Page 60 of Bookshop Cinderella

Flowers?Bloody hell, he thought, his outrage and fear deepening as he watched them through the window from the darkened street. How many rich toffs did Evie know nowadays? And what was this one doing here?

Suddenly, the man dropped the flowers and reached out to touch Evie’s face, bold as brass, and Rory had the answer to his question. A man like that wouldn’t touch her in such an intimate way if he wasn’t paying for the privilege.

Well, well, Rory thought in amazement as he watched them,little Evie’s got a fancy man.

It was ridiculous to think a wealthy chap like this would pay for access to Evie’s bed, but if he were a true suitor with honorable intentions, he’d never be here, alone with her at night with the window shades down, touching her face. And if Evie was this man’s mistress, it explained everything—the money, the clothes, the hotel.

The contact between the pair lasted only a couple of seconds before the man pulled his hand back and clasped both his hands behind his back. They continued to talk, and as he watched, Rory realized that though this wasn’t the same man who had escorted Evie into supper at the Savoy the other night, he had seen this chap before. This, he realized, was the man who’d been in the bookshop the day he’d persuaded Evie to allow him the use of her storeroom for political meetings, the same one who’d been making cutting remarks under his breath. At the time, Rory had thought himmerely a customer, but he was evidently far more than that.

Rory waited, continuing to observe the couple on the other side of the glass, but though they talked for perhaps another ten minutes, the man made no move to touch her again. At last, he bowed, retrieved his hat from the floor, and turned to go, and Rory quickly moved to the darkened doorway of the confectionery, pressing himself as far back into the shadows as possible, ducking his head, and pulling his cap down low over his eyes.

These precautions proved unnecessary, however, for the man didn’t even glance in Rory’s direction as he passed by. Rory was torn between going in to see Evie immediately or following the man, but after a few moments of indecision, he decided on the latter course and stepped out from the shadows. To get Evie back, he’d have to convince her he was a better choice than the wealthy man keeping her, but the honorable intentions he needed to convey would not be demonstrated by cornering her in the bookshop alone at night. Besides, it was best if he knew as much about Evie’s protector as possible, and it wasn’t as if he could tackle her on the subject. Keeping a discreet distance, he followed the other man down Wellington Street and onto the Strand. It was no surprise to Rory when the man entered the Savoy courtyard. After all, when a man was keeping his mistress at his own hotel, it would be an easy matter slipping in and out of her bed.

Rory continued to follow, but when the toff stopped by the door to converse with the doorman, he stopped as well. Pretending to be lost in admiration for the Savoy’s splendid fountain, he waited, watching out of the corner of his eye, and when his quarry finally entered the hotel and disappeared, he started forward again to take his turn for a bit of conversation with the doorman.

“That gentleman who just went in looks familiar to me,” he commented, nodding to the doorway beyond, “but I can’t place him. Do you know his name?”

The doorman looked him over and frowned, clearly doubtful of any possible connection between him and the man who’d just preceded him, and Rory, well aware that he wasn’t dressed in the formal evening attire required at the Savoy, hastened again into speech.

“Worked for him once,” he went on. “It was a long time ago, but I’m hoping he might have some work for me again.”

The doorman’s frown gave way to a condescending, vinegary smile. “I doubt it. That gentleman is the Duke of Westbourne.”

Evie’s fancy man was aduke? Rory blinked, not certain he’d heard correctly. “Duke of Westbourne? Well,” he murmured as the other man nodded. “Fancy that. Looks just like my former employer.”

“Will there be anything else?” the doorman asked coldly.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Improvising quickly, he patted his breast pocket. “I’ve got a message for one of the guests. It’s urgent, and my employer asked me to bring it straightaway. Who do I see about that?”

The doorman’s stiff demeanor relaxed slightly now that Rory had placed himself in the class of secretary, a class that made sense. “Messages for guests can be left at the front desk.”

Rory nodded and turned to enter the hotel, pausing expectantly. With reluctance he couldn’t quite hide, the doorman opened the door, and for the second time in his life, Rory passed into the luxurious confines of the Savoy Hotel.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the clerk said in response to his inquiry at the front desk. “Miss Harlow is not in at present.”

“I say, that’s unfortunate. I’ve a message for her. From my employer.”

To add credibility to his hastily invented role as secretary, he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and waved it in the air, careful not to let the other man see the name and direction written on it.

“I see.” The clerk held out his hand. “I would be happy to have it delivered to Miss Harlow.”

Rory shook his head, giving the man a look of apology as he shoved the letter to a friend of his in Germany back into his breast pocket. “Sorry, but I was told to put it into the lady’s hand myself. It’s urgent, you see. Would you have any idea where I might find Miss Harlow?”

“No, but perhaps her maid would know. Would you care to speak with her?”

Rory blinked in surprise. A fancy hotel, clothes, opera tickets, and a servant, too? That duke was certainly spending a lot on little Evie. What did she have going, he wondered, that made her worth all that? Well, whatever it was, Rory would enjoy discovering it for himself once he got the duke out of the picture.

“Ahem.”

The concierge’s cough brought him back to the matter at hand, and he put aside speculations about Evie’s heretofore unimagined talents in the boudoir. “Yes, I would,” he answered. “Perhaps she can tell me where to find Miss Harlow.”

A bellboy was summoned to fetch the maid, and while he waited, Rory could only hope the servant wasn’t some dried-up old hag who’d take one look at him and send him packing.

He need not have worried. When the bellboy returned ten minutes later and presented Evie’s maid to him, Rory took one glance over the girl’s plump figure and eager face, and he knew finding out everything there was to know about Evie’s lover would be easy as winking.

14

When Max returned to the Savoy, he’d barely entered his room and poured himself a whisky before a knock sounded on the door and a whirling hurricane of ecru traveling linen, black hair, and expensive French perfume swept into his suite.

---