“I’m afraid you have.” She rose slowly to her feet. “But that doesn’t change my intentions. You have every right to mistrust me, and the only way I can overcome that is with time. I also know you resent me, but you don’t have to like me in order to work with me, and despite your enmity, I intend to keep trying to make this partnership function even if you keep refusing to cooperate with me.” She paused, but she didn’t move to leave, and as the moments went by, the silence became unbearable.
“Is that all?” he asked, trying to be cold when all he could feel was heat—the heat of anger, resentment, and desire were like fire inside him.
“There’s one more thing I want to say.” She paused. “I know I hurt you, Denys, and I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you?” His gaze raked over her, and he didn’t believe her for a second. “If you could go back, would you make a different choice?”
She squared her shoulders. “No.”
“Then don’t be a hypocrite. Don’t apologize for things you don’t regret.”
There was a tap on the door, then it opened, and Mr. Dawson appeared in the doorway, a sheaf of papers in his hands. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Mr. Swann just delivered the application forms from yesterday’s auditions.”
Denys didn’t know whether to be exasperated or relieved by the interruption. There was plenty more he’d have liked to say to Lola, but it was probably best if he left it there. “Bring them in, Mr. Dawson. Miss Valentine,” he added with a pointed glance at her, “was just leaving.”
“That’s just it, sir. Miss Valentine is the reason I interrupted you. Her form is incomplete.” He held up the application in question, and when Denys beckoned him forward, he crossed to his employer’s side and put the sheet in Denys’s hand. “You see?” he added, indicating the blank space on the application. “Since she is here, I thought she could provide the missing information?”
“Thank you, Dawson. I will take care of it.”
The secretary gave a nod and departed, once again closing the door behind him.
“I can’t imagine what I left out,” Lola said, circling his desk and pausing beside him to study the sheet of paper in his hand. “I thought I’d been most thorough in my application.”
He pointed to the appropriate place on the form, and as she leaned closer, he instinctively turned his head, inhaling the luscious scent that clung to her hair. But that was too much provocation for his already heated body, and he jerked his head back again at once, hastening into speech. “You did not give the name and address of your agent in London.”
“Oh, that.” She straightened, but the infinitesimal amount of distance the move put between them wasn’t nearly enough to contain the traitorous feelings in his body. He had to get her out of here.
“Perhaps,” he said, feeling a bit desperate, “you could give Dawson that information on your way out?”
She waved one hand in the air, dismissing that suggestion. “It’s not necessary.”
“But it is. To draw up your contract, our solicitors require that your agent be specified in the terms.”
“And if an actor doesn’t have an agent? What then?”
“You don’t have an agent?” He stared at her askance. “Why on earth not?”
“Henry handled all of that for me. Since he died, I haven’t looked . . .” She paused and her mouth tightened at the corners. “I don’t see the need for an agent now. That’s all.”
This reminder of Henry was sufficient to keep the traitorous sensations in his body from wholly overtaking him. “Lola, this won’t do. You need an agent.”
“Why?” Unexpectedly, she smiled at him. “Do you intend to take advantage of me, Denys?”
The room was far too warm, and he felt an almost irrepressible desire to loosen his tie. He suppressed it. “Don’t flirt with me,” he reproved in as cool a voice as he could muster. “It’s a deflection, Lola, one you use whenever you don’t like the direction of a conversation. What I don’t understand is the reason you’re prevaricating.”
Caught out, she gave a sigh, but she didn’t explain.
“Is Henry the reason for this aversion to having an agent? Do you . . .” He paused, but after a moment, he forced himself to go on. “I’m sure you miss him, but you’re not doing yourself or his memory any good by procrastinating about finding someone else to represent your interests.”
“I’m not procrastinating,” she protested. “In my current situation, I just don’t see the need for an agent. Someone who’ll charge me an outrageous percentage to arrange a contract between me and my own partner? Seems quite silly to me.”
“Just because I’m giving you a fair situation, it doesn’t mean others will. You need an agent. To find you work, to negotiate your contracts—”
“I already have work. As to negotiating my contract, I think you and I can muddle along without bringing a third party into it.”
“You’re far too trusting.”
“I’m not trusting at all, but I know you, and I know how scrupulously honest you are. You could no more cheat me than you could betray your country.”
He found this evidence of how well she understood his character rather galling. “And what if you don’t retain your place in the company next season?”
“I’ll worry about that when it happens.”
“What if you wish to obtain work elsewhere?”
“A competitor?” Her scoff made short shrift of that possibility. “As I said, I want to work with my partner in my company, not somewhere else. Besides,” she added with a smile, “I intend to see that we only hire those directors who appreciate my brilliant dramatic skills.”
His opinion about that must have shown on his face, for her smile faded, and she sighed. “That was a joke, Denys.”
He didn’t feel like laughing. “If Othello proves a flop,” he went on doggedly, “you may wish to pursue a place with some other company—”
“It isn’t going to flop.” Her eyes opened wide. “With Arabella Danvers, London’s most famous and popular Shakespearean actress, in a leading role, how could it ever be a flop?”
Despite everything, that almost made him smile. Impudent minx, he thought, to toss his rationale for hiring Arabella back in his face. “Mrs. Danvers’s involvement, as valuable as it is, is no guarantee of success. You know as well as I do there’s no predicting how these things will go.”
“We can safely make one prediction, at least,” she said, flashing him a grin. “On opening night, they’ll be packed to the rafters just to see if Lola Valentine proves as spectacular a failure this time as she was last time.”
He caught the pain behind those words. “Which is why it’s best if you find an agent now,” he pointed out even as he wondered why he should care.
“To hedge my bets, you mean?” She sobered, looking at him. “I’ll do my best not to let you down a second time.”
“That’s not what I meant. I only meant that a failed play could color your entire season, making it harder for you to find work next year if you do go elsewhere. An agent would make the process easier.”