Lady Scandal

9

Dressed in a cashmere gown of vivid cyclamen pink, she stood out against the green walls of the room like an exotic flower on a mossy embankment. Impeccably cut, the soft woolen gown seemed to hug every curve of her figure. Her black hair was piled high atop her head in a riot of curls that looked ready to come tumbling down at any moment, and the way the low neckline clung to her full, round breasts shredded all Simon’s efforts not to think about her without her clothes.

“You came.”

The surprise in her voice forced him out of his reverie, and he drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t sure, to be honest,” she confessed as she came toward him. “All week, I’ve been thinking you’d find some excuse to cry off.”

“I would never do such a thing. It wouldn’t be right.”

She halted in front of him, tilting her head a little to one side. “Do you always do what is right?”

“I try to,” he said, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on her face, trying to ignore the erotic scent of her perfume. “That, I daresay, also surprises you.”

“Funnily enough, it doesn’t.” She smiled, the corners of her almond-shaped eyes tipping upward. “Though I expect we might often differ in our definition of what’s right.”

That was probably true and a good reminder for him to keep his wits about him. He glanced around, noting the elegant mahogany furnishings, rich velvet draperies, and gilt-framed paintings. “Whose house is this? Yours?”

“Heavens, no. This is Westbourne’s London residence. At this time of year, the only person on the premises is usually Hardwicke, but I brought a few of Max’s other servants down from Idyll Hour to prepare the dinner and do for us this evening.”

“Idyll Hour?”

“Max’s ducal estate in the Cotswolds.”

“You brought servants all the way from Gloucestershire?” He laughed, a little confounded. “Just to serve us dinner?”

“Wanton extravagance, I know, but I believe in creating the proper atmosphere.”

“The proper atmosphere for what?”

She didn’t answer that question. Instead, she turned, putting a hand on his arm.

“Come with me.”

Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, she led him out of the drawing room. He took it for granted that she was leading him into the dining room across the corridor, but unexpectedly, she turned, propelling him away from that room and back toward the stairs.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

“You’re being very mysterious.”

“Am I?” She looked at him as they started up the stairs, a tiny Mona Lisa smile on her lips. “Good.”

It was clear she wasn’t going to tell him anything, but as they ascended to the second floor, then the third, his curiosity grew. When they reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto a wide landing flanked by corridors leading to what were clearly servants’ rooms, he couldn’t resist trying again. “We’re having dinner in the attics?”

“Of course not. That would be silly.”

“What’s left, then?” he asked jokingly as they crossed the landing to a set of double doors. “The roof?”

“As a matter of fact…” She paused, opening one of the doors. “Yes.”

With that singular remark, she pulled him through the doorway into what seemed at first to be a grove of trees. When he looked up, he saw branches strung with fairy lights, but despite it being early February, the branches were thickly covered in leaves, and the air was balmy and warm, and he realized the place she had brought him was actually a hothouse.

All around him were potted trees and ferns, and the mingled scents of flowers, peat, and boxwood hung in the air. Faintly, in the distance, he could hear music, a soft, delicate melody.

“I feel as if you are Hermia and I am Lysander,” he commented as Delia led him along a path among the trees lit by more fairy lights. “And we’ve just entered the forest of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“An apt analogy,” she replied, “except that, unlike Hermia and Lysander, we are not lovers.”

With those words, his mind started conjuring carnal images again, and he could not for the life of him think of a reply. Fortunately, they emerged into a clearing at that moment, and Hardwicke stepped forward, a tray with two filled glasses in his hands.

“Sherry, my lord?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied with fervent gratitude, and as he plucked a glass off the tray, it occurred to him that if he remained in charge of Delia much longer, he might well become a dipsomaniac.

Taking a much-needed swallow of sherry, he followed Delia as she led him to a round table by a fountain that had been set for two, its white tablecloth, silver, and crystal gleaming in the soft light. To his left, a footman stood beside an enormous rosewood sideboard laden with covered dishes. To his right stood a gramophone, its turntable spinning and the notes of a Mendelssohn concerto drifting from its horn into the languid air. All around them were more trees strung with fairy lights, and above his head, a framework of glass and iron formed a domed ceiling. Beyond it was the inky blackness of the night sky.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“Evie’s garden. Evie is my cousin’s wife,” she added as he looked at her in puzzlement at the unfamiliar name. “Evie grew up in London, but after marrying Max, she developed a passion for country life, especially gardening. So Max built this for her as a present on their first wedding anniversary so that she could always have a garden, even here in town—though they’re usually here only during the season. The rest of the year, the house is closed up and empty. Except for Hardwicke, of course. He’s here all year round—he takes care of Evie’s garden and generally keeps an eye on things when the family’s not in residence.”

“And you brought me here because…?”

