing a malevolent glare on the unflappable man standing there with a tray in his hands. “Morgan, if you don’t go away and leave me in peace, I swear to God, I will sack you.”
Even as he spoke, the smell of coffee and bacon, neither of which he had asked for, hit his nostrils. His stomach rumbled. “And I thought I already told you I don’t want any breakfast.”
“I didn’t order it, my lord. The waiter who brought it said it was sent up by Lady Stratham.”
“Lady Stratham?” That information was so astonishing that Simon abandoned any thought of firing Morgan and sat up. “You must have heard wrong. Or you’re going daft.”
Morgan gave a cough and nodded to the tray he carried. “If you’ll notice, my lord, there is a note.”
Simon pulled the folded slip of paper off the tray, broke its wax seal, and opened it.
You’ll feel better if you eat. And drink the tomato juice. You won’t like it, but it will help. Trust me on this.
—Delia
“Trust her?” he muttered as Morgan shifted the tray to one arm and lifted the lid off the plate for his inspection. “God help me if I ever become that big a fool.”
He leaned closer, eyeing with suspicion the heaping plate of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and baked beans, the glass of tomato juice, the pot of coffee, and the stack of buttered toast. “Where do you suppose she’s put the arsenic?”
Morgan deigned to smile. “If you’ll notice the vase, my lord, it’s clear Lady Stratham bears you no ill will.”
“It’s not clear to me.” Still skeptical, he glanced at the bud vase on the tray, unable to fathom what a few flowers had to do with anything. “But even if you’re right, she’s probably sucking up because she’s afraid I’m about to fire her.”
“A countess would never do anything like that,” Morgan murmured, looking shocked; bless his trusting soul. “She’s probably just being kind,” he added before Simon could reply. “She’s ever so nice, her ladyship is.”
At once, an image of her came into Simon’s mind. Her sooty-lashed blue eyes sparkling with amusement, her full pink mouth curved in a mischievous smile, the smothered laughter in her voice—all at his expense. “Nice?” he echoed, chagrined to realize that he might have found her quite nice indeed if she weren’t so damned aggravating. “Who says so?”
“A great many people.”
“A great many people think the world is flat, too,” he muttered, tossing the note back on the tray.
“But the earth is flat, sir. Why, one has only to use one’s eyes to know that.”
Simon was in no condition for a debate on astronomy with a follower of the flat-earth movement. “Just send it back, Morgan.”
But even as he spoke, he inhaled the scent of bacon again, and he realized to his surprise that, despite the pain in his head and the unsteadiness of his stomach, he was actually hungry. “On second thought,” he said as his valet turned away, “put it on the table over there and bring me my dressing robe.”
A short time later, and much to his own surprise, Simon had wolfed down every crumb of food on the tray. As Lady Stratham had predicted, he was less enthusiastic about the tomato juice, for it had the sharp, unmistakable tang of liquor in it, and liquor was something he’d had far too much of the night before. But his mouth was dry as dust, and he ended up drinking all of it, as well as the entire pot of coffee. Afterward, he had a hot bath and a shave, and by the time he was dressed, he felt considerably better.
Deciding that he might be able to get some work done today after all, he ventured downstairs, and as he passed Lady Stratham’s office on the way to his own, he found her at her desk opening letters. “Slaving away, I see,” he remarked, pausing in the corridor.
At the sound of his voice, she looked up. “He lives!”
Simon gave a little bow. “To paraphrase Mark Twain, the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
That made her smile. “Having some breakfast helped, I trust?”
“It did, yes.” He paused, feeling strangely awkward and a little bit guilty that he’d been so quick to judge her motives. “Thank you. Though I confess, I almost sent it back, fearing you might be trying to poison me.”
“I would never do such a thing. I might think it,” she added, her smile widening, “but I would never do it. I like living too much to risk being hanged. You’re safe as houses.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“And even if that weren’t the case,” she added, “I’d never do away with someone while simultaneously attempting to broker a truce with him. That would be blatant hypocrisy and quite dishonorable.”
Somehow, Simon felt that attempted poisoning might be a greater breach of honor than hypocrisy, but her remark was sufficiently surprising that he didn’t bother to say so. “Was that your intent?” he asked instead. “To broker a truce between us?”
“Of course! I thought the flowers made that quite obvious.”
“The flowers?”
