“Of course.” Relieved by the possibility of distraction from the lustful thoughts in his mind, Simon followed her to her desk, where they paused side by side. As she began rummaging amid the untidy piles of papers, files, and letters heaped on its surface, he worked to regain his equilibrium and remember his priorities.
When she pulled a large leather-bound ledger from beneath an untidy pile of letters, he seized on it like a lifeline. “You want to discuss the reservation book?” he asked as she opened the volume and began flipping through the pages.
“Yes. There’s a mix-up with one of the reservations, I’m afraid, and we need to get it sorted.”
She paused at a particular page, her finger tapping at one of the lines written there, and he leaned over the book to have a better look. She did the same, her shoulder brushing his. It was innocuous contact, barely discernible through layers of clothing, and yet, it nearly sent all his efforts to regain his control to oblivion.
He jerked sideways a fraction. “What sort of mix-up?” he asked, mortified that his question was a strangled rasp in his throat.
Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s for June seventh. You’ve reserved the Pinafore Room for Mr. Devlin Sharpe, but that room is already taken for that date.”
He took a deep breath, striving for equilibrium, reminding himself of their newfound friendship. “How could that be? There is no entry in the book but mine.”
“Well, yes, but nonetheless, it’s already reserved. I reserved it last night.”
“Without putting it in the book?”
“I’m afraid there wasn’t time to do so. You see, my friend Lady Kay Matheson came to see me and requested the—”
“Lady Kay Matheson?” he interrupted, startled, the sensuous haze around him dissipating as he spoke. “You mean the Earl of Raleigh’s daughter? She is a friend of yours?”
“Yes. We came out together.” She turned toward him. “Do you know the family?”
“I know of them,” he replied grimly, remembering the voluptuous redhead who’d been standing arm in arm with Delia in the lobby the night before. No doubt that was the infamous Lady Kay. “Devlin Sharpe is a friend of mine.”
“Oh?” She seemed surprised, and yet, looking at her, he had the vague, uneasy feeling she wasn’t surprised at all. “Well, that’s good news,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, if you’re his friend, it makes the whole thing so much easier to resolve.”
“Does it?” he countered, turning to face her, suddenly wary. “How so?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Being your friend, Mr. Sharpe will surely be more understanding than another customer would be when you explain the situation and we move him to a different room.”
With those words, the vague, uneasy suspicion hovering at the back of his mind became certainty, and all this morning’s events came into focus with sharp, stinging clarity.
The thoughtfully provided breakfast, the offered truce, the pretense of friendship, the come-hither look in her eyes, the seductive perfume—all part of a deliberate strategy. Had she dumped a bucket of water over his head, she could not have extinguished the fire smoldering inside him more effectively.
So much for hyacinths and new beginnings.
“Now, why,” he murmured, feeling like an utter fool, “would we move Devlin’s event to a different room?”
“But I’ve just told you. When you reserved it, it was already taken.”
“No,” he corrected, his voice hard, “it was not taken. If it’s not in the reservation book, it is not reserved.”
“But, Simon—”
“Simon, is it?” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “My God, woman, you’ve got brass. I’ll give you that.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” He folded his arms, studying her through narrowed eyes. “I’m referring to your sudden concern for my health and well-being, and the motives so clearly behind this pretense of friendliness and amiability.”
She actually had the temerity to seem offended. “There is no pretense,” she said, bristling. “I am attempting to broker peace and forge a friendship between us so that we can better work together.”
“You’re doing it to soften me up.”
“That is a horrible way of putting it,” she muttered.
