“You might give me some credit, Father. I raised my offer as high as thirty thousand pounds, but she refused to sell. No amount, she said, would be enough. I believe she meant it.”
“In which circumstance, you were supposed to offer to sell our share to her.”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t possible.”
“And why not?”
He stirred in his chair. “I have no intention of surrendering our share of a profitable business, one that I built. When you and Henry bought the Imperial, it was barely scraping by, but now, it’s one of London’s most prestigious theaters. I made it what it is today, and I’ll be damned if I’ll surrender what I accomplished because Henry did something mad.”
“So this is about your pride?”
Denys met his father’s angry gaze with a cool, determined one of his own. “You could say that, yes.”
His father sighed, seeming to back down a bit. “I suppose I see your point. But why let Jacob give her a place in the company or a part in the play? You could have persuaded him to refuse her. Being cut to ribbons by Jacob Roth would have made her more amenable to selling, I daresay.”
“I doubt it. Besides, it’s never good policy to ask people to lie, and shredding her performance would have been a lie. I wouldn’t have dreamt of asking Jacob to do so. It would not be right. It would not be—” He paused, grimacing. “Fair.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose it sounds unethical when you put it like that.” The earl leaned back in his chair, eying his son unhappily. “God, Denys, I hope you know what you’re doing. That woman is your nemesis.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“Is it? I don’t need to remind you of how deeply she got her hooks into you, surely? Of how much you went into debt? Of how often you flitted off to France and neglected your estate—an estate I gave you upon your coming of age, one you mortgaged—”
“You don’t need to remind me of my past follies,” he cut in. “I’ve changed, Father, a fact you remarked on just yesterday. If you’ve revised your opinion in light of this—”
“I haven’t done anything of the kind,” Conyers interrupted, pushing that concern aside with a wave of his hands.
“Then why rehash the past?”
“Because you’re my son, damn it all, and I love you. And,” he rushed on before either of them could be embarrassed by such a frank declaration, “I have a duty to see that you don’t repeat past mistakes. Even now, I cannot help but fear that woman’s influence upon you.”
Denys knew his father was speaking from deep and genuine affection, and he had to swallow hard before he could reply. “You needn’t worry. Miss Valentine may have a part in the play, but I shan’t be directing her. In fact, I can’t see having much to do with her at all. She’s Jacob’s headache now, not mine.”
“That woman isn’t just a headache. She’s a nightmare.”
“Only until one wakes up.”
“And have you?” Conyers gave him a searching glance. “Have you woken up? Had I asked you that yesterday, I would have been sure of your answer, but this day has given me cause to doubt.”
Those words cut deep. His passion for Lola had almost ruined his life and his future and torn apart his family. It was quite understandable for his parent to be concerned, but Denys had no intention of going down that road again.
“In assuaging your doubts, Father, I must allow the past few years to speak for me. As I said, Miss Valentine is no longer my concern. Jacob is the director, and he shall be the one who has to manage her. I am quite happy to let him. In fact,” he added as he set aside his glass and stood up, “I doubt I shall even see her again until opening night.”
Chapter 8
Denys might have assured his father he wouldn’t be seeing Lola again until Othello opened, but it took only twelve hours for her to prove him wrong. He’d been at his desk a mere forty minutes the following morning before Dawson was opening his office door to announce, “Miss Valentine to see you, sir.”
“What the devil?” He looked up, but he had no chance to instruct Dawson to tell her he was unavailable. The secretary had already stepped aside, allowing Lola to walk right in.
“Good morning,” she greeted him as she came toward his desk, the frothy concoction of aquamarine silk and cream-colored lace she wore rustling as she walked. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I didn’t seem to have a say in the matter,” he muttered as he stood up, wishing he’d thought to tell his secretary that Lola Valentine was not to set foot in his office again without his permission.
Vowing to make that clear to his secretary at the first opportunity, he turned his attention to Lola, but Dawson spoke before he could inform her that he was too busy for a conversation.
“May I bring you some refreshment, Miss Valentine?”
“Miss Valentine won’t be staying long enough for that,” he answered before she could reply. “You may go Dawson.”
He regretted the dismissal the moment he uttered it, for when the secretary departed, he closed the door behind him, and suddenly, the room seemed far too intimate.
“I didn’t know if you would be in,” she said, “but I thought I’d take a chance. I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”
“You’re not,” he said, his assurance as much for his own benefit as hers. Surprise visit or no, he had no intention of allowing himself to be disturbed by her in any way.
That resolution had barely crossed his mind before she moved closer to his desk, and the delicate scent of jasmine was a forcible reminder of sultry afternoons in bed with her. Valiantly, he ignored it.
“What do you want, Lola?”
The question was curt, his tone barely cordial, but if she noticed, she gave no sign. “Nothing earth-shattering. I simply wanted to inquire when we shall be convening our first partners’ meeting.”
So much for thinking she’d be satisfied with a part in the play and would leave him in peace. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he hedged. “There is no need for a meeting at this time.”
“No need?”
“The annual partnership meeting convenes in January. It’s always been a formality, of course, for Henry never felt compelled to attend. But if you wish to do so, that is your prerogative.”
“I do, yes, but that’s almost nine months away. I should think a change of partners warrants a meeting now, don’t you agree?”
He didn’t, but she gave him no chance to say so. “As long it’s not during rehearsals,” she went on, “I’m happy with any date and time within the next week or two that would be convenient for you.”
He feared no time would ever be convenient. Lola, alas, was not a convenient sort of woman. “Whatever you wish to discuss, let’s discuss it now.” He gestured to the chair opposite, and when she accepted the offered seat, he resumed his own. “Best to have it over and be done, I suppose.”
“It’s not a matter of having it ‘over,’ as you put it,” she said as she settled her skirts around her. “We need to discuss how we’ll operate under our new partnership. Set up our ground rules, so to speak.”
“Ground rules?”
“Yes. I should like to review the first-quarter financial statements. The box office receipts, expenditures, production costs, all that sort of thing.”
“Certainly. I am happy to forward them to you. Inform Dawson where you wish them to be delivered—to the Savoy, or to the office of your solicitors—and you can peruse them at your leisure. Now, if that is all . . .”