She groaned. “Don’t tell me they didn’t send the vase up with the breakfast?”
“There was a bud vase of flowers on the tray,” he said. “Purple, spiky things. But what do flowers have to do with anything?”
“Not just any flowers. Hyacinths.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t realize they were hyacinths,” he said with a nod, still utterly at sea. “That explains everything.”
She sighed, shaking her head, demonstrating that his attempt to look ho-hum and wise hadn’t fooled her for a second. “I begin to see why you find winter flower arrangements in springtime acceptable,” she said sadly. “In the language of flowers, hyacinths signify a new beginning.”
He stared at her askance. “Flowers have a language?”
“Of course! If you wish to express your feelings to someone, you send them flowers that have the meaning you wish to convey.” She laughed at his doubtful expression, and despite the fact that their conversation about flower arrangements was the rocky start that had led to the present need for a truce, he couldn’t help laughing, too.
“Why, Lord Calderon,” she exclaimed, bolting up from her chair with a suddenness that startled him. “What is that?”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked as she circled her desk and walked toward where he stood. “What is what?”
“You’re…” She paused, halting before him and squinting as she leaned closer, studying his face as if confounded. “You’re laughing.”
“I have been known to laugh on occasion.”
“Not in my hearing. My goodness.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “The miracles that can result from giving a man a hearty breakfast and a little hair of the dog that bit him.”
“Hair of the dog?”
“Frank’s special tomato-juice cocktail.”
“The Savoy’s barkeep invented that vile concoction I drank this morning?”
“Well, he says he invented it, but for my part, I’m inclined to doubt. Every barkeep worth his salt claims he’s invented some exciting new cocktail when he really stole it from someone else. Either way, he says it’s an excellent cure for the aftereffects of alcoholic excess. And looking at you, its effectiveness speaks for itself.”
“But how did you know—” He broke off, not willing to admit he’d been so careless as to imbibe enough that such a remedy was necessary.
“How did I know you needed it?” she finished for him. Leaning closer, a distinctly mischievous look in her dark blue eyes, she whispered, “I have my spies. I hear everything that happens in this hotel.”
That was just what worried him. “You shouldn’t pay attention to gossip,” he said.
“You’re right,” she agreed at once, straightening and donning a contrite expression. “They told me you’d gone on rather a bender, but having listened to such wicked rumors, I feel thoroughly ashamed of myself.”
As if to illustrate the point, she hung her head, looking so woebegone that he couldn’t help laughing again.
“Another one?” she cried, looking up. “Well, that proves it.”
“Proves what?”
“That you’re not nearly as stiff and haughty as you pretend to be.”
He was a bit taken aback by the description. “I’m not the least bit haughty.”
Even as he spoke, however, he watched one of her dark brows arch upward, and he appreciated that haughty might be a fair assessment of his behavior to date—at least from her point of view.
“I’m so glad to see this side of you,” she said breezily. “Now, every time you poker up and frown so ominously, I shall know it’s all a hum, and our friendship can remain intact.”
“Ah, so we’re friends now, are we?”
The laughter in her expression vanished. “I’d like us to be.”
He met her gaze, and something in her eyes made him catch his breath. He stirred, and when she moved closer, the faint but unmistakable scent of her perfume wafted to his nose—a spicy, exotic scent so blatantly sensual that his body responded at once. Warmth flooded his limbs and his muscles tightened as arousal flickered to life inside him. “You sound as if you mean that,” he murmured.
“I do mean it.”
She sounded so sincere, and when she moved a step closer, the arousal in him rose a notch. Involuntarily, he bent his head a fraction, but then he stiffened, reminding himself of all the reasons he could not afford to trust her. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“But what—” She broke off and her tongue darted out to lick her lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth. “What can I do to convince you?”
What, indeed. Erotic possibilities at once began going through his mind, but of course, he was too much of a gentleman to ever act on them. She was under his supervision. She was also an extravagant spendthrift, probably an accomplished liar, and might very well be guilty of embezzlement and fraud.
Sadly, however, his baser masculine nature proved woefully unimpressed by such considerations, and his gaze slid downward, his mind conjuring images of what might be beneath the soft blue cashmere dress that clung so provocatively to the generous curves of her figure.
“The truth is,” she said, her voice barely discernible to his ears above the hard thud of his heartbeat, “I’ve had a sort of epiphany. I’ve realized it makes sense for us to be friends.”
