by Olivia Drake
It wouldn’t work on her.
A woman of her station had to be practical in matters of the heart. In fact, Lord Rowley had done her a favor. He had made her realize that it would be best to choose a dull, unremarkable man as her lover. Such a fellow would appreciate her and not use his dimples to cajole her into doing his bidding.
She intended to be the one in charge. Not a strutting cock with a flashy smile and fascinating green eyes.
With that resolve firmly in mind, Maddy took the stack of bids and headed back toward the short flight of steps to the stage. She’d go to her dressing room, remove this irksome disguise, and then return to her boardinghouse for the night. She could scarcely wait to sit down and peruse all the offers in private.
Several promising prospects came to mind. The Marquess of Herrington, in particular. He was a placid scholar and likely would spend most of his time with his nose in a book. So long as he provided her with the funds she needed, he would be one of her prime choices.
Ascending to the stage, Maddy tried to conjure Lord Herrington’s image in her mind. But his nondescript features remained hazy. Did he have black hair or chocolate brown? A square jaw or rounded? Thin brows or bushy ones?
No matter. It would be dark in their bedchamber. When they cuddled together beneath the covers, she wouldn’t be able to tell if he had plain brown eyes or brilliant green with gold flecks.
She wouldn’t care, either, and that was that. She’d had enough drama to last a lifetime. Instead of learning her lines and participating in endless rehearsals, she would enjoy being pampered by a malleable man like Lord Herrington. He might not have dimples—she was certain of that—but he would provide her with the means to secure her future. Then, once she’d served as his mistress for a year’s time, they’d part ways and she would be free to become an independent entrepreneur.
Satisfied with the plan, Maddy walked across the stage and headed toward the door that led backstage. The heels of the garnet slippers tap-tapped on the floorboards. How quiet and gloomy it was here, in stark contrast to most nights when the place teemed with activity.
She paused a moment to breathe deeply of the smells of wooden sets and musty paint, and to say a silent good-bye. She would miss this theater, the only real home she’d known since traveling all over England with Mama and Papa in a small troupe of actors. Yet it was time to go. Already the place felt like a part of her past, something to be remembered with fond nostalgia.
All of a sudden, a faint noise in the wings startled her. The small scrape sounded like a footstep.
Maddy called out, “Gertie? Is that you?”
No one answered. Nor should anyone. By now, the maid would be far away down the corridor, packing Maddy’s belongings in the dressing room. The sound was likely a mouse, scrabbling for a crumb dropped by one of the crew members.
Then, as Maddy walked past the red curtains, something moved in the corner of her eye. She turned sharply. A few feet away, a black shadow shifted in the deep darkness of the wings.
The tall, hulking figure of a man.
He lunged at Maddy.
Her heart catapulted into her throat. Dropping the bids, she threw up her hands in self-defense and sucked in a breath. Even as she uttered a strangled yelp, she felt the wig being plucked from her head. Her blond hair sprang free and spilled down her back.
Frantic, she beat at her attacker’s chest with her fists. It was like hammering a brick wall. He clamped his hands onto her shoulders and pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. A deep chuckle emanated from the darkness. “Calm down, Miss Swann. I mean you no harm.”
That voice. It sounded familiar …
“Let me go,” she snapped.
Her attacker complied at once. He stepped out of the gloom of the curtains. The dim gaslight fell upon his face, illuminating the dimples on either side of his mouth.
Viscount Rowley smirked at her. “It’s just as I thought. You are Miss Swann.”
Stunned, Maddy could only gawk. He had gone out into the lobby. She’d seen him walk away. How had he stolen into the wings without her knowledge? He must have come through the service door hidden behind a column by the ticket booth.
How had he known it was there?
He bent down and picked up the horsehair wig from the floorboards, twirling it in his hand. “A clever disguise,” he said. “But your blue eyes gave you away. They’re far too bright and youthful. Once I noticed that, it was easy to spot the rest—the smooth hands, the lack of a double chin, the areas that ought to sag but don’t.”
