No Mistress of Mine

Chapter 2

Lola had known calling on Denys with no advance notice would give him a shock, but she’d deemed it a wiser course than to write ahead and request an appointment. This way, he had no chance to refuse to see her.

He could, however, toss her out the window. The grimness of his countenance told her that was a distinct possibility.

“My partner?” he echoed her declaration through clenched teeth. “In what enterprise?”

“The Imperial. Well, technically, I’m your father’s partner, but since you manage all his holdings for him—”

“You’re mad.”

Lola rustled the sheet of paper in her fingers. “This letter to me outlines the exact details of Henry’s bequest. The week before I left New York, Mr. Forbes assured me he’d sent a similar missive to your father, along with the news of Henry’s death. Obviously, Conyers informed you of the latter, but did he not tell you about the former?”

Denys didn’t reply. Instead, he continued to stare at her in stone-faced silence, and watching him, Lola realized all the rehearsing she’d done on the voyage over to ready herself for this meeting hadn’t done her a bit of good.

For one thing, he didn’t seem aware of the terms of the will. She’d come prepared to face him on the assumption he’d be equally prepared to face her. That, it seemed, was not the case.

Worse, however, was the fact that this man wasn’t at all like the Denys she’d known. That man had been easy and carefree, with an irresistible boyish charm and a deep, passionate tenderness. Lola could find little trace of those qualities in the man before her.

This man had Denys’s lean cheekbones and square jaw, but there was nothing boyish or carefree to soften them. This man had Denys’s brown eyes, but as their gazes met, she could see no hint of tenderness in their dark depths. She’d heard what a shrewd man of business he’d become, and looking at him now, she had no trouble believing it.

The changes had cost him, though, for there were faint creases at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead that hadn’t been there before, lines that spoke of responsibilities the Denys she’d known had never been forced to assume. His mouth, once so ready to smile, was now an uncompromising line—though his lack of humor on this occasion might be due to her arrival rather than the burdens of duty.

She’d hurt him, she knew that. She’d taken any affection he felt for her and shredded it. But there’d been no other way to make him see that a girl like her, a girl born beside the cattle yards and slaughterhouses of Kansas City, who’d spent her childhood amid the smells of manure, blood, and rotgut whiskey, who’d started stripping down to her naughties in front of men before she was sixteen, could never make a man like him happy.

Pain pinched her chest, and Lola suddenly couldn’t bear the harshness in his face—harshness she knew she had put there. She tore her gaze away.

His body, she noted as she looked down, had changed less than his face. He still had the wide, powerful shoulders and narrow hips of the athlete he’d been, and from what she could see, six years hadn’t added an ounce of fat to his physique. If anything, he seemed stronger and more powerful at thirty-two than he’d been at twenty-four.

She’d hoped time would have mellowed any acrimony on his part, but now, she feared that hope had been futile.

Still, there was no going back, and she forced herself to speak again. “I came here today assuming Conyers had received all the information from Mr. Forbes and that he had made you aware how things stand. But I see I was mistaken.”

“By God, you’ve got gall, Lola,” he muttered, glaring at her. “I’ll give you that. You’ve got gall.”

Resentment was palpable in every line of his face, in the frigid stance of his body, in the very air of the room. But she had no intention of withering in the face of his anger like some tender little hothouse flower, and Lola met his hostile gaze with a level one of her own. “This is a matter of business,” she said quietly. “It isn’t personal, Denys.”

“Well, that relieves my mind,” he countered, and despite her intention to remain steadfast, she couldn’t help wincing a bit at the sarcasm.

He strode forward, pulled the letter from her fingers, and unfolded it to scan the typewritten lines, but when he looked up, his expression was still implacable.

“Not only the Imperial, but fifty thousand dollars in backing money,” he said as he refolded the sheet. “Mistress to heiress in one simple step.”

She opened her mouth to deny his contention, but then she closed it again. What would be the point of denial? Her role as Henry’s mistress was a fiction of long standing, begun that fateful night in her Paris dressing room six years ago. It was a role both she and Henry had found convenient and one neither of them had ever seen the need to dispel. There was no purpose in telling Denys the truth now, for he would never believe her. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. “Henry was a kind and generous man,” she said instead.

“I daresay. But I am curious. How does his family feel about this particular display of his kindness and generosity?”

“Henry left his wife and children well provided for. The Imperial was only a fraction of his estate.”

