Page 14 of No Mistress Of Mine

“I do. What would you call it?”

She studied him for a moment, thinking how to describe the changes in him. Her mind flashed back to their days in Paris and London half a dozen years ago, and the affable, carefree young man she’d fallen in love with. “Sad,” she said at last.

He made a sound of derision at that description, but though he seemed to want to argue the point, he didn’t do so. Instead, he turned away, staring straight ahead, and they traveled the remaining floors in silence.

When the elevator deposited them at the sixth floor, she removed her room key from her handbag as Denys handed the attendant a tip, but when she started down the corridor toward her room, he didn’t move to follow her, and she stopped. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No. We can say what we need to say right here. It’s private enough, I daresay.” He cast a pointed glance over his shoulder at the attendant, who gave a start and immediately pulled the doors closed, vanishing from view.

“Don’t worry,” she said in some amusement as Denys returned his attention to her. “I doubt an elevator boy has the power to ruin your reputation.”

“It was decided,” he said stolidly, “that we would settle the matter of this ridiculous partnership through solicitors.”

“That’s what you decided.” She dropped the key into her bag and closed it with a snap. “I decided something different.”

“What do you hope to accomplish by accosting Jacob while he is enjoying his lunch?”

“He didn’t seem to mind my company. An unfathomable concept to you, I know, but true nonetheless. As for the rest, solicitors are always so slow, and I didn’t feel it was wise to dither. Auditions for the season’s acting company are on Monday.”

“A fact that has nothing to do with you.”

She sighed, noting the hard set of his jaw. “Look, I realize this is all still quite a shock to you, but does railing against facts accomplish anything? If you intend to continue this intransigence, our partnership shall be fraught with strife.”

“All the more reason not to continue with it, then.” He spread his hands in a self-evident gesture. “How much?”

She blinked at the abrupt question. “How much what?”

“I want to make an offer for your share of the Imperial. I’ll be generous, I promise you. Name your terms.”

She was shaking her head in refusal before he’d even finished speaking. “I’m not selling.”

“I should advise you to reconsider. Given our history, we can’t possibly work together.”

“Ah, but we don’t have to work together,” she said sweetly. “All you have to do is let me know where to send your share of the profits.”

He didn’t seem amused by having his own words thrown back at him, for his expression became even grimmer than before. “This notion that you and I could ever work together is mad.”

“I thought so myself at first, but after thinking it over, I changed my mind. I believe it can work if we both give it a chance.”

“I don’t want to give it a chance. So, how much money will it take to end it?”

She closed her eyes, remembering how his father had once asked her a similar question.

How much money will make you go away?

She opened her eyes and gave the same answer. “I won’t take your money.”

“Taking all receipts and expenses into consideration,” he went on, and she wondered if, like his father, he was going to pull out his checkbook and start writing a check. “The theater has, at best, a profit margin of five thousand pounds per annum. So twenty thousand pounds is a fair offer, wouldn’t you agree?”

“More than fair,” she acknowledged, “but irrelevant.”

“It would be a sure thing, Lola. Theater, on the other hand, is always uncertain. The public’s tastes are fickle and arbitrary. Over half of all theatrical productions lose money.”

“Nonetheless—”

“The Imperial doesn’t use outside financial backers.”

“Thank God,” she muttered, thinking of Henry’s investors.

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