“Really, Simon,” she said with a sigh, “you’re perfectly safe in my company. It’s not as if I intend to ravish you over the saddle of lamb.” With a wink she added, “After all, every woman knows ravishing a man should always be done over dessert.”
He was looking as if he’d rather eat rocks than be ravished by her, and though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by his responseto her invitation, it was rather disconcerting to know how little he relished the prospect.
Truth be told, she wasn’t accustomed to this sort of reaction from men. Without being unduly conceited, she was old enough and experienced enough to be aware of her own power to attract, and his reluctance to accept even a mere dinner invitation made her feel off-balance, humbled, even a little apprehensive.
“Heavens, you really do dislike me, don’t you?” she murmured. “I realize you and I have gotten crosswise a few times—this morning being a perfect example—but would having dinner with me be so very awful?”
“That’s not it,” he said at once. “I am always happy to have dinner with a beautiful woman, believe me, but I feel obliged to point out that you do work for me.”
Beautiful? She stared, too taken aback to reply. She’d thought for a moment, this morning, that he felt some attraction for her, but then, he’d shut her down so ruthlessly that she was sure she’d been mistaken. But now, in light of this unexpected compliment, she didn’t know what to think. Was he—
“It might be considered inappropriate.”
The sound of his voice interrupted her reverie, and she forced herself to say something. “Please don’t accuse me again of plying you with my feminine wiles.”
“I wasn’t—”
“It’s just that,” she said in a rush, “I have a project idea I want to put before you and presenting it over dinner is the best way. I can’t explain, but if you come, you’ll see why.”
He considered, then gave a nod. “Very well, then; I accept. Shall we meet in the restaurant?”
“No. Be in the Savoy lobby Friday evening at half past seven. I’ll have a carriage waiting for you.”
“A carriage? We’re not dining here?”
“No, no. That would be far too predictable. In fact, we won’t be dining in a restaurant at all.” Oddly nervous, she forced a laugh. “But you’ll be relieved to know I was only teasing about ravishing you over the dessert.”
“Relieved?” Something flickered in those impenetrable eyes, a flash of gold on green. “That’s not quite how I’d describe it.”
“No? How—” She paused, her voice failing her, and she had to swallow hard before she could continue. “How would you describe it?”
His lashes lowered, then lifted, and as he met her gaze again, Delia saw again that flash of gold and realized what it was—the same spark of desire she had seen this morning, and she felt again an unexpected, gratified thrill. When he spoke, however, his voice was aggravatingly indifferent. “I shall see you Friday evening, then.”
Disappointment pierced her—a baffling, highly irritating response—and it took her a moment to muster her poise and think of a reply. But before she could utter some offhand reply as a show of indifference equal to his, he shut the lift doors between them with a clang, bowed, and turned to go, leaving her staring at his back between the steel lattice grates with chagrin as he walked away.
Simon couldn’t imagine the reason behind Delia’s invitation to dinner. She wanted something from him, that much was clear, but he was hardly in a position to object to that, since he wanted something from her, too. Dinner together gave him the perfect opportunity to further his investigation regarding her. Granted, she had seemed quite indignant about the notion of having her laundry done for free, but though it had seemed genuine enough, he could not afford to assumeher innocence based solely on that. He needed more information. In the meantime, there was no point in speculating.
He journeyed down to Dover to check on things at his hotel there, and during the next three days, he was kept very busy with work, but despite that, and despite his refusal to speculate about her motives, he wasn’t able to keep her completely out of his thoughts.
At unaccountable moments, images of her laughing eyes and witch-black hair would steal into his mind, and before he knew it, his imagination would be conjuring pictures of shapely breasts and long, slim legs. She was a dangerously seductive femme fatale, possibly a liar, and perhaps even a thief, but nonetheless, it took every scrap of willpower he possessed to shove enticing imaginings of her naked body out of his mind so he could work.
Thankfully, by the time he returned to London on Friday, he had his imagination under control and his priorities back in order. Arriving at the Savoy late Friday afternoon, he had just enough time to bathe, shave, and change into white-tie attire, and he arrived in the hotel lobby only two minutes late. He expected Delia to be waiting for him, but instead, he found someone else coming toward him as he entered the lobby, someone who did not look the least bit happy to see him.
“Monsieur Ritz,” he said, his voice coolly polite. “Back from Rome, I see.”
The hotelier, a dandy of a man with an enormous mustache, a balding forehead, and the vanity to insist on wearing shoes that were too small for his feet, came toward him, limping a little in his tight patent leather ankle boots. “Lord Calderon,” he said with a stiff little bow.
Simon bowed as well, feeling a bit as if he and the other man were duelists en garde. The hostility in Ritz’s voice as he spoke again confirmed that impression.
“I have only just returned, but I already see that you have implemented many changes while I have been away.”
Simon met the resentment in the other man’s eyes with a level stare of his own. “Yes,” he agreed mildly. “I have. If you wish to discuss them, we can meet next week—”
“Alas,” the other man cut him off, “I must go to Paris on Monday. In any case, what is there to discuss?” He gave a careless shrug, but only a fool would have found it convincing. “Would discussions cause you to modify the changes you are making to my hotel?”
“I’m always happy to hear another’s point of view.”
“Are you? The staff seems to feel otherwise. They don’t think you quite understand how things are done here.”