“Only a fraction?” He held out the letter. “Then I’m sure poor Gladys and the children didn’t feel the least bit cheated.”

Lola bristled as she snatched the letter from his hand. “His children—who are twenty-three and twenty-six, by the way—didn’t give a damn about Henry when he was alive, and neither did Gladys. None of them had the time of day for him unless they wanted more money, of course.”

Denys’s mouth took on a cynical curve, and his gaze slid downward. “You, I’m sure, were much more devoted.”

Hot color rushed into her face. Playing the part of Henry’s mistress had been easy in New York, but standing in front of Denys now, there was nothing easy about it. Still, one had to live with one’s choices, so Lola took a deep breath and brought the conversation back to the present. “Perhaps instead of talking about Henry, we should talk about what happens next?”

“Next?” He frowned. “I’m not sure I have the pleasure of understanding you.”

“I own one-half of the Imperial, and though your father owns the other half, you manage it. That means you and I will be working together—”

“We most certainly will not.”

She studied him for a moment, then gestured to the doorway behind her. “Since we see the situation so differently, perhaps we should sit down and discuss it? A mutual understanding might be hammered out.”

Not wanting to give him the chance to refuse, she didn’t wait for a reply. Turning away, she reentered his office, resumed her seat in the leather chair opposite his desk where she’d been awaiting his arrival, and crossed her fingers that he would follow. After a moment, he did, but his next words provided little encouragement for an amicable interview.

“I fail to see what there is for us to hammer out,” he said as he circled his desk to face her.

The opening of the outer door interrupted any reply she might have made, and a moment later, Mr. Dawson came bustling into Denys’s office, a laden tray in his hands.

“Here’s your tea, Miss Valentine. I hope you like Earl Grey. Oh, good morning, sir,” he added as he spied Denys standing behind the desk. Giving his employer a nod, the secretary halted beside Lola’s chair and placed the tea tray on the desk in front of her. “I also brought some biscuits for you in case you might be hungry.”

“Thank you.” In the wake of Denys’s hostility, the secretary’s friendliness was like a soothing balm, and she gave the young man a grateful smile. “How very thoughtful of you.”

“Not at all, not at all.” He reached for the teapot and began to pour her tea. “I must say again how exciting it is to meet you in the flesh, Miss Valentine. I saw your one-woman show in New York last year, when I was there with my previous employer, and it was spectacular. I still remember how you kicked off the hat of that man in the front row, tossing it into the air with your toe, though how you managed to land it on your own head, I can’t think.” He laughed. “I’ll wager that chap never forgets to remove his hat in the theater again.”

Lola didn’t tell him the man with the hat was always in the audience. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did very much. I hope your presence in London means you intend to do a show here?”

“I’d like to perform here, yes.” She looked over at Denys, and his icy countenance confirmed just how difficult a prospect that was going to be. “We’ll have to see.”

“I do hope you will. I should very much like to see you perform again. Would you care for sugar and milk?”

Lola had no opportunity to reply to that, for Denys interrupted.

“Dawson, stop fawning over Miss Valentine and find me the Calvin and Bosch contracts if you please.”

“Of course, my lord.” Giving Lola an apologetic smile, Mr. Dawson handed over her tea, then bowed and left the room.

Cup and saucer in hand, Lola settled back in her seat and waited, but Denys did not move to take his own chair. “Denys, do sit down,” she said. “Or I’ll soon have a crick in my neck.”

“This conversation isn’t going to last long enough for that.” He leaned forward, flattening his palms on the polished oak top of his desk. “There is no way I shall involve myself, or my father, for that matter, in a partnership with you.”

“You are already involved.”

“Not for long. Now if you will pardon me,” he added before she could ask what he meant, “I have an appointment for which I am already late.”

She tilted her head back, and as she studied him, she knew that for now, at least, this discussion was over. If a partnership between them was ever going to work—and she was determined to make it work come hell or high water—she had to begin on as amicable a footing as possible. That meant respecting his schedule.

“Of course.” She put the letter back in her handbag and stood up. “When would you like to resume this discussion? I can make an appointment with your secretary, or—”

“I thought I was clear, but evidently not.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed, seeming to darken their color from brown to black. “I will accept no appointment with you. I will not be discussing anything with you involving the Imperial or any other matter. Not now, and not in future.”