He blinked, trying to think past the sensuous haze enveloping him. “Friends?”
“It’s the best thing for everyone, don’t you agree?”
Given what he was feeling right now, being friends with her sounded like the most nonsensical thing he’d ever heard, but by sheer force of will, Simon hauled his gaze back up to her face and his mind out of the gutter. “Absolutely,” he said with more enthusiasm than he actually felt. “It’s an excellent idea.”
“Oh, I’m so glad.” She laughed, pressed a hand to her chest. “Such a relief to know we can get along if we try.”
“Yes,” he agreed, rather surprised. “I suppose it is.”
“And it’s certainly better for the hotel if we’re friends.”
“Indeed.”
They both fell silent, almost as if neither of them knew quite where to go from here, but at last, she gave a little cough, took another step back, and gestured to the desk behind her. “In this new spirit of friendship, perhaps we could discuss a matter of hotel business, if you are feeling up to it? It won’t take more than a minute or two, but it is somewhat urgent.”
“Of course.” Relieved by the possibility of distraction from the lustful thoughts in his mind, Simon followed her to her desk, where they paused side by side. As she began rummaging amid the untidy piles of papers, files, and letters heaped on its surface, he worked to regain his equilibrium and remember his priorities.
When she pulled a large leather-bound ledger from beneath an untidy pile of letters, he seized on it like a lifeline. “You want to discuss the reservation book?” he asked as she opened the volume and began flipping through the pages.
“Yes. There’s a mix-up with one of the reservations, I’m afraid, and we need to get it sorted.”
She paused at a particular page, her finger tapping at one of the lines written there, and he leaned over the book to have a better look. She did the same, her shoulder brushing his. It was innocuous contact, barely discernible through layers of clothing, and yet, it nearly sent all his efforts to regain his control to oblivion.
He jerked sideways a fraction. “What sort of mix-up?” he asked, mortified that his question was a strangled rasp in his throat.
Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s for June seventh. You’ve reserved the Pinafore Room for Mr. Devlin Sharpe, but that room is already taken for that date.”
He took a deep breath, striving for equilibrium, reminding himself of their newfound friendship. “How could that be? There is no entry in the book but mine.”
“Well, yes, but nonetheless, it’s already reserved. I reserved it last night.”
“Without putting it in the book?”
“I’m afraid there wasn’t time to do so. You see, my friend Lady Kay Matheson came to see me and requested the—”
“Lady Kay Matheson?” he interrupted, startled, the sensuous haze around him dissipating as he spoke. “You mean the Earl of Raleigh’s daughter? She is a friend of yours?”
“Yes. We came out together.” She turned toward him. “Do you know the family?”
“I know of them,” he replied grimly, remembering the voluptuous redhead who’d been standing arm in arm with Delia in the lobby the night before. No doubt that was the infamous Lady Kay. “Devlin Sharpe is a friend of mine.”
“Oh?” She seemed surprised, and yet, looking at her, he had the vague, uneasy feeling she wasn’t surprised at all. “Well, that’s good news,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, if you’re his friend, it makes the whole thing so much easier to resolve.”
“Does it?” he countered, turning to face her, suddenly wary. “How so?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Being your friend, Mr. Sharpe will surely be more understanding than another customer would be when you explain the situation and we move him to a different room.”
With those words, the vague, uneasy suspicion hovering at the back of his mind became certainty, and all this morning’s events came into focus with sharp, stinging clarity.
The thoughtfully provided breakfast, the offered truce, the pretense of friendship, the come-hither look in her eyes, the seductive perfume—all part of a deliberate strategy. Had she dumped a bucket of water over his head, she could not have extinguished the fire smoldering inside him more effectively.
So much for hyacinths and new beginnings.
“Now, why,” he murmured, feeling like an utter fool, “would we move Devlin’s event to a different room?”
“But I’ve just told you. When you reserved it, it was already taken.”
“No,” he corrected, his voice hard, “it was not taken. If it’s not in the reservation book, it is not reserved.”
“But, Simon—”
“Simon, is it?” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “My God, woman, you’ve got brass. I’ll give you that.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” He folded his arms, studying her through narrowed eyes. “I’m referring to your sudden concern for my health and well-being, and the motives so clearly behind this pretense of friendliness and amiability.”