“Welcome to the Savoy’s newest banqueting room,” she said, gesturing to their surroundings with her glass. “Well, a facsimile of it, at any rate.”

“You want to build a structure like this on the roof of the Savoy?”

“Yes.” She laughed at his dubious expression. “You’re looking at me as if you think I’m crazy.”

“Well,” he began.

“You can’t say the hotel roof isn’t big enough.”

“No,” he agreed. “You could easily seat a hundred people up there.”

“But…?” she prompted when he fell silent.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he walked to the other end of the clearing, sipping his sherry, considering the idea. “It would certainly be a unique setting,” he said as she joined him.

“Exactly. No hotel in London has a banquet room like this.”

“That’s probably because of the difficulties.”

“Such as?”

“The logistics, for one thing. It’s a long way from the kitchens to the rooftop, remember. The waiters will have to go up and down seven flights of stairs, serving seven courses of food to a very large group of people. How will you manage that without the food getting cold?”

“The waiters can use the service lifts and the wheeled restaurant carts to bring up the food. I’ve already borrowed one of the waiters and tested the timing. Believe it or not, it takes no longer to deliver food to the roof than it does to take it to the Pinafore Room. Service won’t be a problem.”

He looked around again and shook his head, bemused. “You want to do all this just to ensure that your friend has a place to hold her wedding dinner? A bit over the top, isn’t it?”

“I’m not only thinking of Kay, although she was the impetus for my idea. If we had another large banquet room, we would certainly make good use of it. And besides,” she continued in a rush as if afraid he’d argue that point, “we are talking about the Savoy. As I told you during our first meeting, being over the top is what we’re known for.”

“You’re not the only one to tell me that. The staff reminds me daily that the merely mundane and practical is not up to Savoy standards.”

“Having trouble getting everyone to embrace your oh-so-sensible changes, are you?” she murmured, giving him a look of feigned surprise over the rim of her wineglass.

“The changes are sensible, Delia. More importantly, they are necessary. Because of that, the staff’s opinion on the matter cannot be my primary concern.”

“No,” she allowed, “but you can’t blame them for being worried about their future. How many of their jobs will you decide are unnecessary before the investors can make an acceptable profit?”

He took a moment to reply, appreciating the fine line he was walking. “I can’t make any blanket promises,” he said at last, “but I don’t plan on dismissing anyone else except for just cause.”

Her radiant smile was his reward. “Do I have your permission to pass that information on to everyone?”

“Would my lack of permission stop you?” he countered wryly.

Her smile faded to a serious expression. “If you swore me to secrecy, I wouldn’t tell. I hope, however, that I can reassure them?”

“Of course. But,” he added with a sigh, thinking of Ritz, “I’m not sure how much good it will do.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Thankfully, Hardwicke’s voice interrupted before he could reply.

“My lady, dinner is served.”

They returned to the table, but if Simon thought the distraction of dinner would enable him to sidestep the issue, he was mistaken, for they had barely sat down before she resumed the subject.

“If you’re having trouble with the staff,” she said as the footman set their soup in front of them and took their sherry glasses, “perhaps I can help.”

That offer brought to mind the Duke of Westbourne’s advice from a week ago.

If you can get her on your side, she can be of great assistance to you.

Sadly, he wasn’t sure how much help the duke’s advice could be. His biggest problem was Ritz, and in that battle, he knew quite well which side Delia would come down on. And besides, until her innocence or guilt was determined and this whole fraud business decided once and for all, he could not afford to trust her an inch. “Do you truly want to help?” he asked.

“Of course! I’ll help you any way I can.” She gave him an impish grin. “As long as you let me put a hothouse on the roof.”

He laughed at that. He couldn’t help it. “God, woman, you are relentless. Do you never take no for an answer?”

“Only when I hear it. And sometimes,” she added irrepressibly, “not even then.”

“I can well believe it. But I hope your offer of help means that you’ve decided to stop standing in my way?”

“I haven’t stood in your way,” she protested. “I haven’t,” she repeated as he gave a laugh of disbelief. “I’ve merely… allowed you to see for yourself that changing things isn’t as simple as you may have thought it would be.”

“A neat distinction.” He gave her a wry smile. “You also, I notice, enjoy crowing over my discomfort when your lot tears me to bits.”

If he was hoping for apologetic regret, he didn’t get it. Instead, she grinned back at him. “If you’re talking about the duchess, I did offer my help.”

“Only after the woman had already left,” he grumbled. “But I’m not really worried about people like the duchess. I was prepared for the resentment of the clients who are no longer getting things for free, and I do think eventually it will pass. It’s the stonewalling by the staff that I find most frustrating at present.”

“You said yourself that change is upsetting. And surely you’ve done this sort of thing with other hotels. Haven’t you ever encountered this problem before?”