“But Denys, the season is about to begin. Rehearsals for Othello begin in two weeks. There are decisions we must make, arrangements for—”

“Of course,” he cut her off. “Dawson will give you the names of my solicitors. I’m sure they will be quite happy to keep you abreast of what decisions and arrangements I am making for the Imperial. You will, I trust, let them know where to send your share of the profits?”

Despite her resolve to be as businesslike as possible, Lola felt her temper flare up a notch. “Now wait just a minute. It’s clear you haven’t yet been apprised of the situation by Henry’s attorney, and I appreciate that this is all coming as quite a shock. But Denys, I have no intention of being shunted off to the side while you make all the decisions for the Imperial and run the show without me. Unlike Henry, I intend to participate fully in this partnership.”

A muscle worked along the square line of his jaw. “Not while I breathe air.”

“I know you resent me, you probably even hate me. But the fact remains that I am your father’s full and equal partner, and I have an equal say in what is done.”

“That is another matter you can take up with my solicitors.” Ignoring her sound of frustration, he turned away and exited his office, vanishing from view. “Walk down with me, Mr. Dawson,” she heard him say. “I have some things I need you to do while I’m out.”

Lola moved to follow, but then she thought the better of it and stopped. She could hardly go chasing him down the corridors and staircases of his own offices, especially when he had his secretary in tow, and he was in no frame of mind to listen to her anyway. It was best to give him some breathing room and allow the reality of their new relationship to sink in.

Despite her decision, she was compelled to say one more thing before he had the chance to depart.

“We’re in this together, Denys,” she called to him. “This conversation is not over.”

“Of course it isn’t,” he countered at once. “Nothing with you ever seems to be over.”

With that parting shot, the outer door slammed, leaving her alone.

How? she wondered as she sank back down into her chair. How am I ever going to make this work?

It seemed even more impossible now than it had a month ago, when Henry died.

Lola sighed and leaned back, tiredness washing over her. She’d lost the man who’d been her mentor, her friend, and a better father to her than the man who’d sired her had ever dreamt of being. She’d had to do the last weeks of the winter season with his seat empty every single night, knowing he’d never sit in it again. She’d had to be the one to tell Alice he was gone. And at Mr. Forbes’s insistence, she’d had to sit down with Henry’s odious relations for the reading of the will.

An image of Mr. Forbes came into her mind, the waxed ends of his enormous mustache bobbing as his dry, legal voice had laid out the terms disposing of Henry’s estate—an income to his wife, trusts for each of his children, all the New York businesses and their assets to his son, a dowry to his daughter . . .

Her presence in the lawyer’s office had been met with hostile resignation on the part of his family, and it was clear they had already been informed she would be receiving some sort of legacy.

For her part, Lola was in the dark. She couldn’t imagine what he might have left her. Not jewelry, surely, or fur coats, or any of the other baubles men gave their mistresses. Alice would have been the one to receive anything like that. Nor could Lola imagine Henry’s leaving her some small token for sentiment’s sake. Henry had been shrewd, selfish, and razor-sharp, and not the least bit sentimental. He might have left her cash, she supposed, although that seemed odd, too, for she had a tidy nest egg of her own thanks to the success of her one-woman show, a show that had been running for five straight years in Madison Square, a show that had made Henry and his fellow investors a great deal of money.

“Lastly, there is a provision for Miss Valentine.”

Lola sat up a little straighter in her chair. She kept her attention on the attorney, meeting his pale blue eyes over the gold-rimmed pince-nez perched on his nose.

“To Miss Valentine, Mr. Latham has bequeathed his 50 percent share of the Imperial Theatre partnership. In addition, she will receive a capital sum of $50,000—”

Shocked gasps interrupted him, but the members of Henry’s family weren’t the only ones who were shocked. Lola felt as if she’d just been hit by a streetcar.

Half of the Imperial? A partnership between her and Denys’s father? That was just plain crazy.

Dazed, Lola stared at Mr. Forbes, trying to assimilate what this might mean, and it took her several moments to realize the members of Henry’s family had all turned around in their chairs to stare at her. Slowly, her gaze moved from face to face, and she appreciated that they were mad as hell.

First, there was Carlton, his complexion suffusing with purple at the news that Lola was to receive one of Henry’s most profitable investments and a generous amount of cold, hard cash. And Margaret, who had lowered her handkerchief to give her father’s supposed mistress a loathing-filled stare from dry, tearless eyes. And Gladys, trembling with rage, her thin lips pressed tight together.