She actually had the temerity to seem offended. “There is no pretense,” she said, bristling. “I am attempting to broker peace and forge a friendship between us so that we can better work together.”
“You’re doing it to soften me up.”
“That is a horrible way of putting it,” she muttered.
“But accurate.”
“Is it? Alternatively, someone who didn’t have odious and unfair preconceived ideas about my character might credit me with enough wits to know not to ask for something I need when the person I need it from is not feeling well!”
He couldn’t help a laugh. “That’s some fine hairsplitting, right there.”
“Call it what you want. For my part, I call it common sense. I deemed making you feel better a priority so that we could tackle a mutual problem and maybe rub along better for the good of the hotel.”
“You did it to get your own way. And,” he added as she made a sound of impatience, “this problem is hardly mutual. Your lack of planning has nothing to do with me, and a plate of eggs and bacon, a vase of flowers, and a melting glance or two from those big blue eyes of yours doesn’t change that.”
“Obviously not,” she agreed, scowling at him, “since, despite all my efforts to put you in a reasonable frame of mind, you’re still as grouchy as a bear.”
“Perhaps that’s because I don’t like being manipulated with feminine wiles under the guise of friendship.”
She gave a snort of derision. “As if my feminine wiles would ever work on you! There’d have to be blood in your veins instead of ice water.”
Those words implied that she hadn’t perceived his inexplicable moment of weakness where she was concerned, and Simon drew a breath of profound relief. “Now that’s a brilliant tactic,” he said. “Seduction didn’t work, so you resort to in—”
“Seduction?” she interrupted, staring at him as if appalled. “I wouldn’t seduce you if my life depended on it.”
“Good, because I’d never fall for that trick,” he shot back, painfully aware that he nearly had.
“No? Darling, if I ever set out to seduce you, you’d never be able to resist me. And anyway,” she added before he could protest, “I wasn’t playing a trick!”
“Like hell you weren’t. I suppose you wear that seductive perfume and dresses that cling to your curves when you meet with duchesses and debutantes, too?”
She gave an indignant huff, and in her eyes, Simon saw that steely glint he was coming to know well.
“As I said, my only intent was to wipe the slate clean, put you in a more agreeable frame of mind, and show you that I don’t hold grudges. I thought if we could become friends, you would be better able to see my point of view on things, not just about Kay, but about everything you’re doing here. The deposits on banquet rooms, the poor employees you’re dismissing left and right, the snooping in people’s private papers—”
“Your expense accounts are not private.”
“And Escoffier? He came to me in a rage yesterday because you and the accountants were snooping through his desk. Are his personal letters and recipes not private?”
“Nothing in the offices of employees is private. As I told you, if you want privacy, keep your papers in your room.”
“But what are you looking for?” she cried. “What possible reason could you have for going through Escoffier’s desk? Or mine?”
“I already explained that. We are auditing the records of every head of staff.”
“Even Ritz?”
Especially Ritz, he thought. “Everyone. And before you go racing off to send Ritz a cable, let me add that he already knows about our efforts, and he has tendered his full cooperation. You and Escoffier could both profit from his example.”
“That’s exactly what I was trying to do!” she countered. “And for my efforts, you have accused me of selfish motives and trickery, when all I was doing was employing the same tactics you’d have used on me if our positions were reversed. Oh, yes, you would have,” she went on as he opened his mouth to dispute her contention. “Though I’d never accuse you of trying to seduce me, since seduction is clearly beyond your capabilities.”
It had been ages since he’d seduced a woman, unfortunately, but Simon wasn’t about to fall into the trap of defending his ability to do so. “It’s beyond your capabilities, too, obviously,” he was happy to point out. “Since it didn’t work.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! If I were attempting to seduce you, I’d never have chosen to do it here, with the door into the corridor wide open and your secretary in the very next room. And if you would only stop huffing and puffing and congratulating yourself for your imperviousness to my charms, you’d be fair and admit that what I was trying to do is the only sensible thing.”
“Sensible?”
“Of course. You’re a man of business, aren’t you? If you wanted to make a business deal with someone who didn’t like you or trust you,” she added as he started to reply, “wouldn’t you attempt to change their unfavorable view and gain their trust before you made your proposition?”
“Trusting you is asking for trouble. And your example hardly applies here.”
“Oh, really? Why not?”
