Page 21 of Bad Luck Bride

“If you’ve been so disgraced, what makes you think all those people will come to your wedding anyway?”

The smile that curved her lips was a bitter one, ironic, without a shred of humor. “Because we English have such a deep-seated sense of fair play. People will climb over themselves to come and watch me be washed clean. And afterward, they’ll gladly toast my future happiness and nod wisely to each other, and say, ‘Well, my dear, I never believed those silly rumors about her to begin with.’”

That, he supposed with a grimace, was a pretty fair take on the British character. “We English are awful humbugs, aren’t we?”

“Yes. The more people there to witness my rehabilitation, the stronger it will be. But that requires St. Paul’s Cathedral, and a banquet room that can seat all the influential people I’ve spent a decade bowing and scraping to. Thanks to you, however, I now have to decide who I must cut from my guest list because there isn’t another banquet room available in any decent part of London that is large enough. I know that because I’ve spent the past two months looking for one.”

He set his jaw, working to don the armor of indifference as he forced himself to look at her again. “All that’s a shame, and I am very sorry for it, Kay, I truly am, but I did not take the Pinafore from you on purpose. As for the rest, I am not responsible for how word about our elopement got out any more than you are, believe me.”

Uncertainty flickered across her face, but when she spoke, her voice was unrelenting. “I don’t see why I should believe you about anything.”

He gave it up. “Then we seem to be at an impasse, for I see no reason to stand here all night rehashing the matter and engaging in round after round of no-I-didn’t and yes-you-did. It would be a waste of breath.”

Her chin lifted, and that, he well knew, meant trouble. “I can think of a way you could convince me.”

He drew a deep breath, knowing he had to ask, sure he would regret it. “How?”

“Tell your fiancée the truth.”

Devlin frowned, uncomprehending. “What purpose would that serve? Like everyone else, she already knows my denials about the elopement were lies, so—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What, then?”

“Tell her that she can’t have the Pinafore Room because, due to some muddle, the room was already taken by someone else when you made the reservation.”

“The someone in question being you, a fact she is sure to discover in very short order.”

She shrugged, clearly indifferent to the hot water that would land him in. “You’re a glib fellow, God knows. You’ll think of a palatable way to break it to her.”

“Right,” he replied with a laugh. “I’m to tell my current fiancée—who, by the way, desires a banquet room every bit as big as yours—that she can’t have the Pinafore because my former fiancée wants it and I’m giving it to her. Is that how this is supposed to go?”

“You aren’t giving it to me. I already had it when you reserved it. I’m merely asking you to explain that to her. And I think you owe me that one little favor, at least.”

He thought back to those first years in Africa, all the hard work he’d done, thinking he was making a future for them only to read in a newspaper that she was throwing him over to marry her cousin, a man who had money and a title and her father’s approval.

His heart turned to ice.

“Go to the devil.” He paused to retrieve his towel from the floor and loop it back across his shoulders. “I owe you nothing more than what I’ve already done.”

She shook her head. “Selfish to the end.”

“So it would seem.” He reached around her, nudging her to one side as he opened the door. “Now, as I said before, I have an engagement. So unless you want me to use force and shove you out into the corridor, you’d best depart of your own volition.”

She exhaled a sharp sigh, but much to his relief, she turned away to depart.

“So delightful of you to come by,” he said to her back as she walked out into the passage. “We really must have another visit soon.”

Her reply was to pull the door shut behind her with a loud, decisive bang.

Devlin turned away from the closed door and started back toward the bathroom, but he’d barely reached the other end of the sitting room when there was another tap on the door.

With an oath, he retraced his steps and reached for the door handle. “By God, Kay,” he said as he opened the door, “if you’ve come back to flay me again—”

He broke off at the sight of the Savoy footman standing in the corridor with Devlin’s clothes draped over his arm.

“Your evening suit, sir. Would you care for valeting assistance?”

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