He shook his head. “With one exception, the other hotels I’ve acquired were already bankrupt and closed.”

“The exception being the Bainbridge, which you own in partnership with Richard Carte?”

“You’ve been making inquiries about me, I see. But,” he added when she merely smiled, “you’re quite right. Richard asked me to step in and take over that hotel a year ago when he first became ill.”

“Is he really so very ill? The man doesn’t look well, of course, and there have been rumors, but nothing definitive has been said.”

“Doctors never seem able to be definite about these things. But to return to the point,” he said, choosing his words with care, “the staff at the Bainbridge did not feel as if their loyalties were being divided when I took over. It’s different here. I understand the loyalty everyone feels toward Ritz and his way of doing things, but it hampers me at every turn.”

“And that surprises you? Ritz has earned their loyalty over a number of years. While you…”

She stopped, but he knew what she hadn’t said. “While I am a usurper who’s been here a mere five weeks,” he finished for her. “I do realize that, but I wish I could make everyone understand that if the hotel can’t be made to run at a profit, many more people will lose their jobs than those few I’ve already let go. Stonewalling me and what I’m trying to do will not serve them in the long run. As I said, I don’t want to fire anyone else, but I will do so if they refuse to follow those policies. If you truly want to help, perhaps you could impress that fact upon them.”

“I can do that, of course, but—” Breaking off, she leaned back for the footman to take her soup plate, then she went on. “But it would be better coming from Ritz than from me. He will be returning very soon, and when he does, I’m sure you can persuade him to work with you to gain everyone’s cooperation.”

Simon knew that wasn’t going to happen. Aside from the fact that Ritz was directly countermanding his orders, in light of what Helen had told him, it was now clear beyond doubt that the other man would have to be dismissed, and soon, though just how and when that would happen were open to question. “Ritz has returned,” he said, sidestepping the issue of the other man’s fate. “I saw him in the lobby earlier.”

“He’s back from Rome?”

“He arrived this afternoon. But it hardly matters, since I have no intention of asking for his help.”

“You’d really let pride stand in your way?”

“It’s not pride. It’s—” He broke off, knowing he couldn’t tell her the truth, chagrined to realize he wished he could.

Thankfully, the footman appeared, taking his soup plate. Hardwicke followed, presenting a tray of sole Véronique, giving Simon time, and as he helped himself to the fish, he considered what explanation to offer that would satisfy her without requiring him to lie and without giving anything away.

“I have to do what I think is best for the future of the hotel, Delia,” he said at last. “Ritz will have to accept my way of doing things, and frankly, I’m not sure he can. When we saw each other earlier, he made his resentment of me quite clear.”

“You can’t blame him for that,” she replied as Hardwicke moved to her side of the table. “I felt the same.”

“Felt?” he echoed and frowned, wondering if he’d misheard. “You sound as if that’s in the past.”

To his surprise, she shrugged as she set a sole fillet on her plate and put the silver fish slice back on Hardwicke’s platter. “I’m a pragmatist, I suppose,” she said as the butler moved away. “I’ve never seen the point of beating dead horses. You’re here, the rest of the board wants you here, and as you said, changes have to be made if the hotel is to survive. That’s why I wanted to make peace with you. It wasn’t to gain my own ends, truly. Nor was it just for my friend Kay. For the good of everyone, I accepted that the only thing to be done was to help you as best I can. Ritz will come to the same conclusion, I’m sure.”

He’d never be given the chance, but of course, Simon couldn’t say so.

“He might,” he said instead.

She stopped eating, a forkful of fish halfway to her mouth. “What if he doesn’t? The board won’t fire Ritz, surely?”

He began to wish he’d never agreed to this dinner. Dodging her questions without lying was like dodging raindrops without getting wet. “I can’t discuss with you what the board may or may not do. That sort of information is confidential. In any case,” he rushed on before she could probe more deeply, “Ritz and I will have no opportunity to discuss anything involving the hotel for some time. I’m off to Berkshire for the weekend to see my sister, and he’s off for Paris on Monday.”

That, he was relieved to see, diverted her attention. “You have a sister?” she asked and resumed eating. “What’s her name?”

“Cassandra.” He smiled. “She’s my only sibling, but she’s much younger than I am. Only seventeen.”

“And where is she now?”

“At my estate, Ivywild. In Berkshire.” His smile faded as he remembered the troubling words of Cassandra’s last letter. “It’s a bit hard for her just now,” he found himself saying. “She’s back from finishing school, and none of her friends from school days live anywhere near. And when it comes to helping her, I’m a bit lost, to be honest. She was born the year I went into the army, so I didn’t have much opportunity to see her until she was twelve and my military service was over. Now that both our parents are gone, watching over Cassandra is my office, and I spend most of my time feeling I’m in way over my head.”

