“Isn’t it obvious?” The earl rubbed a hand irritably around the back of his neck. “Keep raising the offer until she agreed.”
“You might give me some credit, Father. I raised my offer as high as thirty thousand pounds, but she refused to sell. No amount, she said, would be enough. I believe she meant it.”
“In which circumstance, you were supposed to offer to sell our share to her.”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t possible.”
“And why not?”
He stirred in his chair. “I have no intention of surrendering our share of a profitable business, one that I built. When you and Henry bought the Imperial, it was barely scraping by, but now, it’s one of London’s most prestigious theaters. I made it what it is today, and I’ll be damned if I’ll surrender what I accomplished because Henry did something mad.”
“So this is about your pride?”
Denys met his father’s angry gaze with a cool, determined one of his own. “You could say that, yes.”
His father sighed, seeming to back down a bit. “I suppose I see your point. But why let Jacob give her a place in the company or a part in the play? You could have persuaded him to refuse her. Being cut to ribbons by Jacob Roth would have made her more amenable to selling, I daresay.”
“I doubt it. Besides, it’s never good policy to ask people to lie, and shredding her performance would have been a lie. I wouldn’t have dreamt of asking Jacob to do so. It would not be right. It would not be—” He paused, grimacing. “Fair.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose it sounds unethical when you put it like that.” The earl leaned back in his chair, eying his son unhappily. “God, Denys, I hope you know what you’re doing. That woman is your nemesis.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“Is it? I don’t need to remind you of how deeply she got her hooks into you, surely? Of how much you went into debt? Of how often you flitted off to France and neglected your estate—an estate I gave you upon your coming of age, one you mortgaged—”
“You don’t need to remind me of my past follies,” he cut in. “I’ve changed, Father, a fact you remarked on just yesterday. If you’ve revised your opinion in light of this—”
“I haven’t done anything of the kind,” Conyers interrupted, pushing that concern aside with a wave of his hands.
“Then why rehash the past?”
“Because you’re my son, damn it all, and I love you. And,” he rushed on before either of them could be embarrassed by such a frank declaration, “I have a duty to see that you don’t repeat past mistakes. Even now, I cannot help but fear that woman’s influence upon you.”
Denys knew his father was speaking from deep and genuine affection, and he had to swallow hard before he could reply. “You needn’t worry. MissValentine may have a part in the play, but I shan’t be directing her. In fact, I can’t see having much to do with her at all. She’s Jacob’s headache now, not mine.”
“That woman isn’t just a headache. She’s a nightmare.”
“Only until one wakes up.”
“And have you?” Conyers gave him a searching glance. “Have you woken up? Had I asked you that yesterday, I would have been sure of your answer, but this day has given me cause to doubt.”
Those words cut deep. His passion for Lola had almost ruined his life and his future and torn apart his family. It was quite understandable for his parent to be concerned, but Denys had no intention of going down that road again.
“In assuaging your doubts, Father, I must allow the past few years to speak for me. As I said, MissValentine is no longer my concern. Jacob is the director, and he shall be the one who has to manage her. I am quite happy to let him. In fact,” he added as he set aside his glass and stood up, “I doubt I shall even see her again until opening night.”
Chapter8
Denys might have assured his father he wouldn’t be seeing Lola again untilOthelloopened, but it took only twelve hours for her to prove him wrong. He’d been at his desk a mere forty minutes the following morning before Dawson was opening his office door to announce, “MissValentine to see you, sir.”
“What the devil?” He looked up, but he had no chance to instruct Dawson to tell her he was unavailable. The secretary had already stepped aside, allowing Lola to walk right in.
“Good morning,” she greeted him as she came toward his desk, the frothy concoction of aquamarine silk and cream-colored lace she wore rustling as she walked. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I didn’t seem to have a say in the matter,” he muttered as he stood up, wishing he’d thought to tell his secretary that Lola Valentine was not to set foot in his office again without his permission.
Vowing to make that clear to his secretary at the first opportunity, he turned his attention to Lola, but Dawson spoke before he could inform her that he was too busy for a conversation.
“May I bring you some refreshment, MissValentine?”
