Pride and a sweet sense of gratification rose within her, but she didn’t have long to enjoy it. “Unfortunately,” he said as he turned and set the sheaf of papers on the table beside the tea tray, “we don’t have time today for a discussion of anything complicated. I only allotted an hour for this meeting, you see, because, like you, I am going to the opera. Unlike you, however, I have to return to the other side of town in order to change to evening clothes.”
She felt a jolt of dismay. “You are going to Covent Garden, too?”
“Yes. I’m sorry now that I didn’t allow more time for our meeting, but all decisions for the current season have already been made, and I did not anticipate that you would wish to discuss new business, particularly something as complex as this seems to be.”
“I see.”
He must have sensed her disappointment, for he stirred in his seat and glanced at the clock.
“I still have a bit of time before I have to return to the West End, I suppose. Why don’t you tell me the gist of what you are proposing? I’ll read the details later, and we can discuss it at our next meeting.”
“Of course.” She sucked in a deep breath and took the plunge. “If we truly want to increase profits, we should expand the acting company, extend the season, and make the Imperial into a repertory theater.”
He blinked, seeming startled, and she feared he was going to tell her she was out of her mind. But he didn’t. Instead, he was silent so long, she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. “For heaven’s sake, Denys, say something.”
He shook his head, looking as if she’d just poleaxed him. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve just presented me with a very creditable idea.”
She was so relieved he hadn’t scoffed at her and dismissed the idea as ridiculous that she couldn’t help chaffing him. “You needn’t sound so surprised,” she said, making a face. “I do occasionally have good ideas.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “You truly took my doubts about you to heart, didn’t you?”
“I took them as a challenge.”
“I keep forgetting challenges don’t deter you. They just spur you on.”
He sounded rueful, and she grinned. “I am ornery that way. So my idea could work?”
“It could. It’s an idea I’ve considered myself, as a matter of fact. But there are difficulties . . .” He paused and leaned forward as if eager to discuss it further, but as he rested his forearms on his knees, his clasped hands brushed her thigh. She jerked at the contact, an involuntary move that sent her plate with its slice of cake tumbling off her lap. It hit the floor carpet by her feet with a thud—icing side down, of course.
She grimaced. “I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me.”
She leaned down, but as she reached for the plate and its contents, he leaned down as well, his hand closing over hers to stop her. “It’s all right,” he said, a strange, fierce undercurrent in his voice. “Leave it.”
Lola looked into his eyes, paralyzed as the touch of his hand spread warmth through her body, sending it along her spine and down to her toes, to every fingertip and the top of her head. She stared at him helplessly as that warmth pooled in her midsection and deepened into desire. He felt it, too. She could see that in his eyes.
Oh, no, she thought. No, no, no. Pull away, Lola. Pull away now.
She didn’t move.
His thumb brushed back and forth over the back of her wrist, and she recalled their kiss the other day and all the ones before it, of what being his woman had been like. A month ago, she’d feared this partnership wouldn’t work because Denys hated her, but now, she feared it wouldn’t work because he didn’t hate her at all. She couldn’t decide, suddenly, which prospect was worse.
“Reed,” he muttered under his breath, and let her go. “Not oak.”
She frowned, not sure she’d heard him right, for her dazed wits couldn’t see what reading and oaks had to do with anything. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the clock. “We’re out of time.”
“Yes, of course.” She jerked to her feet, relieved, and glad to end this meeting before she did something truly stupid.
He also stood up, but strangely, neither of them moved. He wasn’t touching her, but he might as well have been, for she could still feel the imprint of his palm over the back of her hand.
“I hope you enjoy the opera this evening.”
The opera? For a moment, she could only stare at him, then she remembered. “Oh, yes, the opera,” she said with a forced laugh. “Of course.”
He frowned a little, studying her far too closely for her peace of mind, but when he spoke, his voice was perfectly natural. “Have you ever been to the opera before?”
Not with you.
She almost said it aloud, but checked herself in time. It was true that Denys had never taken her to the opera, or the theater, or anywhere else where his family or his friends might see them together, but there was no point in bringing that up.
It doesn’t matter now, she told herself, but that was a lie. It mattered. Even after all these years, it still mattered. It still hurt.
She felt cold, suddenly, afraid he’d see, and she forced herself to paste on a smile. “Of course I’ve been to the opera. I know America is terribly uncivilized, Denys,” she added, making her voice as light as she could manage, “but we do have opera there, you know.”
He smiled, responding to the teasing. “No need to spring to your country’s defense, Lola. I wasn’t being snobbish. And I know you have opera, for I attended one there two years ago. At the Metropolitan.”
“Yes, I’d heard you were in town.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back, for now he might think she had been keeping track of his doings, and she hadn’t been, not really. “Jack was living there at the time, I remember. I never saw him,” she added at once, “but I’d often see his name in the gossip columns. And yours, too, of course, when you came. You and James. And Nick. Some Knickerbocker who’d swindled you—it was in all the papers. I couldn’t help hearing about it.”
She broke off, aware that these completely unnecessary explanations were only reinforcing her fears of what he’d think. Hoping she could at last escape, she retrieved her gloves and bent to reach for her portfolio. “I hope you and your family enjoy yourselves tonight,” she said as she straightened.
“Oh, I shan’t be with the family. I’m—” He stopped, took a breath, and let it out. “I’m attending with a friend.”
The friend was female; his hesitation made that clear, and Lola was suddenly assaulted by a new and different sort of hurt—the sharp, quick sting of jealousy.
She tried to quash it at once, for she’d no right to it, no right at all. She’d always appreciated she wasn’t right for him, aware of the vast difference in class between them. In the end, she’d left him because of it. There was nothing to be jealous about now.
And she could not fault his choice of companions. Unlike her, Lady Georgiana Prescott was born and bred to the world he moved in, just the sort of girl she’d hoped he would find when she left, the sort who could sit beside him at the opera without being a slap in his family’s face. She was glad for him. Glad, damn it.
Keeping her smile in place, she edged toward the door. “I hope you enjoy yourselves.”