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‘Yes?’ he said, then as he listened to the voice on the line his body stilled. ‘We’ll be right down.’
Hanging up, he pulled away from Faith, sitting with his back to her on the edge of the bed.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, her heavy heart beating too hard now.
Dominic’s voice was calm and steady as he replied. Unfeeling. ‘They need us in the lobby. There’s someone down there asking for you. Apparently he’s causing quite a scene.’
Oh no. Faith swallowed, reaching for her dress. ‘Right, of course. I don’t...I can’t...’ How could she explain that she didn’t know who it was, because there were too many options to choose from? Her father. Antonio. Great-Uncle Nigel. Who’d found her? And who had such awfully bad timing as to ruin this night?
‘I suppose we’ll find out what this is about when we get downstairs,’ Dominic said, and Faith nodded, a sick feeling rising up in her throat.
She didn’t bother with her bra or tights, just pulled the dress over her head and shoved her feet into her shoes. She probably looked a state but, well, wasn’t that just what people would expect anyway? Even Dominic, in trousers and an untucked shirt, looked less respectable than normal. Not as free and abandoned as he’d been half an hour before, but Faith knew, in her heart, that she’d never get to see that side of Dominic again. Whoever was waiting for her in the lobby had ruined that for her.
The lift ride down was silent again, but this time the tension between them was filled with questions rather than anticipation. Faith kept her eyes on the toes of her shoes and prayed that she’d be able to talk her way out of whatever this was.
But then the lift door opened and before they could even step out she heard her name being yelled across the lobby.
‘Faith!’
She froze. The accent was wrong for Antonio, or her father, and Great-Uncle Nigel sounded like the fifty-a-day smoker he was, so...
‘Lady Faith Fowlmere.’
Dominic froze beside her, and Faith made herself look across the lobby to see who it was that had unmasked her. Who had ruined her one night.
She closed her eyes against the horror as she recognised the photographer from the theatre striding across the lobby towards her. Then her brain processed what she was seeing and her eyelids flew open again. He had his camera. He had his camera out and pointed at them.
‘We need to go,’ Dominic said, grabbing her hand, but Faith knew it was already too late. The flash of the camera lit up the subdued lobby, light reflecting off the marble tiles and the mirrors on the stairs. There was no hiding this now.
‘You need to come with me. Now!’ Dominic’s words fought their way out from between clenched teeth and Faith ducked her head, turning and following him towards the lift.
‘Lady Faith! Would you like to make a comment on your whereabouts for the last couple of years?’ the photographer called after them, still snapping away.
‘Do not say a single word.’ He sounded furious. She’d known he would be. She’d just hoped he’d never have to find out. Or at least that she’d be many, many miles away when he did.
‘Or perhaps what made you want to come back?’
Faith couldn’t resist a glance over her shoulder at that, even as Dominic stabbed the call lift button repeatedly. The reporter was smirking, obviously assuming he knew exactly why she was there: Dominic. Just as they’d been so, so sure they knew what she was doing in that hotel room with Jared three years ago.
They were wrong again.
She hadn’t come back to London for Dominic, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let her stay now he knew the truth.
The lift pinged and the doors opened at last. Dominic hauled her inside, holding down the close doors button before she was even through. All Faith could see was the reporter’s smile, even after the lift started to move.
And then she realised she was alone with Dominic. Again.
‘My room,’ he said, the words clipped. ‘We don’t talk about this until we are safely behind a locked door.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
THIS WASN’T QUITE how he’d imagined having her in his room tonight.
Faith stood against the wall by the bathroom, arms folded over her chest, looking like a schoolgirl caught smoking. Like she was just anyone. Like she was still his Faith, only guiltier.
Lady Faith Fowlmere. How had he not known? Okay, so he didn’t exactly study the social pages, but even he’d heard the story of the missing heiress, and the scandals she left behind. There must have been a clue, something that he’d missed. Probably because he was too busy being swayed by her curves and her enthusiasm for life.
