8
But how are you feeling, truly?” Delia cast a concerned glance over the dark-haired young woman who was ironing on the other side of the worktable. “Are you absolutely sure you haven’t returned to your duties too soon? If money is a concern, I’m sure something can be worked out.”
Lizzie Welton smiled as she set the iron back on the plate to warm. “Please don’t worry about me, my lady. Mrs. Henderson has been very kind to me, saying I could take breaks if I needed to rest, but honestly, I feel right as rain. But then, I was only in labor for twelve hours.”
“Twelve sounds like a lot.”
“Oh, no, my lady. It’s nothing, especially when you consider that this is my first baby. The midwife couldn’t believe it. I was born to have babies, she said.”
Pain hit Delia square in the chest, but she swallowed hard and shoved the feeling aside. “A blessing, to be sure, but even so, dear Lizzie, you mustn’t tire yourself out.”
“No worries on that score. I have help at home.” Lizzie’s plump face took on a rueful expression, her pert nose wrinkling up. “My mother-in-law,” she said with a profound lack of enthusiasm, “has moved in with us.”
“Ah.” Delia gave her a knowing look in return. “Now I see why you were so eager to return to work.”
Lizzie grinned. “Exactly so, my lady.”
Delia watched her pick up the iron again and appreciated that she’d taken enough of the young woman’s time. “I had best allow you to carry on with your duties or Mrs. Henderson will scold me.” Gesturing to the half-open duffel bag on the worktable, she added, “Can I put this somewhere, so it won’t be in your way?”
“If you could just put it by the lift on your way out, my lady, I’ll take it with me when I finish here.”
Nodding, Delia pulled the edges of the cloth bag all the way up and tightened the drawstring, then she wrapped her arms around the enormous bundle and carried it out of the ironing room. But as she stepped through the doorway and turned in the corridor, she ran straight into something solid, something that shouldn’t have been there.
“Oh!” she cried, the force of the collision sending her stumbling backward, but thankfully, two strong hands grasped her arms before she could fall to the hard stone floor.
“Careful,” a deep male voice cautioned, and Delia’s good mood slipped a notch as she recognized who that voice belonged to.
“Calderon?” she cried in dismay. “Is that you?”
She lowered the bundle in her arms so that she could see, and when she looked into a now-familiar pair of green eyes, she groaned. “Can’t I ever get away from you? What on earth are you doing down here?”
“I might ask you the same question,” he replied. “Do you always bring your laundry down yourself?”
She blinked, taken aback. “My what?”
“Your laundry,” he repeated, nodding to the soft, pillowy bundle between their bodies. “Isn’t that yours?”
She burst out laughing. “Heavens, no! When my laundry needs doing, Molly brings it down, not me.”
“Who is Molly?”
“Molly Grimes. One of the hotel maids,” she added as he continued to look bewildered. “She’s doing it for me until I find a new maid of my own. Don’t worry,” she continued, making a face. “The hotel is charging me an outrageous sum for her services.”
He frowned, clearly not taking her teasing in the proper spirit, which didn’t surprise her in the least. “Stop complaining,” he muttered, his hands sliding away from her arms. “You get enough other things for free.”
“If you mean my suite, I pay for that now, too, remember? And I can only conclude you are glowering at me in such a disagreeable fashion because you’re still out of sorts about this morning. And why,” she went on before he could make any attempt to deny it, “are you skulking about in the hotel service corridors?”
“I was not skulking.”
“Were you spying on me? After all,” she went on before he could reply, “you think I’m some schemer forever attempting to trick you with my wiles. Just what,” she added, her ire growing as she thought of the accusations he’d laid at her door a few hours ago, “do you think I’m getting for free? Laundry service?”
Her words had been spoken half in jest, but when his gaze lowered speculatively to the bundle in her arms, she realized they were nothing less than the truth.
“Oh, my God, that’s exactly what you do think.” She shook her head, appreciating with mingled dismay and irritation just how low his opinion of her really was. “So that’s why you were hovering just outside the door in that clandestine manner. You thought you’d catch me out.”
