He didn’t care in the least about the deal; Montfort wished it were done. Would she still see him, afterwards?

The feeling simply would not go away. It would not evaporate. He thought about Sophie constantly. She itched in the back of his mind. He didn’t think it was just another passing fancy; he wanted to take her out, to get to know her.

His need for hookers, for the urgent relief of sex, had dwindled lately. There were girls in Paris—skilled, well-off, discreet—but he had not felt tempted. His thoughts were on Sophie, which was insanity, of course; of all the women in the world, to fall for his target—

“Sir.”

Hugh looked behind him, startled. Mrs. Percy was running towards him, out of the hotel. He was immediately annoyed; no phone call could be that important. But he stood and waited for her as she stumbled towards him, trying to run in her heels.

“Yes?”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Mrs. Percy panted. “But it’s urgent. It’s Mr. Stockton, sir.”

“I’ll call him back, after lunch.” Sod Stockton; Hugh hadn’t liked his manners lately.

“But he’s not on the phone. He’s here. In your suite.”

“He flew to Paris?” Hugh asked. Stockton hadn’t said anything about that. What the hell was he playing at?

“Yes, sir, and he’s waiting for you. I’m awfully sorry, but he demanded I fetch you right away.” Mrs. Percy lowered her voice, as though Pete Stockton could hear them through double glazing and the roar of the traffic. “He watched you walk away, from your window; he can probably see us right now. I couldn’t put him off till after lunch, I’m terribly—”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Percy; you did the right thing.” Hugh nodded reassuringly at her. “Quite right to come and fetch me. Are you very out of breath?”

She leaned over, nodded, gasping; Hugh offered her his arm.

“We’ll walk back together,” he said. “No rush.”

“But Mr. Stockton—”

“He can wait,” Hugh said firmly.

Pete Stockton was indeed waiting in Hugh’s hotel suite when he got back. He was sitting in one of the chairs, his body uncomfortably squashed into its elegant lines; he made no attempt to get up as Montfort and his secretary entered the room.

“I just managed to catch him, sir,” Mrs. Percy said brightly. “Can I get you anything for your meeting? Some tea or coffee, or mineral water?”

“No. This is gonna be short.”

“Very good, sir; I’ll wait through here.”

Pete waved a fat hand at her. “Stay here, honey. This affects you too.”

Elizabeth Percy blinked; she didn’t like being called “honey,” unless it was by Jack, certainly not by a fat sleazeball like Pete Stockton who, rumour had it, was a world-class sexual harasser. And what could he possibly have to tell Hugh that would involve her?