Lyra’s words halted as a very uppercut accent hit. Andros turned her towards the man who owned it, and moved through the crowd until they were at the bar. Lord Ainsley sat on almost the very same stool Lyra had been sitting on when he’d first seen her, and Andros remembered suddenly how the other man had intended to chase Lyra himself. The thought annoyed him, made him aware all over again how desirable his mistress really was.
“Ainsley,” Andros said slowly. “I did not expect you to be here.”
“Wasn’t sure if you’d actually show,” the British man replied, before swiveling slightly, and fixing his eyes on Lyra. Andros felt her stiffen slightly next to him and pulled her a little closer—though in truth there wasn’t a whole lot of room between them left. “I knew you’d had the invite,” Carl added. “But you hardly ever attend these events, though I thought I’d try my luck.”
“You wished to see me?” Andros asked. “You have my personal number.” He’d given it to Carl when they’d closed their deal, and all had been moving along fine up until now. “Ricardo has been working on your project also.”
Carl nodded, waving a hand. “Yes, he’s great, very smart. But I hoped to see you, only not for business reasons. Mainwright is here; he was asking about our deal. I only found out this afternoon,” he added when Andros moved to speak. “You know he’d offered me the funding months ago but I have no interest in working with him. He’s got the bit in his teeth about whether you’re involved. I had no idea what to tell him—wasn’t sure about our disclosure agreements—but be aware he’ll find you before the night is out and he will ask.”
Andros shrugged. He was no fan of Walter Mainwright either. The man was seventy if he was a day, owned half of London, and did not like foreigners intruding on his turf. It would amuse Andros to let the older man stew a little before telling him exactly how the land lay.
“He is welcome to do so,” Andros said. “It will be my pleasure to ensure he has all the facts.”
Carl grinned. “Splendid, I shall leave it in your capable hands! Now are you going to introduce me to your lovely friend?”
Andros gritted his teeth as he made the introductions, his gut tightening as Carl took Lyra’s petite hand in his and smiled down at her. He made some sort of joke about redheads and Club Belmont, and Lyra laughed slightly, her grip on him relaxing.
“I shall forgive you for refusing my offer of a drink,” Carl teased as he finished the joke. “All those weeks ago.”
“I was waiting for someone,” Lyra replied.
Carl shot him an envious look. “Of course.”
Another set of acquaintances approached their group, and Andros was soon caught up in a conversation with a lord and his horse-faced wife. As he spoke, he was more than aware that Ainsley was regaling Lyra with more jokes, and some sort of story involving his family castle, and an overflowing moat. She laughed softly next to him, tilted her head in that way of hers, her red hair glinting in the light.
Andros turned slightly, and was unsurprised to see a group of men—many of them elderly—crowding around his mistress. Anger hit and he clenched his fists. Did they not realize she was his?
“Come,” he said, taking her hand. “Dinner is about to be served.”
Lyra extracted herself with a charming smile, but it did nothing to ease the ache in his gut, and that in itself annoyed Andros in a way he couldn’t understand. Yes, he was possessive and competitive by nature—had Lyra not used that to ensure her position in his life? But it seemed to Andros as he guided them to their table, that it was out of proportion to the situation. After the weeks they’d spent together, many of them out in public, he should have been used to the attention Lyra received. It should not bother him as much as it did…and yet…
Dinner passed quickly and was followed by speeches from the Club chairman and his assistant. Andros only half listened to it all. He kept his gaze on Lyra, alternating between the ridiculous possessiveness he felt, and a hard on that was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. By the time everything was wrapped up and people drifted towards the bar Andros was ready to leave.
“I need to use the ladies’,” Lyra said, as they left their table.
“Be quick,” he grated.
She paused and titled her head, before grinning. “Of course, lover.” Then she leaned up, so that her mouth was a mere inch from his ear, and whispered, “The heels you mentioned? I’m going to fuck you in them. Them and nothing else.”