She smiled that wide, radiant smile, and as always, he felt as if he were standing in the warmth of the sun. “Friends it is, then,” she said. “But—” She broke off, drawing her brows together in a seeming attempt to look stern. Given the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the attempt failed utterly. “But if we’re to be friends, you can’t call me Miss Valinsky ever again.”
He laughed. “I have been duly warned. May I call you Charlotte?”
Her stern expression dissolved, and her nose wrinkled up. “Not if you expect me to answer.”
“Don’t you like the name Charlotte?”
“It’s not that. I meant just what I said. I’ve been Lola Valentine for a long time now. If someone called me Charlotte, I’m not sure I’d realize that person was talking to me. In fact,” she added softly, ducking her head, “I’m not sure I even remember who Charlotte is anymore.”
“I think you do.”
She looked up, seeming startled by the certainty in his voice. “What makes you say that?”
“If you didn’t think that girl was still somewhere inside you, you wouldn’t have told me I didn’t really know you.”
“Maybe.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. But, either way, I’m accustomed to being called Lola, so perhaps you should just continue to address me by that name.”
“If that’s what you prefer. And it does make things easier for me. Fresh starts are all very well, and I’m trying my best to adapt to this new situation, but calling you by a different name would take some getting used to.” He gestured to the alley behind her. “Shall we?”
“Why don’t I wait here, while you hail me a cab?”
He agreed to that compromise, and a short time later, he was standing at the entrance to the alley, watching her walk to the hansom at the curb. Fresh starts and being friends were all very well, but as he studied the brilliant fiery glints in her hair beneath the streetlight and the graceful dancer’s sway of her hips as she moved, Denys could feel his desire for her still lurking deep within him, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to think of Lola Valentine as just a friend, even if her name was really Charlotte Valinsky.
Chapter 16
Denys knew Lola was right about the gossip, and that it would be best if they avoided each other as much as possible when they were not conducting actual theater business.
Given his determination that her return would not be allowed to change his life in any way, avoiding her ought to have been an easy thing for him to manage, especially since the last thing he’d wanted a few weeks ago was to be anywhere near her. But in the days that followed their picnic in the rehearsal hall, steering clear of Lola proved to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
He often found himself staring out his office window at the Imperial, wondering how she was getting on. Twice, he almost changed his dinner plans with friends so that he could dine at the Savoy, just on the chance that he might see her there. It was a fortunate thing that St. John’s Wood was not within the proximity of his daily round, for if it were, he’d have been unable to resist having his driver take him to the office via that route.
Every day, he invented excuses for why he ought to go across the street—he could ask Jacob how the play was coming along, or examine the premises, or discuss possible maintenance issues with the janitors—oh, his imagination fashioned many reasons why the Imperial needed his personal attention right now, but fertile as his imagination became, he forced himself to stay away. For both their sakes, that was the best course.
He could not, however, stop himself from thinking of her. She entered his thoughts countless times—in the middle of business meetings, on the street if he chanced to pass a woman with red hair, or when his carriage took him past Covent Garden.
He’d actually thought being near her would help him get over all this, but as the days passed, he began to fear he’d been far too optimistic about the ability of familiarity to breed contempt.
What you loved was the illusion of me, an illusion I invented years before I ever met you. The real me, however, is someone you don’t know at all.
Was that true? Denys stared down into his breakfast plate, pushing around eggs and bacon with his fork as he considered her declaration in light of what he now knew about her. But as he contemplated the things she’d told him about herself, he feared the knowledge didn’t help him much, for the more he knew her, the more he wanted to know. The more deeply he explored, the deeper he wanted to delve. And if he went too deep, he feared it would sink him for good and all.
The voices of his family flowed past him, but lost in thought, he didn’t hear a word, for he was thinking of a play six years ago and a callow chap who’d mortgaged his estate in order to seduce a girl.
He closed his eyes, sinking into memories of their afternoons together—the scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her skin. All as vivid, and as erotic, as they’d ever been.
“Denys?”
The prompting voice of his mother broke into his reverie, and Denys looked up, appalled that he was now having passionate thoughts about Lola at the breakfast table. “I beg your pardon, Mama,” he said after a moment, “but I was woolgathering. What did you say?”
“I asked if you would be joining us in the brougham tomorrow, or taking your own carriage.”
He stared back at her blankly, for he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Tomorrow?”
His mother’s gaze slid sideways, toward her husband, and the uneasy glance the two exchanged wasn’t lost on him. He’d forgotten something important, he realized, some social obligation, but for the moment, he couldn’t remember what it was.
“Oh, Denys won’t ride with us, Mama,” Susan put in before their mother could answer his question. “He’s always working in that office of his, even on Saturdays. Surely he’ll take his own carriage from Bedford Street to Regent’s Park.”
“I suppose.” Lady Conyers gave a sigh and turned to him. “You work much too hard, dear. And during the season, why, it’s absolutely uncivilized for a gentleman to slave away in an office.”
Denys looked from his mother to his sister, utterly at sea. “Regent’s Park?”
Susan laughed. “Oh, my, you have been working too hard, dear brother, if Mama’s flower show has slipped your mind. And with Georgiana helping her make all the arrangements, too.”
Good God. Georgiana. He’d forgotten all about her.
Aware that the other members of his family were staring at him, he felt impelled to fashion a reply. “I didn’t forget,” he lied, careful to keep any hint of his dismay off his face. “I just couldn’t remember for the moment where they’d decided to hold it. After all,” he added hastily, “Georgiana was suggesting so many possible locations for you to consider before she left for Kent, that it was impossible to keep track. Now, the various venues are all a jumble in my mind.”
It was a poor excuse, and he knew it, for he saw his parents exchange another meaningful glance, but thankfully, they seemed inclined to accept it at face value.
“It was all very confusing, I know,” his mother remarked. “We had quite despaired of finding somewhere suitable.” She picked up her tea and took a sip, looking at him over the rim of her cup. “I believe they returned from Kent on Wednesday, did they not?”