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Faith suddenly found herself wishing that she’d bought the dress Sylvia wanted her to have, the backless, wine-red dress that cascaded down her legs and showed off every single curve, instead of the boring navy shift she’d chosen.
Tugging on his hand, she led him down a hidden backstreet into the cooler shadows where the sun never reached, even at noon on midsummer. Halfway down the alley, a tattered red sign hung above a dirty window, and read simply, ‘Lola’s’. No one would recognise them there.
‘This is it?’ Dominic asked, looking dubious.
‘Trust me,’ Faith said, and he sighed.
‘Seems to me, trusting you could get me into a lot of trouble.’
Faith smiled brightly to try and pretend that didn’t hurt, just a little. After all, he was right. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You’re doing okay so far.’
‘This is true.’ He pushed against the door and a bell clattered tinnily. ‘Come on, then.’
Inside, the restaurant was even darker than Faith remembered. But then, most of her memories were of the picture Marco had painted of Rome in the summer, and of the Italian lakes. Well, that and the fantastic walnut pasta and red wine that went down like water.
A waiter in jeans and a T-shirt led them to a table at the back, and Faith watched in amusement as Dominic realised nearly every other table in the place was already occupied.
‘Am I the only person who doesn’t know about this place?’ he murmured as they took their seats.
Faith slipped her cardigan from her shoulders and placed it on the back of her chair. White cashmere didn’t go well with red wine. ‘There are a lot of people in London,’ she pointed out. ‘Not everyone can afford to eat at the finest restaurants every night. Besides, the food’s better here.’
‘Can we see a menu, please?’ Dominic asked, as if looking for proof, but the waiter shook his head.
‘No menus,’ he said, his rich Italian accent adding extra amusement to his tone. ‘We’ll bring you the best we have.’
As he spoke, a younger girl appeared, also in jeans, and filled their glasses with red wine. Dominic raised his eyebrows, but lifted the glass to his lips anyway.
‘Not bad,’ he said as the servers disappeared.
Faith tried her own. ‘Liar. It’s gorgeous.’
The smile Dominic gave her was warm and intimate, and suddenly Faith knew it didn’t matter if the food had gone drastically downhill since the last time she was there; this would still be a better evening than the one with Marco. Apparently all she needed for a fantastic evening was the presence of Lord Dominic Beresford.
She wondered if that worked for everyone. She could use him on all her tours...
‘What are you thinking?’ Dominic asked, and Faith shook herself back into the real world. He wasn’t Lord Beresford right now, anyway. He was just Dominic. Maybe even her Dominic, just for the night.
‘Absolute nonsense,’ she admitted. ‘And worrying a little about abandoning my post.’ Getting out of the theatre had seemed like the best plan, given that dodging every single camera was probably impossible. But, on the other hand, she’d been hired to do a job and she wasn’t currently fulfilling those obligations.
‘I’m the boss,’ Dominic pointed out. ‘You can look on this as...a mid-project appraisal.’
‘Is that so?’ Faith leant back in her chair and watched as he nodded. ‘In that case, how am I doing?’
‘Fantastically.’
Faith hoped the candlelight was forgiving enough to hide her blush. ‘Anyone would think you were biased.’
Dominic’s eyes turned dark. ‘Oh, but I am.’ Reaching across the table, he took her hand again. ‘Utterly, utterly biased. Because I want you to stay in London with me.’
Maybe it was the wine, but suddenly Faith felt reckless. They weren’t at the hotel, or at an event. There were no clients around. There was no chance of bumping into anyone who might recognise Lady Faith Fowlmere at Lola’s. This was their one night. There was nothing at all to stop her asking for the truth.
‘Because you want me to work for you?’
His smile was slow. ‘Faith. I promise you that, for once, work is the furthest thing from my mind tonight.’
* * *
It wasn’t quite a lie, Dominic reasoned and, even if it was, she’d told enough of her own. He’d offered her a night off, a night away from who they really were, because he couldn’t bear the idea of her leaving without doing something about whatever compulsion it was that burned between them.
It wasn’t easy, though. Business, sure. He could forget about contracts and meetings in a heartbeat. But the title, the heritage, they were scored deep into him in a way she couldn’t understand. You had to be born to that kind of obligation. Still, just being with Faith made it easier. It was impossible not to relax around her, harder still not to lean into her, touch her, flirt and caress, however much he’d planned to take things slow.