“Young girls are never easy. Is there no female relative who can guide her?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately not. And I sense that my elevation to the peerage has made things even harder for her.”

“How so?”

He forced a laugh. “I know nothing about being a peer,” he confessed. “I grew up in the hotel trade. My father was a cashier and my mother was a maid. When I wasn’t in school, I worked as a bellboy and a lift attendant. What I know of the aristocracy is only by observation, and as a result, I’m finding my new social position difficult to navigate. The ton, I’ve discovered, isn’t particularly welcoming to those who are elevated to the peerage rather than being born within it.”

“Perhaps not.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I don’t really care what other people think. But the lack of acceptance bothers Cassandra a great deal. All the more reason I wish I’d had the means to refuse the title when it was bestowed.”

“Refuse it?” She straightened in her chair, staring at him in astonishment. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. I didn’t want the blasted thing. I hope you won’t think me rude for saying it, but I’m not the least bit impressed by the aristocracy; I care little for its pretentions, snobbery, and silly rules.”

“With that sort of attitude, I’m shocked the aristocracy hasn’t accepted you with open arms,” she murmured, giving him an amused look across the table.

“I realize I ought to be falling to my knees in gratitude for my elevation,” he countered dryly, “but that would be hypocritical.”

“But doesn’t your elevation offer you the opportunity for more business contacts?”

“Hardly; and you know that already, since you are the one who reminded me that peers are not particularly good at business nor much impressed by it.”

“Well, you’ve got me there. But what about the social considerations? It’s not so important for you, perhaps, but your sister will benefit greatly from being an honorable.”

“Will she?” Simon was doubtful. “It hasn’t benefited her much so far. I wish I knew what to do to help her assimilate to our new life, but as I said, I’m lost.”

“Would you like some advice?”

“Are you offering any?” he countered with a laugh.

The moment the joking words were out of his mouth, he cursed himself, but it was too late to take them back.

“I’d be happy to,” she answered. “But will you take my advice? That’s the question.”

It was indeed.

“What do you think, Hardwicke?” she asked before Simon could answer, turning to the butler as he paused beside her chair with a platter of lamb chops. “Do you think I am an acceptable guide for a young girl entering society?”

“Lord Calderon’s sister could not do better, my lady,” Hardwicke answered loyally as he moved to Simon’s side of the table. “Any young woman would be fortunate indeed to have your guidance.”

“Well, there we are then.” Laughing, she returned her attention to Simon. “How can you refuse me after such a ringing endorsement?”

Allowing his sister to be guided by the advice of a woman suspected of embezzlement and fraud was an insane idea. And he wasn’t sure it was quite right to allow her to do him a good turn when he might very well be firing her in a month’s time. But even as he reminded himself of these facts, the forlorn words of his sister’s letter echoed through his mind.

Dearest Simon, I am so lonely here.

He capitulated. “I’d be grateful for any insight you can offer, Delia.”

She blinked, clearly showing she hadn’t expected that. “You mean it?”

He gave a shrug. “Should I not? You’re well placed in society, influential, and popular. You possess a quick wit and a keen mind, and given that we’re having dinner in a greenhouse, you clearly have ingenuity.”

“I do love butter,” she purred. “Especially when it’s poured over me by a man who has so little use for me.”

He froze, staring at her across the table as a wild fantasy of literally pouring butter on her naked skin and licking it off flashed through his mind.

Good God, what was wrong with him?

Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, for her amusement vanished and her eyes went wide. “Why are you looking at me like that all of a sudden?” she whispered.

He stiffened, forcing his countenance into the blandest expression he could muster. “How was I looking?”

“I don’t know. As if…” She paused, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. “As if I’m Little Red Riding Hood and you’re the big bad wolf.”

That analogy was so apt, he had to take a hefty swallow of wine before he could reply. “You’re wrong in my assessment of you, by the way,” he said, desperate to divert the subject. “I confess I sometimes find you exasperating, aggravating, and too devilishly clever for my peace of mind, but—”

Her groan interrupted him. “First you butter me up, then you slam me down. I’m getting dizzy.”

“Nonetheless, despite how it might seem, I do value your opinion. I wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t.”

“Very well, then.” She ate a few more bites of her food, then set down her knife and fork, picked up her glass, and leaned back in her chair. “Can you tell me specifically what the problem is?” she asked as the footman took her plate. “Who has snubbed your sister, and when, and under what circumstances?”

“I’m not sure of the details, but from what she’s written, the county girls her age are quite unfriendly toward her. She’s such a sweet girl who’s never had a problem making friends, and she’s taking it hard.”

“You think their standoffishness is due to snobbery?”

“What other reason could there be?”

