“Greater oversight?” she echoed. “Are you saying that I have been cavalier in such matters?”
His frost-tinted gaze slid past her, then back again, reminding her they were not alone. “This is hardly the appropriate place to discuss it. When you come to my office this afternoon, I will be happy to explain the situation—”
“Your office?” she interrupted in shocked surprise. “You have an office? Here in the hotel?”
“I do, yes. Right by your own, as a matter of fact.”
This situation was growing worse with each passing moment. “So you’re to be my nanny, is that it?”
He gave her a wintry smile. “I prefer to say that the board feelsRitz is stretched much too thin to oversee your duties, and that both he and you would benefit from some outside supervision over your position, and those who report to you.”
Delia couldn’t imagine what had happened to bring about the board’s concerns about her or this man’s interference, but she had no illusions that any of it would be to her benefit. And as she envisioned working for this ice block of a man, she realized with a sick sense of dismay that her dream job had just become a nightmare.
2
She wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting.
In his interactions with the hotel staff during the past few weeks, Simon had heard the name of Lady Stratham with tiresome regularity, usually during apologetic explanations as to why his ideas would be difficult to implement. In addition, Helen Carte, the wife of the Savoy Hotel’s founder, had already told him quite a bit about the countess—that Ritz adored her; that she was a cousin of the Duke of Westbourne; that upon her launch into society many years ago, she’d been deemed one of the most outrageous and fascinating debutantes of the season; and that in the years since then, she had managed to make three most advantageous marriages, first to the son of a marquess, then to a French count, and, lastly, to a Scottish earl.
Helen suspected her of far worse sins than marrying well, and though Simon’s first cursory examination of her expense accounts had revealed nothing definite to confirm those suspicions, the carelessness he had found in the countess’s bookkeeping certainly made any fraud she might be committing easier to obscure. And even if she was innocent of any wrongdoing, the heedlessness with which she dispensed Savoy funds had taken Simon’s breath away. No wonder Ritz adored her. She was his perfect protégé.
As a result of all this, the image formed in Simon’s mind was of an outrageously flamboyant creature swathed in jewels and furs, whose once-captivating beauty had surely faded with time, whose cheeks now needed a touch of rouge to maintain their youthful blush, whose hair was streaked with gray, and whose figure required sturdy corsetry to overcome the inevitable weight gain of midlife.
Never had he imagined a slim, youthful woman with creamy skin, raven-black hair, and a piquant, heart-shaped face that made her seem more like an ingenue than a widow who’d buried three husbands.
How, he wondered, staring into a pair of enormous, indigo-blue eyes fringed by thick black lashes, had a woman so young managed to marry three times? He could only conclude she’d wasted little time mourning the demise of each husband before moving on to the next one.
It was also obvious, from this conversation with her and from those he’d had with other members of the hotel staff, that the countess was unaccustomed to being gainsaid—indulged and pampered her entire life, he’d wager, with not a single person to check her.
Until now.
She seemed to read the thoughts passing through his mind, and as he watched that pointed chin of hers lift a notch, he knew he’d have his work cut out for him in the days to come.
“As I already explained,” she said, her voice bringing him back to the discussion at hand, “I am engaged all afternoon, and I am not in the habit of breaking engagements.”
Her title and position aside, she was his subordinate, and he could not allow her to dictate the terms under which she would work, especially not in front of another employee. Best to make that clear straightaway, he decided. “One broken engagement is hardly a habit,” he said, “so I suggest you notify the other party as soon as possible that something has arisen requiring you to reschedule.”
“The ‘something’ in this case being you?”
“Just so. Unless,” he added, offering the opportunity for compromise, “you would prefer to meet with me now? If Monsieur DuPont does not mind, of course.” He leaned around her to give the florist an inquiring glance. “Would postponing our consultation until two o’clock be acceptable to you, Monsieur?”
Lady Stratham made a smothered sound at his address to the florist, and Simon—aware the word had come out sounding likemon-sewer—cursed himself for not having practiced his French more often as a boy.
Much to Simon’s relief, however, Monsieur DuPont merely shrugged in the wake of this butchery of his native language and spread his hands in an expansive Gallic gesture, which Simon took to be an affirmative answer to his question.
“Excellent. I will return at that time.” Turning his attention back to the woman before him, Simon gestured to the door. “It seems a space has opened in my schedule, Lady Stratham. And since you are clearly free as well, shall we take advantage of the moment and adjourn to my office?”
She looked as if she’d rather be tortured on the rack, but thankfully, she made no further objections and preceded him through the doorway of the florist’s workroom. They did not converse as they crossed the long expanse of the hotel foyer to the other end and traveled the corridor where offices for the heads of staff were located. Passing hers, he entered his, expecting her to follow, but instead, she paused in the doorway, looking shocked.
“What happened to Madelaine?” she demanded, halting in the doorway. “This is her office, not yours.”
Another thing for her to resent him for, he thought wryly as he circled his desk. “If you are referring to Mrs. Alverson,” he replied, turning to face her, “she was let go.”
“Let go?” the countess echoed, her elegantly arched brows drawing together in a frown. “Let go by whom?”
“By me, I’m afraid. You see—”
“You sacked my secretary,” she interrupted through clenched teeth, “and took over her office?”