With rakish boldness, he glanced down at her bosom. Her breasts tingled in response, and a hot flush spread beneath the putty wrinkles on her face. How was it that he could make her feel breathless with just one look?
Maddy despised his effect on her. She despised him for his arrogance in unmasking her. She felt naked without the wig. Exposed to his ridicule. She’d been right to suspect he had seen through the disguise. Right to think him conceited and superior. That wasn’t an amiable smile on his face.
It was a grin of triumph.
Lord Rowley was pleased with himself. He was enjoying her embarrassment. He believed he’d bested her.
A tide of fury boiled up in Maddy. She snatched the wig from his hand. With all her might, she swung the hairpiece like a club to smack the grin off his face. “Scoundrel! Devilish trickster! How dare you sneak in here and frighten me half to death!”
He backed up a step and clapped his hand over his reddened cheek. “Pray forgive me, Miss Swann. However, I must object to being labeled a trickster when it was you who tricked me—and all those other fellows. We were the victims of your ruse.”
“Victim? You’re a filthy, pig-headed jackanapes, that’s what. A nasty, arrogant clodpate!”
“I’ve never before been cursed by a Shakespearean actress. I must compliment you on your phraseology.”
Humor still played at the corners of his mouth. He found her tirade amusing. Amusing!
Infuriated, she beat him about the shoulders and neck with the curled gray wig. “Don’t you mock me, you horrid coxcomb!” Whack! “You thought you were so clever, pretending to be gentlemanly, assisting the old crone down the stairs.” Whack, whack! “As if I’d ever choose a vile, despicable scapegrace like you.” Whack, whack, whack!
At that point, the wig broke apart into pieces, which she flung at his chest. He brushed a few horsehair curls off his coat, and then with an earnest look, he flattened his hand over his heart. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t know about the disguise when I first came to your aid. It was only as I was helping you descend that I observed certain … anomalies.”
“Stop trying to bamboozle me! I’d sooner believe a forger handing me a fistful of banknotes.” She fixed him with a scathing glare. “Speaking of bamboozling, why were you talking to my maid at the back of the theater? What were you saying to her?”
Lord Rowley arched an eyebrow. “I’m not at liberty to reveal a private conversation.”
His caginess only fed Maddy’s anger. He was grinning at her again, the deep indentations that bracketed his mouth making him revoltingly handsome. “Devious rascal! You’re naught but a strutting cock, showing your dimples and flashing your pretty smile to charm every woman you meet!”
“Have you been gazing at my lips, Miss Swann? They can be yours to enjoy if you so desire.”
“I’d rather kiss a slimy toad.”
As Maddy glanced about the shadowy stage for something to throw at him, her eyes widened. The bids! They were scattered over the floor. She had forgotten all about them.
“Blast it!” she muttered.
She crouched down and grabbed about half of the folded papers, but the others lay beyond her reach. Hampered by the stout padding around her waist and her voluminous black skirt, she struggled to crawl on hands and knees to collect the rest.
The last one had an H embossed in the red seal. That must be Lord Herrington’s bid. The one that interested h
er the most. He was a dull sort who would cause her no trouble.
As she stretched out her fingers, Lord Rowley brought his shoe down onto the paper to anchor it in place. “You won’t be needing that,” he said.
“I beg your pardon,” she said heatedly, tugging in vain at the folded paper. “Move aside, you rotten varlet!”
“Only if you promise to consider my offer, too.”
She angled a glare up at him, resenting the way he towered over her. “I’ve no intention of indulging a shameless cheater. You had your chance to give me a bid and you squandered it. The auction is now officially closed.”
“It isn’t over until you make your selection. And I’ll wager you won’t want any of those others once you have a look at mine.”
“Well, I won’t read your offer, so we’ll never know, will we? Now, move your blasted foot.”
When his polished black shoe remained firmly in place, Maddy yanked so hard on Lord Herrington’s proposal that it ripped. To make matters worse, she lost her balance and tumbled backward, landing on her bottom with her legs akimbo and a ragged half of paper clutched in her fingers. The surprise of it knocked the breath out of her.
