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“No, it’s not Clem!” Dora’s voice was rising now with indignation. “You approached her with an offer to join your outfit. When I came over, she was telling you that she was not interested in signing up to another repertoire. I remember it well, I tell you!”

Her breasts rose and fell, and though she did not point out he had turned her down directly after this, he knew she was thinking of it. “You’re misremembering what happened,” Clem said flatly. He did not like the scarlet flaming in her cheeks or the fact she would not meet his eye. He did not like it one bit.

“I don’t think so,” she answered bitterly turning away from him.

“I only approached your sister as I realized she was the least invested in your family business,” he reminded her coolly. “I have already explained this to you. I never had the remotest interest in your sister performing at my concert rooms. I was only ever interested in her share in The Parthenon.”

Clem watched her expressive face and cursed himself for casting salt into the wound. Still, making her angry at his sly cunning was better than her mistakenly thinking he had admired her sister.

Finally, she looked up at him. “You’re such a conniving bastard, Clem Dabney!” she burst out with feeling. And Clem knew there must be something wrong with him because he felt hugely relieved that she was venting her feelings at last. “You tricked me!”

He shook his head. “Nay, Dora love—” he started calmly, but she stood abruptly, thrusting a finger in his face.

“I can accept the ‘Dora’ under sufferance, but pray do not address me as love again, I beg you. It is … inappropriate.”

He stayed seated where he was. “Come on then,” he prompted. “Let me have it.”

She blinked at that, but then drew in a deep breath. “Oh, I will,” she said hotly. “Never you fear!” She backed up a couple of steps as though making room for her blast of anger and pushed up her sleeves. Clem felt his lips twitch and had to rein in a wholly inappropriate impulse to smile. He wondered at it, for he had not smiled all day and listening to hysterics or impassioned speeches usually bored him rather than not.

He found himself wondering idly what he would do if she launched herself physically at him. Her slight bosom heaved under her ugly dress and Clem felt an entirely different emotion. God, he wanted her. It had only been a day, but it felt like a lifetime since she had been open and affectionate with him.

Luckily, Dora was now in full sail, and far too far gone to notice his abrupt mood change. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing, she looked … fucking beautiful. She was almost fizzing with ferocity, and it suited her, he realized. Her face might not be considered classically beautiful, but it was so expressive, and he found he could not tear his gaze away.

“I thought we laid our cards on the table fair and square,” Dora said indignantly, “but you still had an ace up your sleeve! You held out on me!” The last sounded almost bewilderedly hurt and Clem sucked in his breath as though she’d punched him. He would rather have her angry with him than hurt by his words or actions.

“Now Dora,” he said reasonably. “If I’d told you I already had a quarter stake in your family business we both know you would never have married me, and I really wanted you to marry me, sweetheart; we both know how much.”

“We were supposed to be in cahoots,” she pointed out with dignity and swung away from him pacing along the length of the room before turning back to glare at him again. “You crafty, duplicitous thing!”

Her tone surprised him, for a new note had joined the stiff outrage. Now there was a grudging admiration mingled in with her anger and the fact warmed Clem strangely in the cockles of his heart. “Dora,” he whispered raggedly.

The incredulous gaze she was sweeping him with, too, somehow held a hint of dazed admiration. He liked it. Liked that she appreciated his underhandedness. “I do believe you are almost as Machiavellian as Mrs. Cherwell,” she added wonderingly.

Well, that was like a bucket of icy water down his back. He did not want to talk about the Fields’ housekeeper right now, but he had to know why Dora’s thoughts had strayed there. “What about her?” he asked. “Explain.”

“She once suggested that I gain the upper hand by marrying Harold and securing a fifty percent majority stake—” Dora started to explain, but Clem had bound out of his seat and closed the distance between them, dragging her into his arms.

“Over my dead body,” he growled.

“This was before we were married,” she pointed out huffily, but Clem did not care.

“Just tell me what it will take, Dora mine,” he growled at her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said haughtily.

“Yes, you damn well do. For you to let me off the hook. For deceiving you.”

“You can give Hetty a job at The Eagle,” she responded so quickly that Clem was blindsided.

He blinked down at her. Absolutely not. Absolutely fucking not. “And that’s all it would take?” he heard himself ask cautiously. “You would forgive me? Just like that.”

“Well, according to you it’s a huge ask,” she pointed out sarcastically. Little wretch.

“She isn’t cut out for it.”

“Like nine people out of ten would say I was not?” she retorted tartly.

“Fine,” he heard himself answer. What the fuck was he saying right now?