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suspect she wasn’t what she seemed, a black sheep member of the aristocracy, exiled in the anonymous city.
    And Tony Theopoulos, who had been pushed by some diabolical fate into her life, threatened the whole setup. If the past caught up with her, how was she going to protect him as well as herself? He already knew, or guessed, too much.
    She glanced toward the kitchen. What was keeping him? All she could hear was water running, followed by splashing sounds in the sink.
    Her eye fell on the yesterday’s newspaper, which had fallen off the table. She gathered up the scattered sheets, stopping short as she saw a photo displayed on the society page. It was Tony, a drink in his hand and a cool smile on his face. He stared back at her, his dark suit and white shirt making him stand out from the crowd behind him. “The prominent hotelier, Anthony Theopoulos, was one of the distinguished guests at Lady Cecelia’s charity ball last evening,” gushed the caption.
    All the more reason to get him out of her life, Sam thought with a sinking feeling in her stomach. He moved in the kind of society she’d avoided since coming to London. She knew Lady Cecelia. In fact, their families had known each other for years.
    She couldn’t see Tony again, risk being recognized by someone who would report back to Bennett. It might already be too late.
    “Well?”
    Samantha jumped. “You took long enough. What did you do, clean the whole kitchen?”
    “Why, were you timing me?” Picking up the newspaper, he frowned at the photo and dropped it without comment. He’d already read the story, which made him sound like a playboy, an image he wanted to downplay.
    He settled down in a chair opposite the sofa, letting his leg hang over the arm. “Who’s looking for you, Samantha? What are you so afraid of?”
    She opened her mouth, but Tony forestalled her reply. “I know. You can’t tell me.” He shifted restlessly. “Isn’t it time you told somebody?”
    She gave the idea serious consideration. He could see the wheels turning in her brain. But in the end she shook her head. “No, it’s better this way.”
    His foot hit the floor with a thump and he stood up. “Then I can’t help you either, can I? Good night, Samantha. It’s been, uh, interesting.” The door closed very softly behind him.
    Samantha sat for a long moment after the sound of Tony’s footsteps receded down the stairs.
    He wouldn’t be back.
    It was better that way, she reasoned. Safer for him. And for herself, as well.
    Forget Tony, she told herself firmly. He was too much like the men she’d always dated, successful and restless, always looking for the next woman, the next business deal. Her mistake with Bennett was too fresh in her mind.
    She couldn’t get involved with Tony, no matter how concerned he seemed about her situation.
    Her eye fell on the brochure. Nice, playground of Europe. Someone had found out that she was not in Nice, and used her connection to Smith Industries to trace her. But why pick London? Smith Industries also had offices in Geneva and Milan.
    Of course, they could have tried there. She had no way of knowing. Her spirits lifted slightly. The sender of the brochure with its implied threat wouldn’t know whether she’d received it, unless she panicked.
    It had to be a shot in the dark, impotent as long she kept to her normal routine. She would just have to be careful, make sure she guarded her anonymity even more closely.
    Her more immediate problem was Dubray. She was sure it had been Dubray in the elevator. Or someone who looked enough like him to be his double.
    There was one way to prove it. Pulling out the phone book, she looked up the number of the Regal Arms, dialing it swiftly. “Mr. Dubray’s room, please.”
    “One moment, please. I’ll look it up.” A short pause, then the pleasant voice was back. “I’m sorry, madam, you did say Dubray?”
    “Yes,” Sam said impatiently. “Robert Dubray.” Not that she had any idea what