At once, Lord Rowley bent over her. “Are you all right, Miss Swann?”
His concerned question was marred by the suggestion of a grin at the corners of his mouth. He was so close she could see the individual black lashes around those intense green eyes. A flush spread from her core and up into her face. A flush that could only be anger—she wouldn’t allow it to be anything else. “I’m perfectly fine, no thanks to you.” Maddy waved the torn piece at him. “And look what you’ve done, you worthless dolt!”
The viscount made no apology for the damage he’d caused. As she struggled to right herself, the precious bids clutched to her bosom, he took hold of her arm and easily hauled her to her feet. “I daresay that roll of stuffing around your middle protected you from harm.”
His reference to the disguise set her teeth on edge. It was as if he were deliberately trying to needle her, which made no sense if he hoped to procure her as his mistress.
Before she could formulate a suitable retort, he leaned closer and scrutinized her face. “Perchance, are you feeling overheated?”
“Certainly not!” The last thing she wanted was for him to presume she was burning with lust. “Why would you ask?”
“The mole on your chin appears to be melting—along with the rest of your face.”
With a small gasp, Maddy lifted her hand and touched the makeshift wart. The pads of her fingers came away gummy with flesh-colored putty. She tentatively explored her cheeks to find the same gooey mess. Dear heavens, she must look a fright.
Her gaze flashed to Lord Rowley. Naturally, the sewer rat appeared to be enjoying her plight, judging by the gleam in his eyes.
“At least now I’m getting a glimpse of the real Madelyn Swann,” he said. “It would be helpful if you were to remove the rest of the disguise, as well.”
“With great pleasure.”
Maddy scraped a sticky wad off her chin and flung it at him. He glanced down at the damage. The blob left a whitish trail down the front of his tailored, charcoal-gray coat.
Her action had a startling effect on him. For the first time, that rakish smile vanished and a thunderous expression darkened his face. His lips compressed into a thin line and his jaw hardened.
He looked fit to kill.
Alarm buried her anger. She’d gone too far this time. He was a powerfully built man and she was alone with him. Alone in this deserted theater where he could do with her as he willed.
Nevertheless, she lifted her chin and ordered, “Leave here at once, my lord. The auction is over, and I’ve nothing more to say to you.”
Clutching the bids in one hand, Maddy headed for the door at the back of the stage, struggling against the impulse to run for her life. She turned the knob with sticky fingers and went into the narrow corridor that led to the dressing rooms. A single lantern cast a dim, cheerless light over the old theater posters tacked to the dingy walls.
Where was Gertie? Surely the maid hadn’t gone home. Surely she must be waiting in the dressing room. Unless by some charming ploy he had convinced the woman to vacate the premises …
The heavy tread of footsteps sounded behind Maddy. Her heart jerked against her tight corset. A glance back revealed Lord Rowley’s dark, broad-shouldered form coming through the doorway in pursuit of her.
“Don’t you dare follow me,” she snapped over her shoulder. “You aren’t permitted backstage. Now get out!”
He made no response, only continued to pace after her. She swallowed a glut of fear. He was a far more formidable opponent than Lord Dunham. She had caught her cousin off guard the previous evening by striking him with the bouquet of roses. But she’d already used the element of surprise on Lord Rowley, and she had an uneasy suspicion he would not be fooled again.
Maddy quickened her steps. So did he. It occurred to her that he could have easily caught her by now, but he kept a circumspect distance. Perhaps he was toying with her. Like a lion with his prey in sight.
He must believe he had her cornered. She prayed he did not.
A welcome wedge of light spilled from her dressing room. She rushed into the small chamber and slammed the door shut. To her immense relief, Gertie was kneeling before the trunk, folding items to be packed.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Maddy uttered fervently. She tossed the bids onto her dressing table and then grabbed the single wooden chair.
