An Affair So Right (Rebel Hearts #4)(22)

“My best for a memorable opening night.”

“I had not thought you the type to enjoy the theater.” Theodora bit her lip. A good employee would probably not remark on his habits or likes. A male employee certainly would not. She jotted down the note quickly, warmth rising up her cheeks once more. But, as she glanced at Lord Maitland’s bouncing knee again, noted the theater would require Maitland to sit still for extended periods of time. He was sure to have a box, or access to one. That habit of bouncing his leg must be very distracting for his guests, as it was again for her now.

She stretched her hand toward his knee, but changed her mind at the last second before she touched him. Thankfully, he stopped moving on his own. “Have you been a patron of the theater for long?”

“Of a fashion.” He stretched his legs out suddenly, crossing them at the ankles beneath the table. In that pose, he became very still at last. She bit her lip, unusually distracted without cause. Inappropriate remembrances of being in his arms brought heat to her cheeks and a pleasant hum to her body at the possibilities to be found in his bedchamber.

He had someone else in his life, she reminded herself; a mistress. A possessive type of woman. In her experience, jealousy only had reason to stir when a highly emotional being felt threatened by a romantic rival outside her sphere of influence.

She wrenched her attention back to his face. “Is your mistress an actress?” she blurted out.

Lord Maitland regarded her steadily, neither confirming nor denying. “Send the goose and note after four o’clock, Dalton.”

His use of her last name alone was confirmation enough she had made a correct assumption—and had overstepped, too. Formality placed barriers between people as surely as a wall had been built. As much as his secrecy disappointed her, she couldn’t force him to speak to her about personal matters or relationships. She wasn’t any woman’s rival. She’d already lost that particular battle. “Yes, my lord.”

She quickly wrote and then passed the paper to her employer to sign. He took the pen from her, scrawled a wild signature, and then slid it back across the table.

“I had accepted an invitation for tomorrow night,” he told her with a wry smile. “I will need to send my apologies.”

She checked his sparkly filled appointment book. “You were to dine with Lord Deacon tomorrow in Town.”

He nodded. “Deacon is a good friend. Please say the ‘usual delay’ prevents my attendance.”

She frowned. “What is the usual delay?”

“My father. Lord Deacon will understand the reference without needing additional explanation.” He took a slow breath, grimacing as he rubbed his thigh. “I will be dining at Newberry House instead with my parents. Eight o’clock until whenever the hell I can escape,” he growled.

Startled by his angry tone, Theodora made a mental note never to mention Lord Maitland’s parents if she could possibly avoid it. “And the other invitations?”

“Give them my apologies and best wishes for a pleasant evening as you decline them.”

“Very good. I’ll prepare replies directly.” She quickly scratched out the necessary letters for his signature and passed them over, surprised to find he would wait for her to write every single one. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

He began signing. “Layton would have waited till I was gone before he even started.”

She smiled quickly, bearing through yet another reference to her much-mentioned predecessor with as much forbearance as she possessed. “I don’t like to waste time, and the hostesses will appreciate a speedy response so they can make their arrangements final.”

“I see your point.” He finished signing with a flourish and slid them all back. “What is your experience at arranging dinners?”

“I have always enjoyed it. We hosted some fabulously invigorating debates at my father’s table when we lived in India. His circle of acquaintances in London was smaller, but always well attended and enjoyed.”

“Good. Make arrangements for a dinner for twelve for Tuesday evening in two weeks’ time. The housekeeper will help you. I will write you a list of my closest acquaintances to invite and leave it on your desk upstairs.”

“How many courses?”

“Eight.”

“Is the dinner for any particular purpose?”

Lord Maitland’s brow furrowed but he did not answer. “Just get it done.”

Although curious about his silence, she brought his appointment book closer and flipped it open. Lord Maitland tapped a finger to the specific date, where a single star had already been drawn. He said no more about it, but his tension was palpable. If the date was important to him, why would he not say what the entertainment was in honor of?

She made a note about the dinner, relaxing at the realization she would keep her employment until at least that date. “I can have the housekeeper draw up three menus for you to choose from.”

“Thank you.” He stared at her. “Desserts must be served for the first course.”

“But the dessert course should come later.”

“Not for this dinner.”

Now she really was intrigued, but his expression suggested he wouldn’t explain any of it. “Was there anything else, my lord?”

“No. But you puzzle me, Miss Dalton.” He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his jaw. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone so entirely calm after a tragedy as you appear to be. When we suddenly lost a member of my family, my mother and sisters, even my younger brothers, were distraught for weeks and months. Work really does the trick for you?”