Lola stared back at them, her chin high. These people were Henry’s family but hadn’t cared a penny about him, and their withering stares didn’t wilt her one bit. She watched as Gladys stood up and came toward where she sat apart from the others in a chair by the door, and she tilted her head back as Gladys halted in front of her, keeping her face expressionless as she met the other woman’s contemptuous gaze head-on. And when Gladys’s hand came up and slapped her hard across the face, Lola didn’t even flinch. She wouldn’t give Gladys that sort of satisfaction.

She waited until they were gone before she pressed a hand to her stinging cheek. Gladys hadn’t known she was slapping the wrong woman, of course, and Lola hadn’t had any inclination to enlighten her. Henry would have wanted Alice’s reputation protected even after his death. Besides, Lola had never had the luxury of caring what women like Gladys Latham thought of her.

“My apologies, Miss Valentine.”

Lola lowered her hand and looked up. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Forbes. Someone else’s uncivil behavior isn’t your fault. Besides,” she added, “I can’t really blame her. It must be difficult for her to see me here. And Henry, I would imagine, wasn’t much of a husband.”

The attorney leaned forward in his chair with a confidential air. “Gladys,” he said, “wasn’t much of a wife.”

Lola couldn’t help smiling a little at that. “You’re a wicked man, Mr. Forbes.”

He gestured to the chair closest to him, the one vacated by Henry’s widow. “If you can stay a few more minutes, Miss Valentine. I have something else to give you from Mr. Latham.”

“Something else?” she echoed as she came forward to take the offered chair. “I can’t imagine what. But then, I couldn’t imagine his leaving me half the Imperial, either. Earl Conyers and I, partners? Why, that man wouldn’t give me a glass of water if I were dying of thirst.”

“As to that . . .” The attorney paused to give a little cough. “His lordship does not manage the Imperial himself. My understanding is that Lord Conyers abdicated management of all his investments to his son, Lord Somerton, three years ago.”

“Denys runs the Imperial now?” She groaned and leaned forward in her chair. “That makes everything even worse. Oh, Henry,” she muttered, rubbing four fingers across her forehead, “what have you done?”

After a moment, she lifted her head. “My question remains. How could he ever imagine that such a partnership could work?”

“As to that, Mr. Latham did not confide in me. But this may elucidate matters for you.” Mr. Forbes lifted a sealed envelope from the desk and held it out to her. “He wanted you to have this after the will was read.”

She broke the wax seal, pulled a single sheet from the envelope and unfolded it.

Lola,

Sometimes I’m a little late, but I always keep my promises. Go back to London and knock ’em dead, honey. Prove they were wrong about you. You can do it.

With affection,

Henry

PS — If you turn down this chance because of Denys, I shall come back as a ghost and haunt you.

Tears stung her eyes even as she gave a laugh at the idea of Henry as a ghost. She’d begun to think he’d forgotten the promise he’d made to her that fateful night in Paris.

I’ll see that you learn your craft the proper way. And when I think you’re ready to give drama another try, I’ll find investors to back a serious play for you. I’ll even make it Shakespeare. And if you’re good, I’ll manage your acting career. Maybe we’ll even open our own theater in New York, and you can put on your own plays.

She blinked back the tears and read the letter again. This time, however, she found her shock wearing off and the ramifications sinking in. He’d kept his promise, but with one enormous difference. The Imperial was not in New York.

She looked at the attorney in bewilderment. “Henry must’ve been out of his mind.”

“His family may think so,” the attorney responded dryly. “But no, Mr. Latham’s mental state was perfectly sound.”

Lola had always thought so, but this did give her cause to wonder. London was where she’d first tried dramatic acting, where Denys, at his own expense, had financed his first play and gotten her a part. But she hadn’t lived up to his faith in her talent. She’d fallen flat on her face and been eviscerated by the audience, the critics, and her peers. Now, Henry wanted her to go back there and try again? Her stomach lurched with fear at the thought.

And what about Denys? The Imperial meant facing him and the choice she’d made years ago. It meant managing a theater with him, for heaven’s sake. It would never work, not in a thousand years.

But she was going to do it anyway.

Lola shoved down fear, folded the letter, and put it back in its envelope, then took a deep breath and looked at Henry’s attorney. “I don’t know much about business, so I don’t quite understand what this bequest entails. Could you explain it?”