“Well, we British are rather standoffish by nature, aren’t we? And it’s always hard on girls when they leave school and have to make new friends all over again. When you bring her out—”

“Bring her out?” He stopped eating and set down his knife and fork with a clatter, staring at her in dismay.

“Of course. She’ll be doing the season, she’ll be presented at court—” She broke off as he shook his head. “Simon, you’re a viscount. Your sister will have to be presented. I’m happy to put her name in for consideration. I’d have to meet her first, of course, but once that’s done, I can easily write to the Lord Chamberlain and make the request. The Queen can hardly refuse, since she’s the one who bestowed a title on you in the first place.”

“Coming out, being presented… is all that really necessary?”

“Of course! A girl of her position must make her coming-out, do the season, and be presented if she expects to do well in society and make a good marriage.”

“Marriage?” His dismay deepened. “She’s far too young to be thinking about marriage!”

“But she’s not. She’s seventeen.”

“Exactly. She’s a child.”

“No, she’s a young lady. Most young ladies are brought out at that age. And many marry after their first season. I did.”

“Did you?” he asked, momentarily diverted as he recalled his own surprise at his first glimpse of her. “So that explains it, at least partly.”

“Explains what?”

“When we first met, I was shocked at how young you are. I had thought a three-time widow would be older.”

“And here I was thinking Helen had been whispering in your ear about how dreadful I am.”

He didn’t miss her inquiring look across the table, but he refused to be drawn. “I form my own opinions about people’s character, I assure you. But I confess, I did have a certain image of you in my head that was partly due to what she told me.”

“What sort of image?”

“Gray haired, stout, wearing too many cosmetics, and flamboyantly middle-aged.”

She laughed merrily, not seeming the least bit insulted. “Well, I like that! Stout and middle-aged, indeed.”

“As I said, I was shocked to discover how mistaken I was. In any case, even if I do decide to bring my sister out this season, that’s several months away. I’d dearly love to see her make a few friends before then. She’s terribly lonely, and I’m so busy here. She’s only got her old governess for company.”

“It would certainly be easier for her if she made some new friends before the season begins. Your neighbors in Berkshire are the obvious choice.”

“I know, but as I said, they don’t seem willing to be her friends.”

“How do they treat you? With similar indifference?”

“I can’t answer that, since I haven’t yet met any of them.”

“You haven’t? Well, then,” she added, laughing as he shook his head, “that explains it.”

“I don’t see how.”

“No one in the county is going to call on your sister until you’ve called first. The newest gentleman to the neighborhood always calls first. You need to visit the other gentlemen of the county, who will introduce you to their female relations. Then, and only then, the ladies can call upon your sister. Until then, they are prevented by etiquette.”

“It’s as simple as that?” He shook his head, baffled anew at how the most minor failure to observe the rules could have such a powerful impact. “So it’s not snobbery? How can you be so sure? The Duchess of Moreland seemed to think I was beneath her notice.”

“She’s like that with everyone. And I’d be lying if I said there weren’t more like her. But if you call on the local families while you’re home this weekend, your sister will probably find the other young ladies of the county willing to reciprocate.”

“And if that doesn’t happen? If there’s more to this than mere etiquette?”

“Then you’ll need to bring out the heavy guns.”

“Such as?”

“Me. I can easily put in a good word with your neighbors. I once lived in Berkshire, near Reading, so I know quite a few people there. I can easily facilitate any needed introductions. I can also help launch her when she comes to London for the season. Introduce her about, chaperone her, that sort of thing.”

Such a plan was unlikely to come to fruition. If she was guilty, she couldn’t be allowed anywhere near his sister. And if she was innocent, she’d hardly be willing to help him once the truth came out and her beloved Ritz was booted out and perhaps arrested. And who could blame her? “Oh, I don’t think that’s really necessary,” he began.

“She’ll need a chaperone, Simon.”

“Well, I suppose she will, but I can’t possibly impose on you.”

“If it were an imposition, I wouldn’t have offered. You don’t seem to relish the idea,” she added, making a rueful face. “But really, you don’t have to make excuses. If you don’t want me around her because you don’t like me, you can just say no.”

“It isn’t that,” he assured her. “It has nothing to do with my opinion of you. But there’s something you need to know,” he added, improvising as he spoke. “And once you do, you’ll probably want to take back your offer.”

“Oh?” She set down her knife and fork, giving him her full attention. “What is this awful piece of news?”

He met her eyes across the table, dread like a knot in his stomach. “My father was a thief. When he was a cashier, he embezzled money from the hotel where he worked.”

“Oh, that.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I know all about that. Max told me.”

“I see.” He hesitated, but something in him, something he couldn’t quite define, drove him on. “There is one thing your cousin didn’t tell you, because he doesn’t know.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“After he was caught out, the hotel intended to prosecute my father for the thefts, and he shot himself rather than face the disgrace.”