“I hardly had time for such a thing. I had only just stepped out of the service lift,” he added, gesturing to the still-open elevator doors beside him, “when you appeared in the corridor and cannoned into me. But I admit, I am curious as to why you are bringing bundles of clothing down to the laundry. As you pointed out, it’s something your maid would usually do.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, do you ever stop thinking the worst of me?” Taking a step back, she bent down to set the duffel bag on the floor between them, then she loosened the drawstring and pulled the edges of the sack down to partially reveal what was inside. “Does this look like clothing to you?” she demanded, lifting the bundle as she straightened.
He blinked, staring at the enormous furry brown head now visible above the edge of the sack. “It’s a bear.”
If she weren’t so exasperated with him, she might have relished the stupefied look on his face. “Yes, exactly.” She held the enormous toy higher, shaking it in his face. “A bear.”
“What the devil are you doing, carting enormous stuffed animals around the hotel?”
Lowering the bear, she glared at him over the tips of its fuzzy ears. “It’s… a… present,” she explained, pausing between each word to illustrate just what an idiot he was being. “For… the… baby.”
“The baby?” he repeated. “Whose baby?”
“Lizzie’s baby, of course!”
This, sadly, did not enlighten him.
“Lizzie Welton,” she explained, giving a nod to the doorway behind her. “Lizzie works here in the laundry, and her husband, James, is a waiter in the restaurant. They just had a baby. I bought them a baby gift, and because Harrods made a muddle and delivered it to me by mistake rather than taking it to her, I brought it down to her myself.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, and if she weren’t so irritated by his asinine assumptions about her character, she might have found his inability to speak immensely gratifying.
“And if you’re going to run things around here,” she went on, fighting the impulse to take the bear and bash him over the head with it, “perhaps you ought to know the names of those who work here and make an effort to learn more about them, instead of wasting your time trying to catch me in the act of doing something naughty! That would be a better use of your time, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I—” He broke off and looked down at the bear again, shaking his head as if in disbelief. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, he started to laugh.
The sound of his throaty chuckle caused Delia’s aggravation to fade away as pure astonishment took its place. “You’re laughing,” she said, her surprise making her words seem almost like an accusation.
“Sorry,” he apologized in a choked voice. “It’s just that—”
Another chuckle escaped him, and he pressed a fist to his mouth to smother it, staring at the bear.
“All this amusement out of you in one day?” she murmured, jerking her chin. “I had no idea I was such an excellent source of entertainment for you.”
Giving a cough, he let his hand fall and lifted his head. “Yes, well,” he said, “there are times when all one can do is bow to the absurd. And seeing you carrying an enormous toy bear through the corridors of the laundry is one of those times.”
“Maybe you think so,” she countered, “but I don’t find being accused of illicitly obtaining things for free something to laugh about.”
His amusement faded and a hint of what might have been regret crossed his face. “Forgive me. It seems I have jumped to an unwarranted conclusion.”
“Yes,” she said, not quite ready to forgive, “you have. But that doesn’t surprise me. You are always ready to think the worst of me. I just wish I knew why.”
She waited, but he did not explain. Instead, he held his hand up, palms toward her in a gesture of truce. “I made a presumption that was both unfair and untrue, and I have no explanation or excuse to offer. But if it’s any comfort to you, I now feel like a prize fool.”
She sniffed, slightly appeased. “That’s some consolation, I suppose.”
“My assumption was unwarranted, and my behavior terribly rude. I can only ask again that you accept my sincerest apologies.”
No one could ever accuse Delia of not taking advantage of heaven-sent opportunities.
“Hmm…” She bent down, pretending to consider his request as she wrapped the toy for Lizzie’s baby back within the protection of its cloth bag. She took her sweet time tying the strings into a bow, quite happy to relish his discomfiture.
At last, however, she put the baby’s gift to one side, straightened, and returned her attention to him. “I just might see my way to forgiving you,” she said. “That is, if you agree to do something for me.”
“I suppose I should have seen that coming,” he muttered, giving another laugh. “The answer is no.”
“How can you say no to my request already?” she demanded. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“I’m not giving the Pinafore Room to Lady Kay.” As if that were the end of the matter, he turned, gesturing to the doorway of the service lift for her to precede him inside.
“The Pinafore Room?” she repeated over her shoulder as she walked into the lift. “Oh, but I’m not asking you for that.”
“You’re not?”
“No, no.” She turned to face him. “I’ve quite given up trying to persuade you there. Aren’t you coming?” she added in surprise, noting he hadn’t followed her.
