“This is so unfair.”
“On the contrary, the rule of first come, first served is completely fair.”
“Iwasfirst!”
“The reservation book begs to differ.”
“How?” she murmured, shaking her head as if baffled. “How is it that only moments after I might start to like you, you prove yourself to be absolutely impossible?”
“We have something in common, then. Only moments after I started to like you, I realized I was being played for a fool, and I came to my senses.” As he spoke, he couldn’t resist a glance over her, and every alluring curve seemed like another slap in the face. “If you don’t want to admit your mistake to Lady Kay, you can always go to Devlinand ask if he’s willing to give up the room for her. Who knows? You may have better luck with him than you’ve had with me.”
“I’d have better luck with the devil than with you.”
“Well, perhaps you can offer Devlin yourfriendshipin exchange. Though being an engaged man, and an honorable one—”
“Honorable? Him? That’s rich.”
“I doubt he’ll play your game,” he finished, ignoring her scornful interruption. “Now if you will pardon me, I have work to do.”
Ignoring her sound of outrage, he crossed to the door connecting their offices, but before opening it, he paused to say one more thing.
“And by the way,” he told her, his hand on the knob, “don’t wear that damned perfume around me anymore.”
With that parting shot, he opened the door and departed, and it took everything he had to close the door gently rather than slam it behind him.
“My lord,” Ross greeted him in surprise, rising to his feet. “I was told you were ill.”
“I was. Now I’m better.” The moment he uttered those words, he realized how false they were, for anger and arousal were still coursing through him like hot lava. “Or at least,” he amended, “I’m a little bit wiser.”
The secretary looked understandably puzzled. “I’m gratified to hear it, my lord,” he murmured.
“So am I, Ross.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, he shoved thoughts of Delia Stratham out of his mind and started past the secretary’s desk toward his own. “Now—”
He broke off, noticing the stacks of hand-addressed envelopes on one corner of the secretary’s desk, and came to a stop. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Invitations for Lady Stratham. For the East India Club’s annual dinner.”
“Lady Stratham?” Simon rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Of course. That woman’s always got her eye on the main chance.”
“I thought it would be all right. Since you were ill, I had very little to do this morning. And she was in desperate need of help.”
“Now she’s usurping my secretary. I’ll wager,” he added, noting the teacup and crumb-laden plate on the opposite corner of the desk, “she brought you breakfast, too, before she asked oh-so-sweetly for your assistance? That seems to be a favorite tactic of hers.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but she didn’t ask for my help. I offered it.”
He gave the other man a look of profound pity. “I daresay that’s how it seemed.”
“Did I do wrong, my lord?” The secretary looked at him anxiously. “Are you angry with me?”
The one he was angry with was himself. “No, of course not,” he answered with a resigned sigh. “You did what any other mug would have done in your place, so finish the task now that you’ve taken it on. But in the future, please see me before you do any more work for that woman.”
The secretary nodded. “Would you care for your letters, my lord? There’s one I know you’ll want to read immediately. It’s from your sister.”
“Cassie?” Simon’s spirits brightened at once, and the infuriatingly seductive Lady Stratham was forgotten. “At last. She never responded to my last letter, and it’s been almost a fortnight. I was becoming worried.” He took the sealed pale pink envelope from Ross’s outstretched hand. “Anything else?”
“A letter came this morning from Mrs. Carte, requesting a meeting with you. It’s urgent, she says.”
That could only mean the auditors and detectives had news regarding the investigation. “Contact Mrs. Carte and see if she is available to meet for luncheon.”
