Page 13 of No Mistress Of Mine

Lola widened her smile. “Only because I’m open-minded enough to consider the ideas of others,” she said sweetly.

“Either way,” Roth put in, “having her join me for luncheon has been a pleasure though I am quite saddened by the news of Henry Latham’s death.” He shook his head. “A great loss to theater, on both sides of the Atlantic.”

“A great loss indeed,” Denys agreed. “But did MissValentine tell you of her own good fortune? She’s taken Henry’s place as my partner in the Imperial.”

His voice sound so genial and so insincere, she grimaced.

Roth, luckily, didn’t seem to notice. His expression lightened once more. “Yes, so she has informed me. I envy you, my friend. Most business partners are not so charming as yours.” He gestured to the table. “Will you join us?”

His presence would ruin everything, and Lola spoke up at once. “Oh, but I’m sure his lordship is far too busy—”

“I’d love to joinyou, my friend,” he interrupted, and Lola did not miss his emphasis on the pronoun. “But first...” He paused, and when he looked at her, Lola felt her dismay deepening into frustration, for she knew she was about to be called on the carpet and dismissed, as if she were a recalcitrant child. “I hope you will excuse us both for a few moments? I need to speak with MissValentine privately about certain details involving our... partnership.”

She decided she was in no hurry to be called on the carpet. Instead of rising to her feet, she gestured to her plate. “But I haven’t finished my lunch.”

“Yes, you have.” Still smiling, he bent down close to her ear, and when he spoke, his voice was low enough to prevent the man across from her from hearing his words. “Roth only appreciates a scene if it’s on stage, and if you don’t come with me right now, there will be a scene, I promise you.”

Lola knew that Denys hated embarrassing public scenes, too, but she couldn’t afford to assume he was bluffing. She needed Jacob Roth on her side, and she wouldn’t gain that by embarrassing him in the dining room of the Savoy.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him. “It seems the business Lord Somerton wishes to discuss with me is urgent and cannot wait. If you will pardon us?”

As she rose to her feet, the director did also, setting aside his napkin with a little bow. “Of course.”

“Jacob, I’ve already dined,” Denys said, “but would you be so good as to order coffee? I shall rejoin you in a few moments, and we can talk.”

Lola didn’t miss the glance exchanged by the two men, nor Denys’s exclusion of her from any further conversation. She, no doubt, would be the primary topic of discussion between them later, but there was little she could do about it, so she followed Denys out of the dining room, across the opulent foyer, and down the corridor to the elevators. One carriage was available, its doors open, a liveried attendant waiting. Denys cupped a hand beneath her elbow and stepped inside the elevator, pulling her with him.

“Now,” he said, propelling her to the back of the elevator and out of the way as the boy closed the wood-paneled doors and the wrought-iron gate, “tell me what you think you’re doing.”

“Having lunch?” she suggested with an air of bright good cheer.

“You mean you were cozying up to my director, though how you found out he would be dining here defies explanation.”

That made her smile. “I have my methods.”

“I daresay. And by waylaying Roth in this shameless fashion, what do you hope to gain? Information? Support?”

“Both, actually, but my main goal was to gain advice on how best to deal with my partner.”

“I can tell you how to do that. Go away.”

A little cough broke in before she could reply, and both of them glanced toward the attendant, who was gazing at them in polite inquiry, his hand poised atop the brass orb of the elevator mechanism.

When she didn’t supply the requisite information, Denys turned toward her with a sound of impatience. “Where’s your room?”

“Why, Lord Somerton, what an improper question,” she murmured, unable to resist needling him. “I’m not sure I should answer you. The Savoy isn’t really that sort of hotel, you know.”

“Your room?” he repeated in a hard voice.

“You’ve become so staid.” She glanced at the boy, who was staring at the floor, pink as a peony, and she took pity on him. “Sixth floor,” she said.

The young man gave her a grateful glance, then pulled out the handle, turned the crank, and sent the elevator into motion.

“You didn’t used to be this way, you know,” she went on, returning her attention to Denys as they were carried upward. “You’ve changed.”

“Yes, I have,” he agreed at once. “I’ve grown up.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

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