“You don’t want him. He can’t have you. You’re mine. You’re meant to be mine. If he touches you, I’ll—” Milan’s eyes were like pure blue fire.
“What? What will you do? Trash what’s left of your career? How would that help, exactly?”
“Stay away from him.”
“Is everything all right, Lydia?”
Karl-Heinz, down from his platform, called to Lydia from a few feet away. She stood up, grabbing her case with determination.
“Yes, it’s fine,” she said. “You were going to buy me coffee, I think?”
“Yes. Are you ready?”
“Absolutely.”
With a final, furious glare at Milan, Lydia left the room with von Ritter. A string of incomprehensible Czech words followed at their heels.
“He seems a little hot under the collar,” murmured von Ritter as they crossed the hall.
“He’s a jealous twat,” said Lydia. “Doesn’t want me, but doesn’t want anyone else to have me, either.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Cross.”
And something else too. Defiant. Determined to do the opposite of what Milan wanted. He had changed her mind for her. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of spending the next few months moping around in solitary depression. She was going to bloody well enjoy herself and rub his nose in it.
“Shall we take tea at my hotel?” Von Ritter took her arm once they were out on the pavement. “It’s quite close to here.”
“Don’t you have your own place?”
“Not yet. So, how are you today?”
Lydia’s stomach flipped. That was a loaded question, if ever she’d heard one.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said delicately. “That was a very bracing rehearsal.”
Von Ritter laughed. “Bracing? Does that mean hard work?”
“Yes, I think it does.”
“I always make sure my orchestras know how high my expectations are, right from the start.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“And the same for my lovers.”
That flip of the stomach again. Oh, God. Was she really going to do this? He seemed so very exacting and imperious.
“I see.”
They arrived at one of the more fashionable boutique hotels in Mayfair and made for its cafe. Once petits fours and tea were on the table, von Ritter leant back in his chair and gave Lydia a long look of appraisal.
She wasn’t quite able to return it.
“You’re overthinking things, aren’t you?” he said softly.
“No,” she said, meeting his gaze now. “I don’t think so.”