“Begging your pardon, my lord, but bringing it here will be… difficult. Impossible, I should say. Might I suggest you come and see for yourself?”
Simon capitulated with a sigh. “Monsieur Frossard, if you will pardon me for a moment?”
“But of course.”
Given this assent, Simon stepped around the piles of not-yet-unpacked crates and boxes that had been brought here from theClarendon this morning, started down the dimly lit corridor, and entered the main lobby, where he came to a startled, stunned stop.
All he saw was color—every possible shade of pink and purple nature had ever invented seemed spread out before him. Flowers, he realized—masses of them. But not just any flowers.
Hyacinths.
Vases and pots of them covered the desks and the tables. Gigantic sculptures of them in the shapes of cones, balls, squares, and animals stood on the floor. Baskets of them stood on chairs. In the middle of it all was an arbor covered with them. And under it, in a dress of buttercup yellow that was like a burst of pure sunshine, stood Delia.
“What the devil?” he muttered, staring at her, too stunned to move. “Delia?”
From beneath the brim of an enormous hat of white straw, yellow ribbons, and purple hyacinths, she studied him, biting her lip. “I’m hoping,” she said after a moment, “we might call a truce?”
Joy rumbled within his chest—joy, relief, and exhilaration—and he began to laugh.
As if galvanized by the sound, she moved, running toward him, zigzagging her way among the flowers like a gazelle.
He moved as well, meeting her halfway, catching her up in his arms and hauling her against his chest. He ducked his head beneath her hat, kissing her mouth, her cheeks, her chin, her nose. “My God,” he said and kissed her again just to be sure she was real. “My God.”
“I suppose that’s a yes?” she said, laughing.
“How could I not say yes to an offer of truce like this?” he countered, sliding her down to set her on her feet again. “But are you really here? When did you get back, and what in blazes took you so long, and how did you know where to find me?”
These questions, fired in such rapid succession, made her laugh. “Iarrived three days ago. The Clarendon told me you were at the Mayfair now, and they were forwarding your mail here, but I don’t see how you could be living here, since the sign outside says the place is closed for renovations.”
“And so it is. I’m the only one living here at the moment. Well, me and Ross. I bought the place.”
“What?”
“Not only me. I formed a new investment group with Devlin and your cousin Westbourne.”
“Max? And Devlin Sharpe? In a company together? Heavens.”
“You’re not the only one who can forge truces, my love.”
“Obviously not, but Devlin Sharpe?” She made a face. “Did it have to be him?”
“Don’t start,” he admonished. “Devlin’s top-drawer. You’ll just have to trust me on that. But,” he added as she groaned, “I haven’t told you the most surprising part of it all. Helen is the one who told me the Mayfair Hotel was for sale. She sent me to the house agents Jessop and Davis so they could show me this property before it officially went up for sale.”
“She did?” Delia sniffed, clearly skeptical. “Then there’s something wrong with it. Drains or boilers or something. Helen,” she added as he laughed, “would never pass off a good business deal to someone else, especially someone she now sees as an enemy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the drains,” he assured her, “or the boilers. I had everything inspected by experts. No, I actually think it was her way of offering a truce. Like hyacinths, you know. Speaking of which…”
He paused, glanced around, and laughed again. “You really are the most unexpected woman I’ve ever known. How on earth did you manage this?”
“I cut my decorating teeth at the Savoy, my darling. Ritz taught meyou can do anything with enough imagination and money. And no,” she added, pressing her gloved fingers over his mouth as he started to reply, “I’m not telling you how much it cost, so don’t even ask.”
“I won’t,” he assured her. “The expense didn’t even occur to me.”
“A miracle.” She cupped his cheek. “I must be rubbing off on you.”
He reproved her with another kiss, this one into her palm. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, then glanced around, shaking his head. “You must have bought every hyacinth in London.”
“I really think I did. The flower sellers won’t have any available for the local churches in time for Easter, I fear.”