Because he’d almost fallen for it. A galling fact he had no intention of admitting aloud. “What you’re talking about is a hypothetical situation, one in which I can’t possibly know what I would do until I had all the facts. And it doesn’t really matter anyway, since in this case, I have no intention of yielding. I will not cancel a room Devlin has reserved in good faith just because you failed to put your friend’s reservation in the book when you had the opportunity.”
“But there was no way I could have known you would involve yourself in the making of reservations. The only people authorized to reserve banquet rooms are Ritz, Echenard, and myself.”
“And me.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“No,” he agreed. “You didn’t. And that is exactly why you have a problem.”
“It’s your problem, too.”
“How so?”
“You’re here to make the hotel as profitable as it can be. If we don’t move your friend’s booking, we will lose Kay’s. How do you think the board is going to feel about losing one of the biggest social events of the upcoming season because you’re being unreasonable?”
“Perhaps they’ll share my view that the unreasonable one in this scenario is you.”
“And yet I’m under your supervision. Doesn’t the responsibility for my mistake ultimately rest with you?”
He sucked in an exasperated breath, unable to deny the truth of that. “If so, then what would the remedy be? Should I dismiss you?”
“Don’t you think you’ve dismissed enough people already? Because of that, by the way, you’ve got everyone on edge. They’re all waiting, wondering if they’ll be the next casualty of your cost-cutting measures.”
He could not tell her the true reasons for that. “That’s neither here nor there,” he said instead. “As for the rest, are you suggesting I should keep an even closer eye on you?”
Her eyes widened in horror at the prospect. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I? The more I think on it, the more I think it’s a wise idea. In fact, given your clever, scheming brain, I ought to be watching you twenty-four hours a day.”
“Don’t be absurd. You’ve obviously got far too much on your plate to bother with hovering over me. And it isn’t at all necessary. Why can’t we just learn to get along?”
“I’m all for that. We can start with you giving your friend your sincerest apologies for the mix-up on her reservation and suggesting she book an alternate room as soon as possible.”
“A course open to you as well.”
“Tell Devlin he has to give up the banquet room his fiancée wants because his previous fiancée wants it, too? The previous fiancée who abandoned him and broke his heart? Hell, no. I will strip naked and dance a jig on the Savoy rooftop before that happens.”
“As much as I’d love to see a hilarious display like that, I feel compelled to point out that when it comes to Lady Kay and Devlin Sharpe, you’ve got the story all wrong.”
“Which part? The part where she agreed to marry him and then reneged? The part where she jilted him at the altar, or—”
“There was no altar to jilt him on!” she cut in. “Devlin Sharpe is a scoundrel who persuaded a respectable young lady of barely eighteen to defy her family and sneak off with him to Gretna Green when he didn’t even have an income to support her! Who could blame her for realizing it would be a mistake? Thank God my cousins found them at that roadside inn and were able to bring her home before they got to Scotland. Not that it mattered in the end, of course. That blackguard decided that if he couldn’t have her, no other man could. He made sure everyone knew she’d run off with him, ruining her in the eyes of society.”
Simon stared at her, astonished. “Wait, you think he told—”
“And now,” she went on before he could set her straight about Devlin, “after she’s spent over fourteen years as the most unwanted heiress in England, she’s finally found a man to marry, and I’m supposed to tell her that the banquet room she wants is unavailable because the man who shamed her and ruined her wants it for his new bride? Never! And none of this would even be an issue if you had bothered to consult with me before you booked the room.”
“It also wouldn’t be an issue if you had put the reservation in the book when your friend first requested it. Perhaps you ought to have been doing that instead of gloating over my difficulties with the duchess last night.”
She tossed her head, showing he’d hit a nerve. “Oh, stop,” she muttered, looking guilty as hell. “I was not gloating.”
“Oh, yes, you were.”
“Well, maybe I was,” she conceded. “A little. But either way, that’s beside the point. What do we do now? The Pinafore is the only room big enough to seat Kay’s guest list.”
“What about the basement? Didn’t Ritz spend an obscene amount of money turning that into a banquet room a few years ago?”
“It’s booked also. The British Archaeological Association. They always reserve the basement for their annual dinner. Makes them feel like they’re in a cave, I suppose. We paint cave drawings on the walls with chalk, lay animal skins on the floor, serve them fire-roasted joints of beef and mutton—it’s all very silly, to my mind, but they simply adore it. Including, I might add, the Prince of Wales, who is their primary sponsor. Moving them into another room is out of the question.”
