He could lie to her about the hotel, but why? Revealing this small part of himself—the first true part of himself that he had conceded to her at all, really—could do him no harm, he reasoned.
“I own it,” he admitted casually, before taking a sip of wine.
She frowned at him. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
And still, she would not call him Felix. He did not know why her refusal should irk him so, but it did. He told himself it was because the oversight indicated his lack of success with his duties.
“I own it,” he repeated. “The hotel.Thishotel. It is mine.”
“You own this hotel.” It was her turn to take a drink of wine. “Why did you not say so?”
He flashed her a wry smile, once again forgetting everything between them was a lie for just an instant. Enjoying himself. Finding pleasure in these moments spent with her, in their banter. “Was I to have announced it to you?”
“No.” Her lips formed a perfect pout he wanted to kiss. “But you may have mentioned it in passing. Did you bring me here so you would impress me with your wealth? If so, I must caution you, it will do you no good. I have been wooed by wealthy men before.”
Of course she had. This should come as no surprise to him. She was beautiful and sought after. She had been the mistress of another man up until very recently, if she was being truthful with him.
Yet somehow, the notion of other men wooing her stung. Some strange and base part of him wanted her to be his. Alone. Although he knew it could never be.
“I did not bring you here to impress you with my wealth,” he countered calmly, casting away all other unwanted thoughts but the need to answer her. “I brought you here because I knew we could dine comfortably in private and enjoy an excellent meal. My chef here at Markham’s is one of the best in England.”
“He is talented,” she agreed, relenting as she forked up another bite of food from her plate. “I cannot imagine why I allowed myself to exist on bread and tea when I could have enjoyed such sumptuousness.”
“Now you know what is awaiting you, if you but ask, seek, or allow me to spirit you away,” he said. “I propose luncheon every day. And dinner as well, following your performances.”
In truth, he was greedy when it came to her. He wanted all her time. All her smiles. Her lips, her curves, her bare skin beneath him—God, yes, he wanted that, too.
“Surely Your Grace’s time would be better served in far more important matters,” she suggested.
Yes, his time would indeed be better served than engaging in fantasies about a woman who was altogether wrong for him. And forbidden. He was wooing her, it was true, but not to win her. Merely to use her. He must not allow that important fact to go forgotten.
“There is no other manner in which I would spend my time,” he said.
Hehadto spend his time with her, he reminded himself. He needed to find a way to strip her of any and all information she possessed concerning McKenna. If she was no longer the man’s mistress, that meant parading her all over London on his arm would not accomplish the effect he had hoped.
“I do not dare accept your offer.” She paused, then offered him a sad smile. “I need your five thousand pounds far too much.”
He drank his wine, watching her closely. “Why, Rose? Surely Saville is paying you handsomely for your stint at the Crown and Thorn.”
“He is indeed,” she agreed mildly. “But I need all the funds I can manage if I want to travel the world. I am an actress in high demand now and can command an excellent wage for myself, but it was not always thus. And I do not fool myself. It will not always be this way. Another Rose of New York will take my place one day.”
It was a stark view of life, of her future. Against his will, Felix felt an answering pang in the vicinity of his heart. A place Rose Beaumont had no place being anywhere near.
“You are young and talented,” he said. “You have many years ahead of you.”
Her lips compressed, and this time, the bleakness of her expression was undeniable. “Perhaps, and perhaps not.”
“That is certainly a grim view,” he observed, even as he told himself he should leave well enough alone. He should not pry further into the matter. Her future did not concern him. Only her present and his ability to use her to imprison Drummond McKenna did.
“A pragmatic view.” There was an undeniable sadness in her eyes, raw and real. “I have learned life can be fleeting. One day, it can seem certain, and the next, it is gone, like a candle flame sputtering into darkness.”
She spoke like someone who knew the keen agony of loss and grief. And because he lived each day with the blade of despair lodged in his chest where happiness and contentedness had once dwelled, her reaction drew him. Though he tried to recall she was an actress, seasoned and well-trained, unparalleled on the stage, he could not shake the feeling this reaction, this pain inside her, was real.
“Life can indeed be fleeting,” he agreed, thinking of Hattie. Of how vibrant and filled with life she had been, until the day she had breathed her last breath and she had been but a shell of herself. “I have experienced this myself.”
“I had a daughter,” she told him softly.
The revelation shocked him to his core. He had known nothing—there had been nothing to suggest she had a child. But then, he realized the tense she used. The direction of their conversation.