He had done so, outlining just what being a partner in the Imperial would mean. But a month later, though Lola had full knowledge of her position, she sat in Denys’s London office and wondered if her knowledge did her any good.

The outer door opened, breaking into her reflections as Mr. Dawson reentered the suite.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Valentine,” he said as he appeared in the doorway. “Lord Somerton has instructed me to give you the names of his solicitors and their address. Give me a moment, and I shall write it out for you.”

Lola already had the information, but it hardly mattered. Auditions for the upcoming season began in less than a week, and settling this with Denys through his solicitors could take months. Besides, she was pretty sure successful partnerships didn’t work through lawyers, and she was determined that this partnership would be a success.

Nonetheless, she didn’t deter the secretary. Instead, she drank her tea and considered what her next step should be. After a moment, she set aside her cup, rose to her feet, and exited Denys’s office. She crossed to the secretary’s desk and halted there, waiting, as he set aside his pen and blotted the inked lines he’d just written.

“I appreciate this so very much,” she said, as he stood up and handed her the sheet of paper. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Valentine?”

“Hmm . . .” Lola paused, pretending to consider the question. “There is one thing. If it’s not too much trouble?”

His expression told her there was very little he would find too troublesome to manage for her. “I’d like to contact someone, and I’m sure you’re just the person to tell me how to go about it. I wish to locate Mr. Jacob Roth. You know him, I’m sure?”

“Of course. He is the managing director of the Imperial. Are you acquainted with him?”

She knew the name, of course—everyone in theater did, for he’d been a prestigious actor in his day and a famed director, too, before ever taking over management of the Imperial’s acting company. But as for the man himself, Lola didn’t know him from Adam. She waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Old days in Paris.”

“Indeed? I didn’t realize Mr. Roth had ever directed anything in Paris. His offices are at the Imperial,” he added before Lola was forced to invent a story of how she’d met the famous director, “though I doubt he would be there now, for the season hasn’t begun yet. But you could call there and have his secretary request an appointment for you.”

That might give Denys time to get wind of it and circumvent her. “Oh, dear,” she said with a sigh, “I do so want to see him, but I’m not sure I want to call at his offices. That seems so formal.” She leaned a little closer. “You’re such a clever man, Mr. Dawson. I’m sure you can help me think of a better way.”

The young man responded to this show of faith in his abilities at once. “You might find him at the Savoy in a few hours. He has lunch there nearly every day, so often that they keep a table reserved just for him.”

“Thank you so much,” she purred, straightening away from the desk. “You’ve been so very kind to me.”

The young man flushed to the roots of his hair. “Not—not at all. My pleasure, I’m sure. If there is anything else you need . . .”

“If so, I’ll come running straight to you.” She put the folded sheet with the solicitors’ names into her handbag, then pressed one gloved hand to her bosom with a sound of relief. “It’s so reassuring for a girl on her own to know she has at least one man on whom she can truly rely.”

With that, she left the office, giving the secretary one last grateful smile. She needed all the allies she could get.

As for Denys, if he wanted to ignore her, that was all right for now, since her next course of action was likely to gain his attention more quickly than any wrangling through lawyers could do. It was also sure to make him mad as a hornet, but she couldn’t afford to care about that. Thanks to Henry, she had a second chance to realize her most cherished dream.

Becoming a real actress meant she could give up strutting around a stage in provocative clothing, showing off her legs and shimmying her bosom. She’d never have to sing another suggestive song, or kick off another hat, or bend over and wiggle her hips at another man in the crowd. She had the chance to earn the respect of her peers, the respect granted to serious actors, respect that performers like Lola Valentine never got.

And she owned half the theater, a position that gave her a measure of artistic and financial control. After years of answering to investors who chose what she wore and how she performed, she would finally have a say. Never again would she have to dine with men who did nothing but ogle her breasts, dismiss her ideas, and tell Henry he was a lucky man. Her ideas would finally be heard if she could get Denys to listen to them. Some could come to fruition if Denys could be persuaded to go along.

Somehow, she had to get him on her side, persuade him to teach her everything there was to learn about theater management, and work with her instead of against her. How she was going to manage that particular miracle, she wasn’t quite sure, and as she went down the stairs, Lola could only cross her fingers that she’d figure out a way.