“I should adore it, Miss Valentine,” he answered, keeping up with her hurried steps as she strode down the corridor. “But will they allow us?”
“Of course they will,” she said, crossing her fingers that she could spy some old acquaintance amid the stagehands flitting about who would let them through. “But we’ll have to be quick,” she added, hastening her steps even more, pulling him with her around a corner and into another corridor, but a few moments later, when she heard Denys’s voice behind her, she knew they hadn’t been quite quick enough.
“Miss Valentine?” he called, and though Lola was inclined to want to ignore it, Denys’s incisive voice brought her companion to a halt, impelling her to stop as well.
Still, she had no intention of allowing Denys to call Dawson on the carpet for her invitation, so she turned around and hastened into speech. “Why, it’s Lord Somerton,” she said brightly, trying to sound surprised. “Good evening, my lord. What are you doing wandering the corridors of Covent Garden?”
“I have need to speak with you, Miss Valentine. It’s important. Dawson,” he added before she could come up with objections, “will you excuse us, please?”
The young man hesitated and glanced at Lola, who gave a nod of assent. Denys’s implacable expression told her there was no escape, and at least this way, she’d keep Dawson out of trouble.
“Good evening, sir,” the secretary said, bowing. “Miss Valentine.”
Denys waited until the secretary had traversed the corridor and turned the corner before he returned his attention to her. “Just what the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Though his voice was calm, there was anger in his dark eyes, making it clear that any progress they’d made this afternoon toward a permanent truce had now been obliterated. But why? He’d known she would be coming this evening. Surely he’d known she wouldn’t come alone. And besides, he could have stayed in his seat. Instead, he had sought her out. Why?
Whatever his reasons, Denys in a fury was not something to take lightly. Like all good men, when he lost his temper, he lost it thoroughly.
“You should not be talking to me,” she pointed out, hoping to dampen his anger with a reminder of propriety. “If someone of your set were to notice that you followed us back here, the story would be in all the scandal sheets quick as the wink of an eye.”
His mouth tightened, showing that he appreciated the truth of that, but if she’d hoped it would impel him to depart, that hope was dashed. “You cannot go gadding about London with my secretary. It is highly inappropriate.”
“He said you wouldn’t like it, and I can see he was right. But really, Denys, why should it matter to you?”
“It’s understandable you would break the rules,” he went on without answering her question. “But Dawson has no such excuse.”
“What rule have we broken? The one that says an unmarried woman can’t go about with a man unchaperoned? It’s so sweet of you to be concerned for my reputation,” she added, though she was pretty sure consideration for her was the last thing on his mind right now, “but it isn’t necessary. As for Mr. Dawson, you mustn’t censure him for any of this. I can’t go to the opera alone. Even I wouldn’t defy society to that extent. So I asked Mr. Dawson to come with me. As I said, he warned me that you wouldn’t like it, but I persuaded him to come anyway. Any blame for this lies with me.”
Denys studied her face for a moment, then he gave a deep sigh. “I suppose I’m the last man on earth who should condemn another for succumbing to your charms,” he muttered. “God help any man who tries to hold out when you decide to be persuasive. Regardless of who invited whom,” he added before she could reply, “when we are finished here, you will bid him good evening and part from his company.”
“Now, wait just a minute,” she said, infuriated by such high-handed arrogance. “You have no right to dictate with whom I spend my evenings.”
“I do when it’s a violation of company policy. You cannot fraternize with an employee. It’s not done.”
“Fraternize?” he echoed, rolling her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. It’s only one evening at the opera. And anyway, he isn’t my employee. He’s yours.”
“In point of fact, he is our employee. You are my partner in the Imperial, and the Imperial pays a portion of Mr. Dawson’s salary.”
“Is that what’s got you in such a lather?” She took a sip from her champagne cup, studying him over the rim. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit too punctilious?”
“Am I? If my secretary were female, would it be acceptable for me to squire her about town and take her to the opera?”
She made a sound of derision at that ridiculous notion. “As if you’d ever hire a female secretary! And you certainly wouldn’t take her to the opera. If a cancan dancer wasn’t good enough to be seen about town with you, a female secretary wouldn’t be either. And as I said before, we really cannot afford to be seen together. So, if you will pardon me?”
She started to step around him to return to her seat, but Denys moved as well, blocking her departure.
“Wait,” he ordered. “What do you mean, ‘not good enough’? Is that—” He broke off, comprehension dawning in his face. “Oh, my God. Is that what you thought?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she hastened to say. “I always knew the lay of the land.”
“It’s clear you didn’t understand a damn thing.” His voice was tight. “Damn it all, I was—” He broke off as a pair of stagehands appeared in the corridor, pushing a cart of props. He waited until they had passed by and disappeared, then he reached for the handle of the door beside him and opened it.
Lola watched, frowning in puzzlement as he leaned through the doorway to peer into the room beyond. “What are you doing?”
He straightened, but he didn’t answer her question. Instead, he grabbed her by the arm. “Come with me,” he said.
Lola felt her stomach give a nervous lurch. “But what about Mr. Dawson?” she asked, glancing desperately over her shoulder as Denys began pulling her across the threshold into the darkened room beyond. “We can’t just leave him—”
“Hang Dawson. The fellow is well aware of your position as my partner and should have known better than to accept a social invitation from you. Let him return to his seat and enjoy the performance. You and I are going to thrash this out.”
That would be like thrashing with sharks, but Denys gave her no opportunity to escape the encounter. He pulled her into what seemed to be a storage room. In the light that spilled from the corridor, she could make out the shadowy outlines of props, scenery canvases, and racks of costumes. The space seemed far too intimate, especially when he closed the door behind them, and she decided it was best to go on the offensive before he could put her on the defensive.
“Why did you drag me in here?” she demanded, turning to face him in the darkness. “You have no right to manhandle me in this manner—”
“What really happened six years ago?” he interrupted, cutting off any attempt on her part to gain the upper hand. “Why did you really leave me?”
Chapter 13
There it was, the question she’d been dreading, thrown down like a gauntlet. She’d have to address it, of course, but not here, in a room so dark she couldn’t see his face, with him standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body.
“I am not going to explain myself to you when we’re standing in a storage closet at Covent Garden,” she said, and turned to reach for the door handle. She’d only managed to open the door a crack, however, before he flattened one palm against it and slammed it shut.