No Mistress of Mine

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Wasn’t it?

  Denys muttered an oath. God, was he really trying to find a way to justify her actions and believe in her again?

  He was. God help him, he was. And he knew why. Despite everything that had happened, and everything she’d done, he still wanted her, wanted her enough that he’d hauled her into his arms and kissed her without a thought of restraint, control, or consequences. Hell, in those few moments, he hadn’t been thinking at all.

  He pressed his hands to his skull, grinding his teeth in frustration, wondering what on earth was wrong with him that he wasn’t over this by now. He wasn’t in love with her anymore, and he certainly didn’t trust her, but he wanted her as much as he ever had, and he didn’t know what he could do, short of hurling himself off a cliff, to stop wanting her. If a shredded bank account, a broken heart, and six years hadn’t cured him of this mad, insatiable passion for her, what would?

  Feeling the need to move, Denys lowered his hands, circled his desk, and began to pace his office, but if he thought that would cool his blood and help him regain a semblance of sanity, he was mistaken. As he approached the window, he glanced down at the street below, just in time to see the object of all his tumultuous thoughts step out onto the sidewalk.

  The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. As she paused at the corner for the traffic to clear, he told himself to look away. But though his mind gave the command, his traitorous body refused to comply. He didn’t move, and all the desire he kept trying to suppress flared up again, every bit as strong and hot as it had ever been.

  Nothing’s changed, he thought darkly, his hand coming up as if to touch her, his fingertips pressing against the window glass as frustration and desire clawed at him. Eight and a half years since I first met her, and nothing’s changed.

  She leaned out over the curb to look for a break in the traffic, a move that emphasized the lush curve of her hips, and Denys turned away from the window with an oath. To feel all this again after half a dozen years of peace and sanity was aggravating as hell. To know his control and his will could slip away any moment she was near him was just too galling to bear.

  No man could be expected to endure this sort of situation. There had to be a way out of this, by God, and he was going to find it, for he had no intention of wrecking his life a second time because of her.

  Lola strode away from Denys’s office mad as a hornet, so mad that she paid no attention to where she was going except that it was away from him. She couldn’t even remember now what reply she’d offered to his infuriating remark, but whatever she’d said didn’t matter, for no words would have been sufficient to express her fury. She ought to have hurled an inkstand at him instead.

  Or is your true talent merely that of sleeping with the right man at the right time?

  Of all the hypocritical, ruthless, downright unfair remarks—

  But not wholly unwarranted.

  She stopped on the sidewalk, so abruptly that she was nearly run down by the man walking behind her. He dodged, just managing to avoid a collision, and went around her, while she stood motionless on the sidewalk and faced the brutal fact that though Denys’s accusation wasn’t technically true, it was a reasonable conclusion. She had no right to be angry when what he thought of her was exactly what she’d led him to think.

  Denys believed she had jilted him for Henry Latham, and a more lucrative career in New York had been part of the bargain. In choosing to come back, she’d expected his enmity, so why was she angry at him for expressing it?

  Because she hadn’t realized how much it would hurt.

  That was the real reason she was angry enough to spit nails. She was angry with herself. Hearing Denys say what he thought of her opened a wound inside, a wound she hadn’t been honest enough with herself to admit was even there.

  She’d ceased to care a long time ago what people thought of her, but Denys was different. He had always been able to get under her skin and slip past her defenses like no one else could.

  And that feeling seemed to be mutual, or he would not have kissed her. He’d done it intending to prove the untenable nature of their partnership, but it was only untenable if he still wanted her.

  He resented her, he might even despise her, he certainly did not want to forgive her, and he hadn’t a shred of respect for her. But amid all that, the lust he’d once felt for her was still there.

  That was a possibility she had refused to consider until now. During the weeks since Henry’s death, whenever the possibility that Denys might still want her passed through her mind, she’d dismissed it and chided herself for her conceit. On the voyage over, it was the one scenario she hadn’t rehearsed, the one contingency she had refused to plan for. Even last night, when Kitty had warned her, she’d managed to convince herself it was as likely as flying pigs. But now, her body still burning from his kiss, she no longer had the luxury of self-deceit. His desire for her was still there. And, as that kiss had so ruthlessly demonstrated, so was her desire for him.

  Mortified, Lola groaned and buried her flushed face in her hands, heedless of the pedestrians streaming by. Her whole life, she’d lived by the knowledge that if anything was going to happen for her in this world, she’d have to make it happen. When Henry’s will had dropped this chance in her lap, she’d known it would be up to her to make it work, and she’d dared to think that was possible. She’d hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that she could wipe away the past and start again. That she could erase the girl who’d taken off her clothes for men in a Brooklyn saloon and the cabaret dancer who’d allowed herself to be kept by her aristocratic lover. She’d believed that she, who had perfected the art of using sexual allure to entertain, could become an actress and producer worthy of respect. And yet, she had just behaved like the wanton everyone, including Denys, believed her to be.

