“What makes anyone think Calderon’s got a mistress just because he stayed the night in St. John’s Wood?” Delia cut in, returning to the vital point, but even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. St. John’s Wood, though quite posh and respectable on the surface, was well-known as the place where rich men bought villas in which to keep their mistresses.
The little maid colored up. “Oh, well,” she mumbled, embarrassed, as if suddenly remembering she was talking to a proper lady, “it’s only talk. He might have been there for some other reason altogether, mightn’t he?”
The maid’s tone was wholly unconvincing, telling Delia she didn’t believe her own words. And when Delia thought back to what Simon had said to her in the library, she realized in dismay that the gossip might well be true.
When it’s over…
Those words, she realized with a pang, made more sense now.
Don’t hate me.
“Will that be all, my lady?”
Delia came out of these agonizing contemplations with a start. “Yes, thank you, Molly. You may go.”
The maid departed, and the moment she was gone, Delia set aside the milk and got out of bed, her hopes for rest forgotten. After hearing this sort of news, what woman in the world could fall asleep?
A mistress, she thought, and began to pace. She’d never, she appreciated with chagrin, thought of such a thing. Perhaps she ought to have done, and yet, it seemed curiously out of character. Not the part about having a mistress—she knew quite well by now that he was passionate enough under his starchy surface to have half a dozen mistresses. But to toy with her at the same time? Try as she might, she just couldn’t imagine Simon doing such a thing. On the other hand…
Delia turned at the wall and started back across her bedroom, nibbling absentmindedly on her thumbnail, her thoughts racing. On the other hand, did a woman ever really know the truth about men? Given her history, she certainly didn’t.
The real question, however, was why it even mattered. Why should she care if he had a mistress? It wasn’t as if that episode in the library was her first sexual experience. She knew her way around, knew that such an event, even if deliciously pleasurable, didn’t really mean much. There was no deflowering of an innocent virgin, no possibility of pregnancy, no consequences. Hell, even if someone had caught them, it would have been a bit embarrassing, but hardly a scandal. She and Simon were both mature adults, capable of a quick romp in a library without any long-lasting repercussions. So why should she care if he had a mistress?
But she did care. Cared like hell. She wanted to find that woman and rip her throat out. She wanted to find Simon and slap his face. And as she realized that, Delia also made another astonishing discovery. She cared because she was falling in love with him.
She stopped pacing, tilting back her head with a groan of dismay. Love was something she’d really hoped never to feel again. She was horrible at it. She didn’t want it. Things always got messy,complicated, and painful, leaving one bruised, battered, and thoroughly disillusioned—a consequence that seemed highly likely in this case, since she could not see Simon ever falling in love with her. Hell, half the time, he didn’t even like her. And yet…
She thought back to those moments in the library at Ivywild in agonized uncertainty. Could he really have held her, kissed her, caressed her in that scorching-hot way when he had some beautiful courtesan available to him anytime he wanted her?
Men did. Armand had taught her that.
But Simon was not Armand. Nothing like. Besides, his words to her only made sense if he’d had a mistress and had decided to break with the woman because of Delia.
If that was true, she thought with a sudden flare of outrage, why had he stayed away last night? It didn’t take that long to break off an entanglement with a courtesan.
But then, mistresses could be very artful. Had the woman persuaded him to enjoy one last fling in the hope he would change his mind and keep her? Had she succeeded?
Delia decided she was damn well going to find out.
She strode over to the armoire, opened it, and studied the contents for several moments, considering. Then she pulled out a dressing robe of gold, tangerine, and purple silk. She slipped the garment on over her cream-colored chiffon nightdress as she crossed the room to her dressing table. There, she unraveled the braid of her hair, dabbed on a bit of perfume, and pinched a bit of color into her pale cheeks. After surveying her reflection for a moment, she gave a satisfied nod, slid her room key into the pocket of her robe, and left her suite.
Tonight, she was going to end this unbearable suspense once and for all. She’d ask her questions, and depending on his answers, she was either going to throw him down onto the bed and shamelessly have her way with him at last, or she was going to tear hisphilandering male heart into pieces, grind it into dust, and drive him away for good.
She could only hope that his fate was the former and not the latter, and as she padded down the darkened empty corridor toward Simon’s room, she crossed her fingers that her usual tendency to fall for a cad proved to be wrong this time around.
Simon liked to think that in the six years since he’d left the army, he’d become a pretty good man of business. He’d learned how to size up a situation, weigh his options, decide a course of action, and negotiate a satisfactory outcome. Today, he’d had to do all of those things, but how successfully he’d done them, he didn’t know.
Tucking his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling of his darkened room, reflecting on the frantic events of the past thirty-six hours.
Things had started out splendidly. The final report from the solicitors revealed that Ritz, Echenard, Escoffier, and Agostini had committed even more abuses than the ones Helen had already told him about, but in that report there had not been a single shred of evidence against Delia. Not one bottle of wine taken by her left unpaid, not one piece of clothing laundered without a charge ticket, and not a single admission from Savoy’s suppliers that she’d received any gifts. Wonderful news, and he’d arrived at the Savoy Theatre relieved and in good spirits.
And then, he’d seen Helen’s face, merciless and implacable, and from that moment on, everything had gone completely off the rails.
She’d wasted no time on polite greetings. “Did Lady Stratham enjoy her visit to Ivywild?” she’d asked in a voice as cold and hard as ice, and he’d known that at least one vote in the board meeting wasnot going to go Delia’s way. No lack of evidence or words from him were going to change Helen’s opinion or her vote. He knew her well enough to know that. He’d tried anyway, to no avail.
But fortunately, Helen was not the only one who had a vote, and he’d spent his evening and all day today calling on other members of the board to discuss the situation.
Helen, he soon discovered, had been busy during his absence in the country, plying the other board members with implications that Lady Stratham’s innocence was still in doubt, her loyalty to Ritz absolute, and her ability to be trusted nonexistent. He’d combated those concerns, emphasizing to the other members of the board the lack of evidence against her. He’d also shamelessly used her gender and her position as a countess to bolster the idea that she was wholly ignorant of what Ritz had been doing. Women, after all, he’d said with the dismissive, superior amusement many men were wont to use when discussing the fairer sex, knew little of finance and were easily deceived by a man of Ritz’s smarmy charm. It was laughable, of course, for no one who knew Delia could believe such nonsense, but it was the only play he’d been able to think of, and he could only hope that he’d managed to become adept enough at dodging the truth to pull it off.