He shook his head. “So, if you’re not going to try to change my mind about the banquet room,” he added as he grasped the handles of the steel lattice doors and began to close them, “what do you want?”
She smiled at him through the doorway, her widest, prettiest, most persuasive smile. “I want you to have dinner with me.”
The doors stilled, and he stared at her through the gap, understandably surprised. “Dinner?”
Not even the sunniest optimist could have thought he sounded enthusiastic. Still, she could hardly take back her invitation, and if she wanted to help Kay, the staff, and the hotel, she had no choice but to persuade him. “Yes, dinner.” Noting his expression, she made a face, taking refuge in teasing. “Don’t look so delighted by the notion, or it’ll turn my head.”
At once, the dismay on his face vanished and an expression of polite regret took its place. “I seem to do nothing but offend you,” he murmured. “But—”
“Well, then…” She forestalled the obvious refusal he’d been about to utter. “To make it all up to me, you really have to come. Would Friday night suit you? Are you free?”
“Actually, no. I’m off to Dover for the rest of the week, and then I was planning to go straight to my country house from there. I haven’t been home for over a month.”
“You could come back here after Dover, have dinner with me, and then go to your country house on Saturday, couldn’t you? There’s an early train to Berkshire out of Charing Cross. You’d arrive home before noon.”
“Delia, I’m not at all sure the two of us having dinner together is a good idea.”
“Really, Simon,” she said with a sigh, “you’re perfectly safe in my company. It’s not as if I intend to ravish you over the saddle of lamb.” With a wink she added, “After all, every woman knows ravishing a man should always be done over dessert.”
He was looking as if he’d rather eat rocks than be ravished by her, and though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by his response to her invitation, it was rather disconcerting to know how little he relished the prospect.
Truth be told, she wasn’t accustomed to this sort of reaction from men. Without being unduly conceited, she was old enough and experienced enough to be aware of her own power to attract, and his reluctance to accept even a mere dinner invitation made her feel off-balance, humbled, even a little apprehensive.
“Heavens, you really do dislike me, don’t you?” she murmured. “I realize you and I have gotten crosswise a few times—this morning being a perfect example—but would having dinner with me be so very awful?”
“That’s not it,” he said at once. “I am always happy to have dinner with a beautiful woman, believe me, but I feel obliged to point out that you do work for me.”
Beautiful? She stared, too taken aback to reply. She’d thought for a moment, this morning, that he felt some attraction for her, but then, he’d shut her down so ruthlessly that she was sure she’d been mistaken. But now, in light of this unexpected compliment, she didn’t know what to think. Was he—
“It might be considered inappropriate.”
The sound of his voice interrupted her reverie, and she forced herself to say something. “Please don’t accuse me again of plying you with my feminine wiles.”
“I wasn’t—”
“It’s just that,” she said in a rush, “I have a project idea I want to put before you and presenting it over dinner is the best way. I can’t explain, but if you come, you’ll see why.”
He considered, then gave a nod. “Very well, then; I accept. Shall we meet in the restaurant?”
“No. Be in the Savoy lobby Friday evening at half past seven. I’ll have a carriage waiting for you.”
“A carriage? We’re not dining here?”
“No, no. That would be far too predictable. In fact, we won’t be dining in a restaurant at all.” Oddly nervous, she forced a laugh. “But you’ll be relieved to know I was only teasing about ravishing you over the dessert.”
“Relieved?” Something flickered in those impenetrable eyes, a flash of gold on green. “That’s not quite how I’d describe it.”
“No? How—” She paused, her voice failing her, and she had to swallow hard before she could continue. “How would you describe it?”
His lashes lowered, then lifted, and as he met her gaze again, Delia saw again that flash of gold and realized what it was—the same spark of desire she had seen this morning, and she felt again an unexpected, gratified thrill. When he spoke, however, his voice was aggravatingly indifferent. “I shall see you Friday evening, then.”
Disappointment pierced her—a baffling, highly irritating response—and it took her a moment to muster her poise and think of a reply. But before she could utter some offhand reply as a show of indifference equal to his, he shut the lift doors between them with a clang, bowed, and turned to go, leaving her staring at his back between the steel lattice grates with chagrin as he walked away.