  The moment he’d hauled her into his arms, she ought to have shoved him away, slapped him across the face, and told him to keep his hands to himself. He’d kissed her, he’d even manhandled her, and not only had she allowed it, she’d relished every second of it, and she hadn’t spared a thought for their partnership, her aspirations, and her future.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  Lola lifted her head, turning to find a young man standing beside her, a young man in the pin-striped suit and ink-stained cuffs of a clerk, who was studying her with polite concern.

  She pasted on a smile at once. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  He went on, and Lola took a deep, steadying breath, working to think with her head.

  In choosing to come back here, she’d ignored some of the possible consequences, true, but even if she’d allowed herself to foresee today’s events, would she have chosen to stay in New York and let this opportunity slip through her fingers?

  Not a chance.

  She’d spent years shimmying around a stage showing off her body, but she wanted to show the world she really could act. She wanted the critics who had heaped scorn on her for her performance in A Doll’s House to eat the biting words they’d written about her afterward. She wanted respect, the professional respect garnered by the likes of Ellen Terry and Sarah Bernhardt, respect performers like her never got. And she wanted to learn the business side of things. She wanted to produce her own plays, see her ideas come to life in a way that was not only creatively satisfying but also profitable.

  The Imperial was her chance to do all those things, and she wasn’t about to let one stupid kiss get in the way. She might have blindly refused to see this coming, but she’d always known this partnership wouldn’t be smooth sailing, so there was no point in crying at the first squall. What she and Denys had once had was over, and any lingering desires from their past could not be allowed to get in the way of the future—for either of them.

  Denys must be made to see her not as his former lover, or as his former mistress, or as the woman who’d hurt him. She had to make him see her as his equal.

  And just how, a rather deflating little voice inside her
whispered, are you going to do that?

  As if in answer, Denys’s voice came back to her.

  Can you contribute even one idea that would increase the Imperial’s profits?

  Of all the challenges he’d hurled at her a short time ago, that was the one she had the best chance of rising to, at least in the short term. She had no contacts in London yet, and she had no business experience at all, and she’d never seen a financial statement in her life. But she had intelligence, she had grit, and she had imagination. Those traits had carried her from the stockyards of Kansas City to the cabarets of Paris to a successful one-woman show in New York. Surely she could rely on them now.

  With that, Lola’s innate optimism and resolve began to return. She’d arrange that partnership meeting, just as she’d told Denys she would, and she could only hope he showed up because she intended to bring an absolutely brilliant business idea with her. She just had to figure out what it was.

  She considered for a moment, then she pulled her handbag from under her arm, opened it, and extracted the cards Denys had given her earlier. The first thing to do was to keep her part of the bargain she’d proposed and find herself an agent. And perhaps, she thought, tapping the white card against the smooth kid of her gloved palm, she’d learn some valuable information and gain some ideas in the process.

  Chapter 10

  Denys thought he’d made it plain to Lola that they could never be partners, and that kiss, though unintended, had provided ample proof of the reasons why. He soon discovered, however, that despite everything, she remained undeterred.

  First thing Monday morning, he received her formal written request calling for a meeting, making him more determined than ever to find a way out of this. But his options were limited. The only means of escape he could see were to sell his family’s share, buy her out, or find some way to break the partnership agreement. The first he still refused to consider, and the second he’d already tried, so the third was his only hope. He discussed the matter at length with his solicitors and spent two days poring over the partnership agreement, but to no avail, and he began to fear he might be stuck with Lola for good.

  But then a note came from his friend Nick, inviting him to a private dinner at White’s with Jack Featherstone and their other two closest friends, and Denys’s spirits revived a bit. Being acquainted with Lola already, the other four men knew she was chaos in a corset. And they’d seen Denys’s disastrous liaison with her play out in full, so they would appreciate why he had to keep that woman as far from him and his family as possible. And they were all men of business. They might have valuable advice to offer. He accepted Nick’s invitation with alacrity.

  The following night, he waited until after they had dined and the port had made its first journey around the table before he opened the topic weighing so heavily on his mind.

  “Lola’s back in town.” Those words would impel any man to need a drink, and he immediately downed his port in one draught.

  The initial response of his friends varied. Nick nodded, not seeming surprised, probably because his wife, Belinda, was one of the most influential ladies of society and heard every scrap of news almost the moment it happened. Stuart, the Duke of Margrave, raised one dark eyebrow with ducal impassivity and said nothing. James, the Earl of Hayward, gave a low whistle. Jack, ever irrepressible, actually laughed.

  “You seem a bit rattled by this, old boy,” he said. “Is there a problem?”

  Denys stared at the man seated beside him, unable to believe Jack could ask such a question. “Lola’s back. She’s here,” he added, as his friend merely grinned. “In London.”

  “I heard you. No need to keep reiterating the point.” Jack faced him, settling back against the arm of his chair, drink in hand. “But I’m not sure how it signifies.”

  Denys proceeded to explain, but even after he’d offered an account of the past week’s events—carefully edited, of course—Jack’s amusement wasn’t dimmed in the slightest. “By Jove, Denys, what a lucky chap you are.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Yes. You’re a bachelor, and you’re in business with a beautiful, desirable woman. What single man wouldn’t think himself fortunate in such circumstances?”