Again, her reaction was not what he’d expected. Instead of looking appalled, she tilted her head, studying him. “You’re angrier about that than about the theft, aren’t you?”

“Should I not be?” he countered. “He committed a criminal act, and when it was about to be exposed, he shot himself rather than face it.”

“Yes, but sometimes,” she said, her voice soft, “people are in such pain, suicide can seem like the only way out.”

Strangely enough, he’d never stopped to consider it from that angle. “Nonetheless,” he said, watching her closely, “he was a thief.”

She shrugged. “There are worse things.”

That nonchalant reaction confirmed his worst fears about her view of theft and thieves, but oddly enough, he couldn’t seem to work up any indignation over it, and he feared perhaps he, like everyone else at the Savoy, had fallen under Delia Stratham’s charming spell. But then—

His gaze slid to her lips. There were, as she had just pointed out, worse things.

“You know, Simon,” she said, breaking the silence and forcing him to veer away from the naughty direction his mind was taking, “if you’re afraid people in my set will judge Cassandra for what your father did, you can rest easy. Some will; most won’t. We all have thieves and suicides in our family history. So, I’m not taking back my offer. Unless,” she paused, studying him, “that’s not the reason for your reluctance?”

He was in a cleft stick now, damn it all. “I’m not ungrateful for the offer, Delia,” he began.

“But…?”

“I’m just not sure Cassandra’s ready to do the season,” he parried.

“Being the protective older brother, are you?”

“I am that, I admit it. As I said, I’m all she’s got. And we haven’t been in society long enough for her to know the ropes. What if out of ignorance, she makes some ghastly mistake?”

“A few weeks with me, and she’ll be right as rain. I know all about the rules. How to obey them. How to bend them. And—” She paused to give him that dazzling, dimpled smile. “How to break them.”

“That’s rather what I’m afraid of,” he admitted, only half in jest.

She sobered at once. “I would never do anything to hurt your sister’s reputation. And though I was a bit wild myself as a girl, any of my peccadilloes were forgiven long ago.”

“Let me think on it.” He paused long enough for the footman to take his plate, then he went on, “Don’t misunderstand me, Delia. As little as I know about the aristocracy, I can well imagine what a responsibility it must be to help bring a girl into society, and I appreciate your offer very much. But as you said, I need to pave the way first. Let me do that, see how she gets on, and go forward from there.”

“Very well, but know that I’m happy to help. That is, if you truly want me.”

Want her?

He froze, his wineglass halfway to his lips, staring at her across the table as heat once again curled in his abdomen. He did want her. Of course he did. How could he not?

Almost since the moment they met, he’d wanted her. He’d tried to deny it, then he’d tried to ignore it, but the past three days had proved his efforts were in vain. He also knew that lusting after her was like playing with fire, and as Hardwicke returned with their dessert, he decided it might be best to once again divert the conversation.

“I didn’t realize,” he said as the butler placed a crystal dish of syllabub in front of him, “that you had ever lived in Berkshire.”

She nodded. “My first husband’s family comes from there. His father was the Marquess of Forley.”

“Your husband didn’t inherit the title? Was there an older brother?”

“No, and my husband would have taken the title, but he died before his father, so his younger brother became the marquess when the old man died. That was probably a blessing for the estate.”

He was watching her face as she spoke, and he did not miss the pensiveness in her expression. “How so?”

“When I met Roger, I was seventeen and he was twenty,” she said, and it didn’t escape his notice that she hadn’t answered his question. “When he proposed, my parents were delighted. He had the right pedigree and plenty of money, you see.”

“And what about you? Were you delighted?”

“Me? I was over the moon. I thought he was the handsomest man I’d ever seen. He was also a poet and a tortured soul. Girls are romantic and terribly na?ve at that age. I fell in love with him the first time he wrote me a poem.”

“That’s not love, then. It’s infatuation.”

“You’re right, of course, but at the time, it felt like love. At least, until I found out he had another love besides me.”

“Another woman? That bastard.”

“Not a woman,” she corrected, shaking her head. “Cocaine.”

“Your first husband was a cocaine addict?”

“Yes. He developed the habit when he took his Grand Tour. It’s terribly fashionable, you know.”

“A foolish fashion,” Simon muttered, shaking his head.

“I can’t disagree with you there.”

“Couldn’t you have stopped him?” Even as he spoke, he knew what a futile question it was. “Never mind. I suppose if someone is bent on that sort of self-destruction, it’s impossible to stop them.”

“I’d have tried, though, if I’d known. But as I said, I was young and na?ve. I did notice his violent changes of mood, but we’d been married almost a year and a half before I learned that the stuff in his snuffbox wasn’t snuff.”

