The Duke's Affair

IV

It was barely six in the evening as they walked down Davies Street. Or rather Henry walked and Lauren struggled to match his stride in her impractical heels. If she had her way she would always wear flats; in fact she normally wore trainers or pumps with jeans, but there were certain situations that required heels, and this was one of them.

A doorman in a black top hat and tailcoat, edged in gold fabric, smiled and pushed open the door for them. Lauren's heels tic-tacked on the black and white marble tiles of the entrance; she was so preoccupied with keeping them on her feet and standing as straight and tall as possible, that the way the staff inclined their heads in subtle bows as Henry marched through the lobby almost escaped her notice.

Henry stilled and waited for Lauren to catch him up, pulling out a high red leather chair for her by the curved bar. He sat down beside her and leaned across to talk to the bartender; a young french man in his early twenties.

"Lauren, this Pierre," he said, before ordering two gin and tonics.

Lauren leant over the bar herself. "Pierre," she said. She noticed Henry turn to stare at her but she ignored him, focussing instead on the bartender, informing him that in fact she didn't want a gin and tonic at all, but would prefer a Kir Royale.

"You didn't ask what I wanted," she said, turning to face a bemused Henry. "I don't like gin," she explained.

Henry's lips twitched into a downward arc, before resuming their original line. "My apologies."

There was a warmth to the noise in the bar, as though the gentle sound of people enjoying themselves was cushioned in velvet. Glancing about the room Lauren noticed two attractive young women, a little older than she was, seated at a corner table. They had not stopped watching them since they entered the bar. Correction: watching Henry.

"So, shall we discuss business?" His voice distracted her and her eyes flitted back to his face, lingering only for a moment before the penetrating stare of his green eyes set her skin aflame.

The idea of discussing anything at all with Henry made her uneasy. She began to doubt her motivation in applying for the job in the first place. She had wanted to prove a point; to show him how capable she was, but he had barely given her the chance in the interview. He had chosen her for some peculiar reason of his own, which she could not even begin to fathom, and in so doing had taken all the power, all the control, from her moment of glory.

"I will provide accommodation for you, both here in London and in Brecktonshire."

"In your house?"

He tipped his head to one side. "Effectively. It means your living costs are minimal, which I should imagine equates to a fair increase in disposable income, given that you will no longer have to pay rent."

Lauren nodded. It would make a huge difference to her.

"And you know what the salary is?"

"I saw it in the advert. Thirty thousand upwards, dependent on experience."

She noticed him flinch as she enunciated the actual sum she was to be paid, and had an acute sensation of having committed an unforgiveable solecism.

"And given that you have no experience -"

"I do have experience. I told you, I was an office manager. I ran an office for nine months."

"Of how many employees?"

Lauren felt her stomach sink, and she couldn't prevent her eyes flickering nervously over his head. "I don't see what difference that makes."

He twisted his signet ring around his finger. "Do you know how many people I employ?"