Page 49 of Bad Luck Bride (Scandal at the Savoy #3)

S he could still feel the warmth of his fingers against her cheek, and her insides still felt as if she’d swallowed a jar of butterflies.

So long, she thought, since she’d felt this way.

So, so long. She’d forgotten what romance felt like.

She gave a dreamy sigh and lifted her hand again to touch her face, then realized what she was doing.

With a groan, she folded her arms and buried her hot face in the crook of her elbow.

She didn’t want to feel this way. Not again.

It was too hard. Too painful. And too risky, she added, lifting her head to look at the open doorway to her office.

What if anyone had walked in and had seen him touch her like that? Word of it would spread through the hotel, and would probably get back to Delilah Dawlish or some other reporter. More gossip was the last thing her family needed. And she certainly couldn’t afford to be distracted.

With that reminder, she worked to put any idiotic notions of romance out of her mind and tried to forget how Devlin’s touch had made her feel.

She’d already turned him down, for heaven’s sake.

And besides, she had a job now, a job she badly needed, and letting herself be distracted by thoughts of him and what had once been between them was not going to help her keep it.

She concentrated instead on the task he’d given her, and by the next afternoon, she had obtained orders to view for the first four hotels on their list, and sent him a note to that effect, inquiring if the following day would be a convenient time for them to begin touring those properties.

His reply was affirmative, and by the time he arrived at her office at ten o’clock the following morning, Kay had picked up the hotel keys and was ready.

She had also put her priorities firmly back in order, for she did not want to be as much a sensation to the scandal rags in the future as she’d been in the past.

Devlin’s first words to her, however, demonstrated that she didn’t have to be caught doing anything untoward to be the subject of gossip, and also proved Delia had been right to caution her that even working with Devlin would be cause for curiosity.

“Best if we go out the back way,” he advised as she put on her hat. “When I came down a few minutes ago, I happened to look out the front windows as I crossed the lobby, and I saw Delilah Dawlish skulking on the opposite side of the street.”

Kay gave a groan of exasperation. “Oh, that woman! She is the absolute end!”

“She is tiresome,” he agreed as they left the office, walked out the back door of the hotel and into the alley behind it.

“‘Tiresome’ is a kind way of putting it. She’s tried to catch me out several times since Pam and Wilson eloped, hurling questions in my face.

‘How do you feel, Lady Kay, about being jilted again? What’s it like to be such a bad-luck bride?

’ Rubbish like that. She’s done it to my mother and sister, too, and several of our friends. ”

“Yes, she’s done it to me as well. I have perfected the art of the reply: ‘I have nothing to say.’”

“Me, too. But my mother, sadly, always has something to say. And it only gives that odious woman more meat to feed on.”

“I know this isn’t much comfort, but it will all die down again eventually.”

“In all honesty, I’ve stopped caring what the scandal sheets say about me,” she assured him. “I just don’t want it to hurt Josephine. This is her first season.”

“Is it hurting her?”

“It doesn’t seem to be, not yet. I mean, I’m rather a laughingstock at present, but she’s found a group of friends, including Lord Calderon’s sister, and there are several young men hanging about her as well, so I think she’ll do well enough, in spite of my troubles.

Of course, it helps that she’s beautiful. ”

“Is she?” He stopped just before they reached the sidewalk, compelling her to stop as well, and when she looked at him, he was smiling a little. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Kay’s heart twisted in her chest, a pang of pleasure so sweet it was almost like pain, and it was so much like how she’d felt in those heady days so long ago, that she couldn’t seem to breathe. Say something , she thought desperately, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out.

He didn’t seem to notice she’d gone stupidly mute. Instead, he turned away as if to resume walking, but when she took a step forward, he stopped her, stretching out his arm to block her path.

She inhaled sharply, the feel of his forearm against her tummy doing strange things to her insides as he leaned forward and peeked out of the alley.

“I think the coast is clear,” he said looking up and down the street. “I don’t see Dawlish anywhere. Or anyone else that looks like a reporter.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she managed as his arm fell away.

“Where shall we go first?” he asked as they emerged from the alleyway.

She pulled the list out of her pocket. “I thought the Grenville first, since it is the closest.”

He gestured with a flourish. “Lead on.”