“That must have been quite a shock.” Setting down his spoon, he pushed aside his empty dessert dish, propped one elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. “What did you do?”

She shrugged. “What could I do? When I questioned his doctor, the man brushed me off. He was so damnably smug about it, too.” She looked down, toying with her dessert. “He wasn’t quite so smug at Roger’s funeral. That was a few weeks later.”

“So cocaine was the cause of your husband’s death?”

She nodded. “He died nineteen months after we were married. I just wish…” She paused, sculpting syllabub meditatively with her spoon, and she was silent so long, he thought she wasn’t going to finish what she’d started to say. “I just wish,” she said at last, “I’d had the sense to learn my lesson.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning, puzzled. “What lesson?”

She set down her spoon and lifted her head, shaking back the tendrils of hair that had fallen over her forehead. “Let’s just say I’m not a particularly good judge when it comes to men. I can be a bit blind sometimes.”

Given her faith in Ritz and her refusal to see what the man was doing right under her nose, her declaration didn’t surprise him. On the other hand, it was highly possible she did know and didn’t care or was a fully active participant. Which of those came closest to the truth, he was here to find out. But before he could think of a way to begin that process, she abruptly stood up. “It’s a bit warm in here. Do you mind if I get some air?”

He rose at once. “Of course not, but it’s quite chilly this evening. Are you sure you want to go out?”

She opened her arms, nodding to her long sleeves. “My dress is wool. Besides, I don’t mind the cold.”

“Shall I accompany you?”

“No, no, please stay and have your port.” She signaled to Hardwicke, who appeared at once with a bottle and glass. “I won’t be long.”

Following her lead, he acquiesced, remaining behind as she walked to a nearby glass door, opened it, and stepped outside, vanishing out into the night.

He found it rather ridiculous to sit here sipping port by himself, but it was clear she wanted a few moments alone. Nonetheless, when she did not reappear after a quarter of an hour, he decided to go in search.

He stepped out into the cold, crisp air. From the light of the hothouse, he was able to find her at once. She was standing by the balustrade, staring pensively beyond the streetlights into the inky blackness of Hyde Park.

“Delia, are you all right?” he asked as he started toward her.

At once, she turned, her pensive expression replaced by a smile. “Right as rain,” she said brightly as he halted beside her. “Should I not be?”

“I wondered if I might have said something to offend you.”

“No, no, of course not. I was just a bit hot in there, that’s all.”

He sensed there was more to it than that, but he didn’t press her. “The air inside the hothouse was a bit oppressive,” he said instead. “The humidity, no doubt.”

“If you agree to my plan, we shall have to conduct some experiments to get the temperature just right.”

There was a question in that statement, but he couldn’t answer it. Not until he knew more. “Do you have any idea how much it will cost to do something like this?” he asked.

She sighed, shaking her head, staring at him as if he were a hopeless business. “Really, Simon,” she said with good-natured exasperation, turning to lean against the balustrade as she looked at him, “is there no romance in your soul? Imagine for a moment how splendid it will be—the view of the river, the moon, its light on the water—”

“This is London,” he felt compelled to remind her. “All the coal soot in the air makes it impossible to see the moon.”

“Oh, don’t be so literal,” she chided. “We’ll hang an enormous paper lantern to look like a moon. And people can dine amid the trees and flowers no matter what time of year it is, and no matter what the capricious English weather decides to do. And when the weather is fine, we can open everything up and do outdoor events. Picnics, cotillions, that sort of thing. The parties there will be the talk of London.”

“That’s the heart of my problem, right there,” he countered ruefully. “Everyone at the Savoy thinks of the party, not the price.”

“Then think of it as an investment, if that helps. It will pay for itself in one London season, I promise you.”

Simon was usually inclined to regard such blithe assurances with a grain of salt, but he couldn’t deny the idea had possibilities. It would be a setting unlike any other in London. With the proper publicity—

“Well?”

He looked up at the sound of her voice to find her watching him, biting her lip and crossing her fingers as she waited for his reply.

“I’m not saying no,” he replied at last. “But,” he added as she gave a chortle of triumph, “I can’t say yes, either. Bring me a full proposal of the project, including an engineer’s report on how to build the glass structure, a detailed cost estimate, and your fairest projections on the annual revenue you think it will generate. Then I can decide how to proceed.”

“I’m already working on that information. I should have a full report for you in two to three weeks.”

“Even if the numbers are favorable, it will still be costly, so I shall have to get the board to agree, which won’t be easy. We’re in the midst of trying to cut costs, if you remember.”

“The board will listen to you, I’m sure. And if you need additional support to persuade them, Ritz will be happy to add his voice to yours. He’ll adore this idea, believe me. It’s right up his street.”