  “This one,” Denys assured him, and took up the port decanter to refill his glass. “I’d prefer the devil for a partner. Not,” he added glumly, “that there’s much of a difference in this case.”

  “It’ll be a difficult transition at first, no doubt,” Nick said from his other side, as Denys passed him the decanter. “You’ll be dealing with someone who isn’t halfway around the world, allowing you to make all the decisions on your own.”

  “That’s not my objection.”

  “Then what is?”

  “She has this notion we should make peace. Bury the past and work together. As colleagues.” He paused for a swallow of port. “God, what a notion.”

  Nick shrugged. “Is it so absurd?”

  James saved Denys from having to answer by pulling the bottle from Nick’s hand. Clearly feeling that along with the port came the opportunity to offer an opinion, he offered his.

  “Why can’t you work together?” he asked as he poured himself more port. “Lola’s approach seems quite sensible to me.”

  “Sensible?” Denys couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Sensible?”

  “It is, rather,” Stuart put in as he took the port from James. “You’re partners in a very lucrative enterprise, and you can’t conduct its business without her, at least not without strong-arm tactics and legal wrangling. What happened between you was a long time ago. You’ve both gone on with your lives and gotten over it.” Stuart paused in refilling his glass, his gray eyes meeting Denys’s across the table. “Haven’t you?”

  “Of course we have.” As he spoke, he strove to keep his expression neutral. The last thing he needed was for his friends to perceive his desire for Lola wasn’t quite as over as he’d wanted to believe. “There are no romantic considerations here.”

  “Well, there you are.” Stuart set the port beside Jack and leaned back in his chair. “Anyone going to Ascot in June?”

  Several assents were voiced and one or two horses mentioned before Denys could get a word in. “Damn it, gentlemen, I don’t want to discuss Ascot. I’m in the devil of a mess, and I’d appreciate some suggestions on how to get out of it.”

  “I don’t see what you can do,” Stuart reiterated. “Unless you sell your shares, I’m not sure you have any way out of this, and why should you want one? Why does it matter?”

  Denys didn’t have the chance to reply.

  “It seems we’re back to my original question,” Jack said. “What’s the problem?”

  “Lola is the problem.” Denys glanced around the table, noting in bafflement their unenlightened stares. “Lola, the woman all of us—Stuart excepted—were once infatuated with. The very woman Nick was so enamored with that he tried to steal her away from me at one time, as I recall.”

  “You mean I tried to steal her back,” Nick clarified, grinning at him. “Since I’m the one who introduced you to her in the first place.”

  “We both introduced them,” Jack corrected.

  “Either way,” Nick resumed, “I failed. Even after all my invitations to dinner, my offers of expensive champagne, and my wittiest, most charming conversation, I cut no ice with her. For some inexplicable reason, she chose you instead. But Jack and I knew her first, so if anyone did the stealing, Denys, it was you.”

  “That’s codswallop,” Denys denied, feeling defensive all of a sudden. “You just admitted you cut no ice with her. And Jack didn’t either. So don’t tell me I stole her because she never belonged to either of you.”

  “I’m not sure Lola could ever belong to any man,” Jack interjected with a laugh. “From what I recall, she always seemed very much in possession of her own heart and mind. I suspect that’s what made her so fascinating.”

  “A characteristic which also makes her a poor prospect a
s a business partner,” Denys pointed out, hoping they could steer clear of any discussion of Lola’s more fascinating aspects.

  “Why should it?” Nick asked. “Because the pair of you will see things differently? You’ll disagree? Fight?”

  “Yes, exactly. Partners need to be in accord.”

  “Not necessarily. Differing opinions and points of view can make a partnership stronger.”

  “You and I are partners in the brewery we own, Nick. If we fought all the time, we’d never get anything accomplished. And while we’re on the subject of fights,” he added, wanting to hammer home the fact that having Lola anywhere about was a disaster in the making, “what ultimately resulted from your association with Lola? You got shot, that’s what. By Pongo here.”

  “My name is not Pongo,” James said at once, his usual response to the uttering of his hated childhood nickname. “It’s James. I am James Edward Fitzhugh, Earl Hayward, son of the Marquess of Wetherford. Honestly, after over twenty years of friendship, can’t any of you call me by my actual name?”

  “No,” they all answered at once.

  “Pongo only shot me,” Nick said, reverting to the topic at hand, “because I got in the way. He was pointing the pistol at you, Denys, and, like an idiot, I stepped between you.”

  “And let’s remember just why I was trying to shoot Denys, shall we?” James asked, joining Nick in this most inconvenient inclination to reminiscence. “Because he made a play for my girl! And right in front of me, too.”

  Recalling his idiotic behavior on the night in question, Denys began to wish he’d never started this discussion in the first place. “At the time, I didn’t know the girl was with you, Pongo,” he muttered. “I thought she was with Nick.”