“Then, unless Lady Kay wants to go to another hotel, she will have to shorten her list of invited guests and make do with one of our smaller rooms for her wedding dinner.”
“This is so unfair.”
“On the contrary, the rule of first come, first served is completely fair.”
“I was first!”
“The reservation book begs to differ.”
“How?” she murmured, shaking her head as if baffled. “How is it that only moments after I might start to like you, you prove yourself to be absolutely impossible?”
“We have something in common, then. Only moments after I started to like you, I realized I was being played for a fool, and I came to my senses.” As he spoke, he couldn’t resist a glance over her, and every alluring curve seemed like another slap in the face. “If you don’t want to admit your mistake to Lady Kay, you can always go to Devlin and ask if he’s willing to give up the room for her. Who knows? You may have better luck with him than you’ve had with me.”
“I’d have better luck with the devil than with you.”
“Well, perhaps you can offer Devlin your friendship in exchange. Though being an engaged man, and an honorable one—”
“Honorable? Him? That’s rich.”
“I doubt he’ll play your game,” he finished, ignoring her scornful interruption. “Now if you will pardon me, I have work to do.”
Ignoring her sound of outrage, he crossed to the door connecting their offices, but before opening it, he paused to say one more thing.
“And by the way,” he told her, his hand on the knob, “don’t wear that damned perfume around me anymore.”
With that parting shot, he opened the door and departed, and it took everything he had to close the door gently rather than slam it behind him.
“My lord,” Ross greeted him in surprise, rising to his feet. “I was told you were ill.”
“I was. Now I’m better.” The moment he uttered those words, he realized how false they were, for anger and arousal were still coursing through him like hot lava. “Or at least,” he amended, “I’m a little bit wiser.”
The secretary looked understandably puzzled. “I’m gratified to hear it, my lord,” he murmured.
“So am I, Ross.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, he shoved thoughts of Delia Stratham out of his mind and started past the secretary’s desk toward his own. “Now—”
He broke off, noticing the stacks of hand-addressed envelopes on one corner of the secretary’s desk, and came to a stop. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Invitations for Lady Stratham. For the East India Club’s annual dinner.”
“Lady Stratham?” Simon rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Of course. That woman’s always got her eye on the main chance.”
“I thought it would be all right. Since you were ill, I had very little to do this morning. And she was in desperate need of help.”
“Now she’s usurping my secretary. I’ll wager,” he added, noting the teacup and crumb-laden plate on the opposite corner of the desk, “she brought you breakfast, too, before she asked oh-so-sweetly for your assistance? That seems to be a favorite tactic of hers.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but she didn’t ask for my help. I offered it.”
He gave the other man a look of profound pity. “I daresay that’s how it seemed.”
“Did I do wrong, my lord?” The secretary looked at him anxiously. “Are you angry with me?”
The one he was angry with was himself. “No, of course not,” he answered with a resigned sigh. “You did what any other mug would have done in your place, so finish the task now that you’ve taken it on. But in the future, please see me before you do any more work for that woman.”
The secretary nodded. “Would you care for your letters, my lord? There’s one I know you’ll want to read immediately. It’s from your sister.”
“Cassie?” Simon’s spirits brightened at once, and the infuriatingly seductive Lady Stratham was forgotten. “At last. She never responded to my last letter, and it’s been almost a fortnight. I was becoming worried.” He took the sealed pale pink envelope from Ross’s outstretched hand. “Anything else?”
“A letter came this morning from Mrs. Carte, requesting a meeting with you. It’s urgent, she says.”
That could only mean the auditors and detectives had news regarding the investigation. “Contact Mrs. Carte and see if she is available to meet for luncheon.”
“Today, my lord?” The secretary pulled out his watch. “It’s past noon already.”
“Go to the front desk and use the telephone there. If Helen feels it’s urgent that we meet, then I want that meeting as soon as possible.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The secretary bustled out of their office to follow instructions, and as Simon watched him go, he could only hope that whatever news Helen had for him would establish the guilt or innocence of a certain provoking, curvaceous, blue-eyed devil.
Five minutes of being friends with that woman had been enough to light him on fire, and he didn’t know how much more of her friendship he could take before she burned him to a crisp.