Page 22 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

She thought of Phillip, who certainly fit the bill when it came to potential concerns. Then, inexplicably, she thought of Roz.

“I’ve had trouble with one or two men who thought they had some claim to me. But I can’t see them doing anything to you. At best, their jealousy will work in our favour, fanning the flames of our rumoured relationship. Jealous men tend to lash out at the woman, not the other man.”

As for Roz, Deepa hardly knew her. It must be a common thing for her to watch her dates go flitting about between different men. She might not enjoy the sight, but she must be accustomed to it, surely. When Deepa next saw her, she would explain the Appleton affair and ease Roz’s mind. It couldn’t be pleasant, watching the object of one’s affection throw herselfinto the arms of another, making a public spectacle of their new relationship. Deepa had never before bothered sparing anyone’s feelings when she moved on to greener pastures, but Roz deserved better. Especially if they were supposed to be falling in love.

“Are you open to meeting any of my friends during these events?”

Appleton eyed her with only a small amount of suspicion. “If they help improve my image, then yes, I suppose. Although I would prefer the truth of our arrangement to remain between the two of us.”

“There will be very few people in my inner circle who’ll believe that I’m looking to settle down with any man,” Deepa cautioned.

“I don't care if people believe you’re using me for my money,” Appleton said flatly. “I only need them to believe that you’re in my bed.” Abruptly, he looked away. He didn’t blush, but he had clearly reached the limit of his comfort zone.

“That won't be a problem. I can guarantee that talk of your sexual prowess will reach the ears of the king himself.”

He glanced back at her, looking halfway amused and slightly annoyed. “I don't believe the king has any idea I exist, never mind is concerning himself with rumours of my bachelorhood.”

“The Prime Minister, then,” Deepa said carelessly. “The point is, I can make things known to whomever you need, whether they’re politicians, socialites, or your own family. Getting people to talk about me is a gift.”

Nodding, he surveyed the bar to ensure that all the partygoers in the vicinity were otherwise occupied, before withdrawing his billfold and sliding a crisp fiver towards her. “For the guarantee of a future job well done.”

With a brilliantly sharp-toothed smile, she tucked it away in a secret pocket — another of Elizabeth’s additions to an alreadysplendid dress — and settled in to enjoy her drink. Once again, Eden had proved exceptionally fruitful.

CHAPTER NINE

A DRESSING ROOM LIASON AND AN INVITATION UPSTAIRS

It came as no surprise when Phillip reappeared in London. Deepa had guessed he would resurface eventually, if not for his social ties to the city, then to check up on her and revel in his curse-making. Thus, she could hardly be shocked when he walked through The Songbird’s front doors that night, with his shoulders squared and his chin up, hands in his pockets as he swaggered across the floor to plant himself directly in front of her stage. He wore the smuggest smile ever to besmirch a man’s face, silently gloating as she finished her piece.

She had dealt with worse distractions, so she didn’t miss a note, though an awful wave of rage built inside her like pressurised magma. As soon as the last lyric left her lips, the pressure burst with the force of a volcano. Dropping off the stage, she took two steps across the floor to meet him where he stood, pulled back her arm, and cracked him across the face with such force that it could be heard even over the lingering music from the band. His head snapped to the side under herhand, a shocked sound falling out of him. But as soon as he righted himself, straightening the lines of his jacket, his smile was back in place, and any satisfaction she got from the slap was immediately turned back into seething rage.

“I see you're taking things in stride,” he said. “Though I'm surprised to see you still working. I wouldn't have thought you’d risk being out in public.”

“I’m better suited for public life than you, whatever my form,” she snapped. “How dare you.”

“Tell me, what did it end up being?” He was too obviously enjoying himself, even with the bright red imprint of her hand on his cheek. “I didn’t dictate that part of the curse, you know. One of those simpering monkeys always pestering people for treats? Some sort of silly exotic bird? A snake would be fitting. Or, even better: a cow.”

“You didn’t even know what your curse was going to do,” she began, her anger building into something bright and incandescent.

“Excuse me,” a young man interrupted nervously. Jonathan Bassenwood, a floppy-haired brunet and Deepa’s most ardent admirer, stepped up from his table where he’d been watching her show. “Excuse me, sir, but you seem to be upsetting the lady.”

“I should hope so,” Phillip retorted. “Stay out of it, chap.”

Jonathan glanced at Deepa, who, biting her tongue, shut her eyes and pulled in a deep breath, trying to regain control. Were she a leopard in that moment, she might have torn out Phillip’s throat. When she opened her eyes again, fixing him with a knife-like glare, that urge must have translated, because he finally took a step back.

“It’s alright, Jonathan,” she said evenly. “Mr. Etonborough was just about to leave the premises.”

“You don’t own the club,” he began with a sneer.

“You think I can’t get an unpleasant patron tossed to the curb like a common drunkard?”

As if on cue, The Songbird’s manager came bustling over with a frown on his face and Cherie, looking pleased and vindictive, nipping at his heels like an enthusiastic sheepdog, herding him towards the problem.

“Mr. Etonborough, I must ask you to step outside,” the manager said. “I can't have you upsetting the talent.”

“I’m a long-term patron of this establishment,” Phillip snapped.

“Yes, and a valued one, but not theonlyone,” the manager blustered. “If you're going to be harassing my girls—”

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