Simon couldn’t imagine the reason behind Delia’s invitation to dinner. She wanted something from him, that much was clear, but he was hardly in a position to object to that, since he wanted something from her, too. Dinner together gave him the perfect opportunity to further his investigation regarding her. Granted, she had seemed quite indignant about the notion of having her laundry done for free, but though it had seemed genuine enough, he could not afford to assume her innocence based solely on that. He needed more information. In the meantime, there was no point in speculating.
He journeyed down to Dover to check on things at his hotel there, and during the next three days, he was kept very busy with work, but despite that, and despite his refusal to speculate about her motives, he wasn’t able to keep her completely out of his thoughts.
At unaccountable moments, images of her laughing eyes and witch-black hair would steal into his mind, and before he knew it, his imagination would be conjuring pictures of shapely breasts and long, slim legs. She was a dangerously seductive femme fatale, possibly a liar, and perhaps even a thief, but nonetheless, it took every scrap of willpower he possessed to shove enticing imaginings of her naked body out of his mind so he could work.
Thankfully, by the time he returned to London on Friday, he had his imagination under control and his priorities back in order. Arriving at the Savoy late Friday afternoon, he had just enough time to bathe, shave, and change into white-tie attire, and he arrived in the hotel lobby only two minutes late. He expected Delia to be waiting for him, but instead, he found someone else coming toward him as he entered the lobby, someone who did not look the least bit happy to see him.
“Monsieur Ritz,” he said, his voice coolly polite. “Back from Rome, I see.”
The hotelier, a dandy of a man with an enormous mustache, a balding forehead, and the vanity to insist on wearing shoes that were too small for his feet, came toward him, limping a little in his tight patent leather ankle boots. “Lord Calderon,” he said with a stiff little bow.
Simon bowed as well, feeling a bit as if he and the other man were duelists en garde. The hostility in Ritz’s voice as he spoke again confirmed that impression.
“I have only just returned, but I already see that you have implemented many changes while I have been away.”
Simon met the resentment in the other man’s eyes with a level stare of his own. “Yes,” he agreed mildly. “I have. If you wish to discuss them, we can meet next week—”
“Alas,” the other man cut him off, “I must go to Paris on Monday. In any case, what is there to discuss?” He gave a careless shrug, but only a fool would have found it convincing. “Would discussions cause you to modify the changes you are making to my hotel?”
“I’m always happy to hear another’s point of view.”
“Are you? The staff seems to feel otherwise. They don’t think you quite understand how things are done here.”
Perhaps because you keep stirring the pot.
Thankfully, another voice entered the conversation before Simon could utter that biting retort.
“Lord Calderon?”
He turned to find Ricardo at his elbow. “Yes, Ricardo?”
“Your carriage is here, my lord.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” He turned to Ritz. “If you will pardon me, Monsieur, I have a dinner engagement, and I must go.”
“Of course.”
Their gazes locked, the two men bowed again, then Simon turned away. Passing through the entrance door held open for him by a doorman, he walked into the courtyard, where a driver in elegant livery waited for him beside a carriage with an aristocratic insignia.
“My lord,” the driver greeted, tipping his cap with his left hand as he opened the door with his right. “I’m Reeves, your driver this evening.”
“Reeves. Where are we going?”
He smiled. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Lady Stratham has instructed me not to tell you. It’s a surprise, she said.”
“Then I shall not attempt to spoil it.”
He stepped into the carriage, settling back against the black leather seat as Reeves closed the carriage door. A few moments later, the vehicle jerked into motion, pulled out of the Savoy courtyard, and began rolling along the Strand. They traveled up Drury Lane, then turned onto New Oxford Street, making for the West End. A short time later, Reeves was opening the carriage door for him in front of a four-story mansion on Park Lane.
Exiting the carriage, Simon walked through a pair of wrought iron gates, across a flagstone courtyard, and up a trio of stone steps, where a tall man in livery was standing by the massive front doors.
“Lord Calderon?” he said with a bow. “I am Hardwicke, the butler here. Lady Stratham is expecting you. This way, please.”
He led Simon through the front doors, across an opulent marble foyer, up a curving staircase, and into a luxuriously appointed drawing room on the first floor, where Delia was waiting for him.
“Lord Calderon, my lady.”
Simon had always prided himself on his discipline and self-control, but when she turned at the sound of his name, his throat went dry and his body began to burn, reminding him with undeniable force why pride so often went before a fall.