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“That’s a horrible thing to say,” she muttered.
“It’s the truth.”
“Says you. Anyway, I have to go back,” she snapped, sipping her tea and then placing the cup down on the bench, loudly, and with a resounding thud. Tea slopped up the sides and landed in a pool beside the mug.
“Why? Why must you?” He demanded, moving closer, so that her pulse fired with hope and anticipation.
“Because I made a commitment to a friend and I have to honour it.”
“If this is about Arthur Pennington…”
She glared at him. “It’s not! And even if it were, that’s none of your business.”
“I think we have established that your life is very much my business. Even more so now.”
“What, we’ve had sex and so you get to control who I see and speak to?” She rolled her eyes, annoyed by the tremor of pleasure that his possessive command created in her. “No way.” She said the last demur for her own benefit as much as his.
“Who have you made this promise to?”
She frowned, bringing her attention back to the reason she wanted to return to London.
“Lady Margaret FitzHerbert.”
“Who?” Stavros demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
“She’s a friend,” Claudia said stiffly, omitting the fact that they’d met when Claudia had been sixteen and desperately looking for something to do that might take the focus off her academic failings. Margaret had introduced her to the society scene, and had brought her onto the boards of numerous charities.
Despite her inability to read or write particularly well, Claudia was a vocal member of meetings and made up for her failings in other ways. Like attracting the right crowd and the press.
“I owe her a lot,” Claudia tacked on. “And she needs me Friday night.”
“Why?” He prompted, his expression unyielding.
Claudia ground her teeth together. “Because I always do the opening welcome at this gala fundraising night and she hasn’t been able to replace me at late notice.”
“And I presume there will be press at this event?” He murmured silkily.
“Of course,” Claudia rolled her eyes. “That’s how we raise the profile of the event, to bring attention to the cause. We’ve had interviews in national papers this year.”
“What’s the charity?”
Claudia arched her brows skeptically. “Why?”
“I’m curious at the kind of causes you choose to support.”
She thought about not answering. About being churlish and lying. But her name was linked to the charity. A quick google search would give him the information he sought.
“We’re raising money for juvenile victims of land mines. Children. Children in Cambodia who’ve lost arms and legs because they went for a swim in the river on a hot day. Children in Kuwait who’ve been blinded because they picked up a landmine and tossed it, mistaking it for an innocuous chunk of metal. Children in Somalia who’ve lost their parents because they were trying to clear landmines on the route the kids take to school. So yeah, Stavros. This is important. I want to go. And not just because there’s going to be press and champagne. I want to go because it matters.”
The passion with which she spoke filled the room like a golden cloud, making it difficult for Stavros to say anything in response.
He stared at her for a piercing moment, mentally weighing each word of her speech before nodding decisively.
“Fine. We’ll go to London tomorrow.” He moved closer and pressed a thumb beneath her chin. “And I will be your date for the event.”
*
Even as he pulled his car into the sweeping drive of The Maychester on Park Lane, Claudia was still haunted by his parting words.
