“Nothing,” she said much too quickly. “I’m fine.”
“What did she say to you?” I asked, as I looked past Delia to Madame Fontaine, but someone else had slid into the vacated chair as soon as it was open, and she was occupied with speaking to them.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s just for fun, like you said.”
I frowned in concern, but before I could press Delia further, Charles joined us.
“Here you are.” He handed Delia a glass of champagne. “Itrust Madame Fontaine had nothing but good things to say about your future?”
“Yes,” Delia said as she accepted the glass with a strained smile, but Charles didn’t notice as he was too busy looking around the room.
Someone behind me then caught his attention. “Good God, Dorian,” he suddenly called out with a smile. “You tore yourself away from your typewriter long enough to come down here?”
As I had still been focusing on Delia, I was certain my ears were only playing tricks on me and I had misheard. But then he spoke:
“I made an exception this evening, as I heard Linden always invites the most beautiful women,” he said with a low laugh.
My throat went dry as my face went up in flames, and my haze of good cheer vanished entirely. I knew that voice. I would recognize it anywhere, as it had been haunting me for months.
Charles continued speaking, but I didn’t hear a word. My ears had begun to ring, and I felt frozen in place. My gaze was fixed firmly on my sister, who now smiled expectantly at the man just behind me. The man I was now certain could only be Stephen Dorian. There was no escape. The doorway was to my back, and even if I did make a run for it, he would clearly see that it was me.
Vaguely, I heard Mr. Pearson introducing Delia. And then …
“… and this is her sister, Mrs. Harper.”
I swallowed my heart, which had momentarily lodged in my throat, and turned around.
“Mr. Dorian,” I said, with as much grace as I could manage. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
Chapter 6
Iwill admit that I had imagined this exact scenario more than once. After all, Mr. Dorian lived in London, and it was not entirely outside the realm of possibility that our paths would cross at some point. What I had not imagined was the very beautiful woman with silky, dark hair and warm, olive skin clutching his arm. He stared back at me in absolute shock for a long, tense moment, and when it became clear that he would not be making introductions, I turned to his companion.
“Hello, I’m Mrs. Harper,” I said with a beatific smile.
The woman cast a quick, confused glance at her silent partner before smiling back at me. “I’m Mrs. Langham. Pleasure to meet you.”
Her cordial greeting seemed to shock Mr. Dorian to attention, and he cleared his throat. “Mrs. Harper and I met on Corfu last spring,” he rasped.
The woman’s eyes lit up. “Oh! He was just telling me about that. How he was having such a wretched time there, and then on top of that, he was forced to hire some poor local woman to type for him,” she said on a laugh.
Based on her rather theatrical manner, enviable appearance, and what I had gleaned from the gossip sheets, I wondered if Mrs. Langham was an actress—not that I was casting judgement. I supported any profession that allowed a woman to make a safe, comfortable living for herself.
My smile tightened. “Yes, that was me. The poor local woman.” Then I turned to Mr. Dorian. “Though I didn’t realize you were having such a wretched time,” I said with mock sympathy.
He narrowed his eyes in an unamused look so achingly familiar that my breath caught. “I don’t think I used the word ‘wretched,’ Mrs. Langham,” he replied while holding my gaze.
“Oh, no. Of course not,” she said quickly. “I’m afraid I tend to exaggerate for dramatic effect,” she added with a laugh before addressing me. “He did say how lovely the island was.”
I gave her a gracious nod. “Yes, it is.”
“So then,” he prompted in a brusque tone, “what has finally compelled you to return to England’s shores?”
I was obliged to turn back to him, which I did with obvious reluctance. “My daughter has enrolled in school, and I came to see her settled.”
“How old is your daughter?” Mrs. Langham asked. Though she was clearly trying to make up for her earlier faux pas, I was grateful for her interest as it allowed me to ignore Mr. Dorian.
“Fourteen.”
