You will always be his ruin.
As those words echoed through her mind, she felt the truth of them more than ever before. Something seemed to crack inside of her, crack wide open, and suddenly, she was crying. Lola turned on her other side, curling into a ball, but she couldn’t hold it back, and for the first time in years, she cried herself to sleep.
“Good morning, Miss Valentine.”
The cheerful greeting of her maid woke her, and Lola opened her eyes, blinking a little in the morning light. Her eyes hurt, the dry, burning hurt that came after a crying jag. “What time is it?” she asked, sitting up on her elbows to find her maid at the foot of her bed with a tray.
“Half past twelve,” Marianne answered. “Your usual time after a show. Would you like to dress? Or have breakfast first?”
“Neither.” She sat upright in the bed, shoved a lock of her hair out of her face as she worked to clear her sleep-clogged senses. “Marianne, I need you to do something for me first thing. I need you to go to Cook’s and arrange for us to return to New York.”
The maid’s lips parted in surprise, but she was too well trained to question her mistress. “Of course. When would you like to depart?”
“As soon as possible, so you’d best go now and make the arrangements.”
“Yes, ma’am. But won’t you wish me to dress you before I go? And have breakfast sent up?”
“No.” Lola sank back into the pillows. “I just want to go back to sleep. Feel free to have luncheon while you’re out. And wake me when you return.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The maid departed, and Lola closed her eyes, but just as she fell asleep, she was awakened again, this time by a knocking sound.
She sat up, looked through the open doorway of her bedroom and realized the knock she’d heard was coming from the outer door to the suite.
“Miss Valentine?” a muffled male voice called from the corridor.
Still dazed, her eyes heavy with sleep, Lola shoved back the counterpane with a sigh, got out of bed, and walked to the doorway of her room.
“Miss Valentine?” the voice called again. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” she answered. “What is it?”
“Room service, ma’am.”
Damn it, she’d told Marianne she didn’t want breakfast sent up. She frowned, trying to think. Hadn’t she told her that?
“Miss Valentine?” the voice called. “Breakfast and coffee.”
Coffee? Lola lifted her head, her spirits lifting a bit. After the night she’d had, coffee sounded awfully good. “Just a moment, please.”
She returned to her bedroom, opened the armoire, and pulled out a soft green tea gown that buttoned in front. She slipped it on over her nightdress and did up the buttons, then shoved her feet into a pair of silk slippers. Dressed, more or less, she returned to the sitting room, retrieved a sixpence from her handbag, and walked to the door. She opened it, but though the man standing outside her door with a cart wore the livery of a Savoy footman, he was definitely not a member of the hotel staff.
“Denys?” She rubbed her fingertips over her sleep-dazed eyes, wondering if she was dreaming. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter 20
He’d gotten her out of bed, he knew, and the realization made Denys catch his breath. To him, this was the time of day when she had always looked loveliest, when her dark red hair was loose and tumbled around her shoulders, when her face was bereft of powder and rouge, and he could see the golden freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. He swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to shove the cart aside, lift her into his arms, and carry her into the bedroom.
But he won that battle by reminding himself that he was playing for stakes far higher than just a tumble in the sheets. Forcing desire aside, he bowed. “Good morning, Miss Valentine.”
Using her fists, she rubbed her eyes again, making him smile, for the gesture was reminiscent of a little girl waking from a dream. “Why are you dressed like a Savoy footman?”
“Oh, this.” He smoothed the waistcoat of his uniform. “Like it?”
Clearly confounded, she closed her eyes and shook her head, and when she looked at him again, her sleepy haze had dissipated, and she was frowning. “Denys, you can’t be up here outside my rooms.”
“Lola, isn’t it a bit silly to tell me I can’t do what I have already done?”
She leaned forward, sticking her head out into the corridor. “Someone might see you.”
“So what?”
She pulled back. “Someone might recognize you.”
“In this costume? I doubt it. Why do you think I’m wearing it? And if you want your coffee, which I know you do since you’ve just risen from bed, and you adore coffee first thing, you’d best let me in before it grows cold.”
She bit her lip, considering. “If I don’t, I’ve no doubt you’re prepared to just keep standing out here, hovering in the corridor and knocking on my door until I let you in,” she muttered after a moment.
He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked around with an innocent air, whistling.
Heaving a sigh, she pulled the door wide and stepped back. “Oh, very well,” she said crossly. “You’d better come in. I never can seem to say no to you.”
He met her eyes. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
He heard her soft gasp, but when she spoke, he was reminded that he’d only accomplished the first step of his plan, and there were still many more steps to take.
“You went to a great deal of trouble,” she said, shutting the door and following him as he wheeled the cart into the sitting room of her suite and steered it toward a card table and chairs at the far end of the room. “Where did you obtain a Savoy livery?”
“From a Savoy footman, of course. I found one just coming off duty and bribed him to loan me his livery, take me through the kitchens, and bring me up in the service lift.”
“You’re crazy,” she declared, shaking her head. “Just plain crazy.”
“The footman didn’t think so.” Denys chuckled. “He wasn’t the least bit surprised by my suggestion. Without blinking, he told me the rate for this service is a guinea. Evidently, gentlemen in hotel livery are sneaking in and out of ladies’ rooms all over London nowadays. So many, in fact, that hotel footmen have established a price. It even includes a letter of character, in case the fellow is caught and given the sack. The maids have a similar system at work. Quite enterprising, really, when one thinks about it.”
He poured coffee for her, stirred in milk and sugar, and held it out to her across the table. “Coffee?”
She took it, but she didn’t move to drink it. Instead, she lifted her gaze above the cup to meet his. “I heard you were in Kent. When did you return to London?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Have you . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. “Have you seen your father?”
He frowned, looking puzzled. “No, why?”
She didn’t answer that. “Why did you come back from Kent?” she asked instead.
“Lola.” He smiled at her tenderly. “Do you really need to ask?”
“Last night,” she whispered. “You were there.”
“Of course I was there. Lola,” he added, his voice softly chiding, “you didn’t really think I’d miss your opening night, did you?”
Her hand shook, and he heard the cup rattle in its saucer. “What . . .” She paused, passed her tongue over her lips. “What did you think? Tell me the truth.”