Simon had no doubt of that at all, given Ritz’s tendency to spend money like water. “I’m sure it is,” he said tactfully. “I can’t promise anything, but it is an ingenious idea, and quite unique.”

For some reason, that made her smile.

“What’s so amusing?” he asked.

“You and I seeing eye to eye about something. It’s…” She paused, considering. “It’s nice.”

Nice? He lowered his gaze to the deep V of her evening gown. Dangerous was more like it—at least for him.

“Isn’t it?”

He studied her face, the wide smile, the sadness still lingering in her eyes. “Yes,” he admitted, surprised by the fact. “It is nice.”

The breeze picked up, stirring the tendrils of hair at her temples and making her shiver. “Ooh,” she said, rubbing her arms. “You can tell it’s winter, can’t you?”

“Should we go in?”

“Oh, no, not yet. At this time of year, I feel I spend all my time indoors, and it’s not raining for once. Do you mind if we stay out here a little bit longer?”

She shivered again even as she spoke, and Simon unbuttoned his dinner jacket. “Here, then,” he said, sliding it off his shoulders. “At least put this on.”

“Don’t you need it?”

“Not as much as you. Turn around.”

She complied, and he slung the garment over her shoulders. As he did, the delicious scent of her perfume floated to him on the light breeze, and just like that, the arousal he’d been trying to keep at bay for days flared up again, hotter than before.

He ought to tamp it down, but even as he told himself that, he leaned in and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Well, now,” she murmured. “It seems I was wrong.”

Simon opened his eyes and took a deep breath of the bracing winter air, trying to think. “Wrong about what?”

She turned toward him, clasping the lapels of his jacket in one hand to hold the edges together as she pushed a wind-tossed tendril of hair away from her face with the other. “I accused you of having no romance in your soul,” she said. “I stand corrected.”

He almost laughed with her, but not with humor. There was nothing the least bit romantic about what he felt at this moment. Arousal, not romance, was thrumming through his body. “I didn’t realize,” he said, trying to think when his wits felt thick as tar, “that it was romantic for a man to give a woman his jacket.”

“Oh, but it is—at least from a woman’s point of view. Though being a man, you might see it as simply being chivalrous, I suppose.”

“Chivalrous?” He paused, his gaze raking over the luscious curves of her figure. “I’m not feeling the least bit chivalrous right now, believe me,” he muttered.

“No? Then what—” She paused, and to Simon, it seemed an eternity before she spoke again.

“What are you feeling?” she asked at last, her voice so low, he barely heard it over his thudding heart.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he simply stood there, wordless, unable to conceal the dark hunger surging through his body.

Her eyes were the color of the midnight sky overhead. A lock of her ebony hair flew across her face, and without thinking, he reached up, pulling it back and tucking it behind her ear.

Those midnight eyes widened as if in shock, but she didn’t move. She didn’t pull away.

Slowly, his fingertips traced the velvety curve of her ear and moved down the column of her throat. The tendons in her slender neck felt taut as harp strings, and when he felt the pulse at the base of her throat, as rapid as his own pounding heart, the arousal in him flared into outright lust. With an abrupt move, he slid his hand to the nape of her neck and pressed his thumb beneath her chin to lift her face.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t protest.

She was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, and the arousal inside him deepened and spread, making his heart pound in his chest like a trip-hammer. He pressed his fingers into the nape of her neck, urging her to come closer.

She complied, and the knuckles of her hand brushed his chest. It was the barest contact possible, but he sucked in a sharp breath just the same, and somehow, that sound succeeded in penetrating the sensuous haze enveloping him.

“Good God.” He jerked, letting her go and taking a long step back, staring at her in dismay. “What the hell am I doing?”

She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that threatened to send the last vestiges of his control to the wall. The tendrils of her hair floated around her laughing face, making her look a bit like a witch in the night. “I think you were about to kiss me.”

He wanted to deny it, but that would have been a lie. “We should go,” he said instead and took another even longer step back, putting some much-needed distance between them. “It’s late, and I have to catch the early train for Berkshire in the morning.”

Her smile faded away, and the laughter went out of her eyes. Puzzlement and a hint of what might have been hurt shimmered across her face. It was gone before he could be sure, but nonetheless, the mere possibility that he’d hurt her cut him to the quick.

But kissing her would be a serious mistake. It was unethical, for one thing, since he had full power over her job. It would also cloud his judgment, muddy his thinking, and make it impossible for him to be objective when the time came to decide her fate, and that would be a betrayal of the trust Richard and Helen had placed in him.

He had to walk away now, while he still could. It was the only honorable thing to do.

He turned abruptly and started back toward the hothouse, but as he did, it felt as if he were ripping himself in half, making him curse his sense of honor. Being a cad, he thought, would have been easier. And far more enjoyable.