The Grenville Hotel was only a short walk along, a tidy little hotel in a quiet little side street, with whitewashed steps and a brightly polished brass plate proclaiming its name.

“It looks quite nice,” Kay commented, opening her handbag to rummage for the key. “Shall we go in?”

But instead of answering in the affirmative, Devlin was already shaking his head. He pulled the list from her hand, read the particulars the house agent had given her, and shook his head. “Not worth the bother,” he said and handed the sheet back to her.

“It seems a nice little hotel,” Kay remarked, looking it over. “Why are you against it?”

“It’s very close to the Mayfair. We don’t want them competing with each other.”

“But why did you agree to see it, then?”

“Well, if it turned out to be a bargain, it might be worth buying anyway. But given the small number of rooms and the very high asking price, it’s not a bargain. Where to now?”

She looked at her list and pointed in the direction of the Marble Arch. “The Marchmont Hotel. It’s in Marylebone, just above Cavendish Square. So we’ll need a cab. A closed carriage is best, I think?”

He agreed. “Walking is one thing. After all, we might happen to be going in the same direction, but a carriage is different. The last thing we need is for someone we know to see us and report to the Dawlish woman that we were gallivanting around London together, unchaperoned.”

Fortunately, they were near Park Lane, where cabs were thick on the ground.

He went off to fetch a growler, and twenty minutes later, they were standing in the courtyard of the Marchmont Hotel, an ancient five-story structure of crumbling red brick with uneven flagstones and weeds popping up between them.

It didn’t look particularly enticing to Kay’s eyes, but as they paused on the sidewalk to study it, Devlin said, “This has possibilities.”

“It does?” She nudged a piece of broken flagstone with her shoe, dislodging it. “I have my doubts.”

He turned, making a sweeping gesture to their surroundings. “This is one of the most prosperous parts of London. Rich, professional men—bankers, industrialists, and the like—live and work around here.”

“Agreed. And?”

“It’s a good location for a quality hotel, but this building is for sale at quite a reasonable price.”

“That could mean it has bad drains and smells,” she pointed out.

“True. Best go in and have a look.”

She shoved the particulars sheet into her handbag and handed him the key. They crossed the courtyard, past an eroding stone fountain, and he unlocked the main entrance door.

They passed into an enormous lobby with a well-worn terrazzo stone floor, columns of dark purple mahogany, and a domed ceiling of leaded glass.

Thankfully, it did not have the sulfurous odor that spoke of bad drains, but most of the ceiling’s glass panes were broken, and rain had got in, damaging the mahogany and staining the floor with the sooty London air.

“See?” he said. “I told you it had potential. The architectural lines are stunning.”

Kay eyed the broken ceiling. “I see what you mean, but won’t the dome cost the earth to repair?”

“That’s something we shall have to find out. I think it is worth an engineer’s report, provided the rooms are all right. Let’s have a look around.”

For the next two hours, she followed him through the offices, kitchens, and rooms of the hotel.

Clipboard in hand, she scribbled notes, taking down every comment he made about the place, from its non-functioning lift to its surprisingly decent bathrooms, to its recently installed electricity.

By the time they left the building, she had five pages of notes.

“How do you know so much?” she asked him as their cab took them toward St. James and the Woodville Hotel for their third viewing of the day. “About hotels, I mean.”

“Trial and error. I own three hotels of my own, and I have interests in several others.”

“In Africa?”

“Mostly, but also in Constantinople, Athens, and Cyprus.”

“Goodness,” she said. “You proved my father utterly wrong about your prospects, didn’t you?”

“A fact which has given me a great deal of satisfaction over the years, I confess, though without the loan he gave me, none of it would have been possible. Sadly, my own father is still not the least bit impressed by my success.”

“Sod him,” she said, earning herself a shout of laughter from him. “Who cares what he thinks?”

“Quite right,” he said as their cab slowed to a halt and the window in the roof slid open.

“Duke Street, guv’nor,” the driver told them through the opening. “Sixpence for the fare.”

“Here’s your tanner,” Devlin told him. “And a joey for a tip.”

A gnarled hand reached through and took the coins. “Much obliged, guv’nor.”

The hand disappeared, and a moment later, Devlin was helping Kay alight from the vehicle.