Page 77 of No Mistress Of Mine

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.”

“I thought you were remarkable.”

There it was, that radiant smile he loved. “Really?”

“Really. And if you don’t believe me...” He paused and bent down beside the cart, reaching beneath the hem of the tablecloth to retrieve the morning papers he’d placed on the bottom shelf. Straightening, he held up the stack. “Perhaps you might care to hear a few other opinions?”

He dropped the sheaf of newspapers on the table and picked up the one on top, already folded back to the proper page. “According toTalk of the Town, you are ‘the most stunning and welcome surprise to appear on the London stage in years.’ ”

He set it aside, and picked up the next one. “The Timessays, ‘MissValentine shines the moment she walks out on stage, rather like the sun peeking out unexpectedly between clouds on an overcast day.’ ”

“The Timessaid that?” She stared at him, understandably disbelieving. “The Times?”

“Yes,The Times. Congratulations,” he added, grinning at her over the top of the sheet. “I think you are the only person in theater who has ever inspired the staid and stuffyLondon Timesto wax poetic. And you’ve done it twice.”

“Maybe, but the first time wasn’t very pleasant poetry,” she reminded. “Let me see.”

She set down her coffee, pulled the paper from his hand, and scanned the page. “I don’t believe it,” she said, laughing as she read the review. “Praise fromThe Times. Who’d have thought it?”

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