“Be there somethin’ wrong, dearie?” The maidservant frowned as she pushed to her feet. “Why, ye look a fright. What happened t’ yer wig?”
“Never mind. It’s Lord Rowley—he’s coming, and he’s very angry. I must bar him from entering!”
Maddy wedged the back of the chair under the door handle. Just in time.
A hard rapping sounded. “Miss Swann, let me in. I’ve something to give to you.”
“Go away!” she called, glowering at the wooden panel. “I won’t read your proposal. As I told you, it’s too late. The auction is closed.”
Gertie came to stand beside her. She gave Maddy a keen stare. “Ye ain’t heard his lordship’s offer yet?”
“No.” Feeling safer now in company, Maddy resorted to her earlier anger, speaking loudly enough so that he would hear out in the corridor. “He’s a conceited, self-satisfied churl and I want nothing to do with him!”
Much to Maddy’s shock, Gertie walked forward and moved the chair out of the way. She opened the door and bobbed a curtsy to Lord Rowley. “Beggin’ yer pardon, milord. Miss Swann will indeed talk t’ ye. ’Tis only polite since ye took the time t’ write up a bid.”
The maid gave Maddy a chiding look, the same one she’d used when Maddy was a child and had sneaked an extra sweet.
Dumbfounded, Maddy felt as if the world had shifted on its axis. Why would Gertie take his side? Lord Rowley might be handsome—insufferably so—but how had he charmed the no-nonsense maidservant in one brief conversation at the back of the theater?
His wide shoulders and overwhelming presence filled the doorway. He had to duck his head slightly while stepping into the dressing room. The smear of putty on his lapel looked like a badge of dishonor.
As he glanced at Gertie, a silent message passed between them.
“I’ll wait right outside,” the maid declared, taking the chair with her. “Holler if ye need me, miss.”
“Don’t go—” Maddy objected.
But the door was already closing behind the woman. Once again, she was alone with Lord Rowley.
Chapter 6
The viscount strolled around the little dressing room. With great interest, he eyed the costumes that hung from hooks on the wall, the piles of folded accessories in the trunk, the chipped china pitcher on the washstand, the collection of cosmetics on the dressing table.
Maddy clenched her teeth and watched him scrutinize her private space. His presence seemed to su
ck the very air out of the room—that had to be why she found it difficult to draw breath into her lungs. She ought to make a dash for the door while his back was turned.
Yet curiosity rooted her in place. How had he managed to hoodwink Gertie into cooperating in his scheme? What exactly had he said to the maid?
Grabbing a rag, Maddy used it to wipe her sticky fingers. “You had no right to follow me,” she snapped. “You aren’t wanted here.”
He fixed his keen gaze on her. “I followed you because I have something that belongs to you.”
“If you’re referring to your bid,” she said, rubbing furiously at a spot on her thumb, “I’ve already said I won’t take it.”
“Then perhaps you’ll take this.”
A provocative smile playing on his lips, he held out the ripped half of Lord Herrington’s offer. The one that had been stuck under his shoe. The one she had totally forgotten about.
She snatched it from him. “If you think to soften me, you’re sadly mistaken. That phony charm won’t work on me as it did on Gertie. So you may as well save your breath.”
Maddy marched to the dressing table and added the ripped piece to the other bids. Too bad she lacked the bodily strength to evict Lord Rowley. Well, she would simply ignore him. She’d pretend he wasn’t even there. Eventually he would be forced to depart in frustration.
Seating herself on the stool, she pinned up her messy blond locks, securing them in a loose bun on top of her head. Then she dipped a corner of the rag into a pot of linseed oil, using it to scrub the makeup from her face. The task of removing the wrinkles kept her busy for several long minutes. All the while, she sensed Lord Rowley’s nearness like an impending calamity.
From this angle, she couldn’t see him in the oval mirror. Yet the fine hairs prickled at the nape of her neck. What was he doing? What if he was a madman? What if he drew a knife and murdered her?
Maybe then Gertie would be sorry for deserting her!
