Dare to Love

by Jennifer Wilde

  “You ’aven’t—haven’t said anything about the roses,” she remarked. “A boy brought them a couple of hours ago. Cheeky lad, thought he could get fresh. I put ’im in ’is place quick enough.”

  The roses stood on the bureau in a tall white basket. They were a vivid red, gorgeous, and there must have been at least three dozen of them. I knew who had sent them without even glancing at the small white card nestling amidst the stems. Mr. George Dorrance had sent me roses every single day since I began rehearsals at the theater. He had asked me to dine with him on three different occasions. I had refused each time. Dorrance felt obligated to sleep with all the attractive female guest artists who performed with his company. As he was rich and important and very attractive, his success was generally a foregone conclusion. Elena Lopez presented quite a challenge.

  “They’re lovely,” I said, unimpressed.

  “He doesn’t give up, does he?”

  “Not easily.”

  “He’s been most attentive.”

  “Most,” I said.

  When Millie finished with my hair, it was lovely, all sleeked back, long curls dangling, the Elena Lopez style that a few of the women who had encountered me here at the theater were already beginning to imitate. I touched up my makeup as Millie took down my dress, a street dress that happened to be silk, maroon and black stripes, very thin. It was sumptuous, as were all the outfits Anthony had purchased. Elena Lopez had a fabulous wardrobe. The gowns all had a certain style, too, a look created for the seductive Spanish dancer, current fashions be damned.

  I slipped into the dress, and Millie had just finished buttoning me up in back when someone knocked on the door. I frowned. I guessed who it would be. Anthony never knocked, he just barged right in. Millie had a good idea who it would be, too. We exchanged looks, and she stepped to the door and opened it. Dorrance strolled in, smiling. The dressing room was quite large, but he was so big that his presence made it seem much smaller.

  “And how did the rehearsal go?” he inquired.

  “Eet went very nice-ly,” I replied.

  “I see you got my roses.”

  I nodded. He smiled. Dorrance was in his late thirties, a tall, heavily built man, a large man who carried his size with ease. He had dark, wavy hair and deep brown eyes that were much too sincere. The drooping lids and the wide, full lips betrayed a highly sensual nature. He was much too aware of his good looks, and I found his manner heavy-handed, calculating. Dorrance saw himself as a great womanizer, which indeed he was. His easy success with women had given him a confidence I found most unappealing. I was neither overwhelmed nor flattered by his interest in me, merely bored. It was difficult not to show it.

  “Everything is satisfactory?” he asked.

  “Veree.”

  “Duke’s been treating you all right?”

  I nodded again, wishing he would leave.

  “We’re very honored to have you with us,” he continued. “To show my appreciation, I’d very much like to take you out to dinner tonight.”

  “I am veree tired,” I said.

  “It would do you good, you know. You need to relax, unwind a bit before the big night. I could show you a very good time, Miss Lopez, a very good time indeed.”

  “I’m sorree.”

  He smiled. “I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer. I’m going to be at your hotel tonight at eight. I’ve a feeling you’ll change your mind. If not—well, I’ll simply dine alone, with deep disappointment. Until tonight, Elena.”

  He took my hand and, turning it palm upward, lifted it to kiss, Continental style, his lips pressing against the two small mounds of flesh. He held it a little too long, and it was all I could do not to pull my hand away. Still holding my hand, he gave me a heavy, seductive look with lids drooping and squeezed my hand hard. I was supposed to breathe deeply and melt with longing, but I did neither. Releasing my hand he nodded and left. Millie made a clucking sound and shook her head.

  “He thinks you’re in the bag, luv.”

  “I know. He’s wrong.”

  “He is terribly good-looking—charming, too.”

  “Too good-looking, too charming.”

  “What are you going to do when he arrives at the ’o—hotel?”

  “I’m going to be indisposed.”

  Slipping on my black lace gloves, I turned as the door opened and Anthony stepped in. He had put on his jacket and waistcoat now, tied a brown silk neckcloth at his throat. Ignoring him, I asked Millie to go see if our carriage was ready. She left, giving Anthony an impudent look as she moved past him. They didn’t get on well together. He resented having to pay her a salary, and she resented his cavalier attitude toward me. Millie was nothing if not fiercely loyal.

  “That girl’s altogether too uppity,” he said.

  “I’m sorry you think so.”

  “You feeling better?”

  “I’m fine,” I said coldly.

  “Still a bit frosty, I see.”

  He glanced at the roses.

  “Dorrance still in hot pursuit? I saw him leaving the dressing room a minute ago. Looked very pleased with himself. You finally agree to go out with him? I assume he asked.”

  “He asked me to dine with him tonight, yes.”

  “Might not be a bad idea, luv. Good publicity value. Dorrance has quite a reputation with the women, and the papers would leap on it immediately. We’d get some nice coverage.”

  “That’s all you can think of, isn’t it?”

  “Every time your name’s mentioned in the papers, it’s more tickets sold, more money in the bank. Besides, you need to get out of that hotel room. It would take your mind off tomorrow night.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure it would. Uh … I’d take you out myself, but I’ve got a very important engagement. Go out with him, let him feed you oysters and champagne. Have a good time. Can’t do any harm.”

  “I doubt his intentions are honorable.”

  “I know damn well they’re not, but you can handle yourself, and I feel sure you can handle George Dorrance, too. Poor man lays a finger on you, he’ll get instant frostbite.”

  “He’s very attractive.”

  “You’re much too bright to be taken in by that heavy-handed seductiveness. I’m not a bit worried.”

  Would he worry if he thought I was attracted to Dorrance, if he thought there was a possibility I might succumb to the man’s advances? I wondered. Anthony stepped over to the mirror to adjust his ascot. Satisfied, he moved toward the door. I looked spectacular in the black-and-maroon-striped silk, and he hadn’t even noticed, had hardly glanced at me.

  “I just thought I’d pop in and see if you were all right. That little temper tantrum of yours had me worried.”

  “Good.”

  Anthony grinned. “You really were quite spectacular out there, stamping your foot, storming around with your eyes ablaze. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the papers didn’t hear about your outburst. It might be worth a column. Temperament’s always colorful.”

  He sauntered out, leaving the door wide open, and Millie appeared a moment later to inform me that the carriage was waiting. My mood was black as we left the theater, and the joggling, uncomfortable carriage ride didn’t help. People stared as Millie and I got out in front of the hotel, and others stared as we moved through the lobby and up the grand staircase. It was difficult for me to realize that I was already a celebrated figure in London, easily recognizable thanks to the Elena Lopez “look” we had worked so hard to achieve.

  Millie went on to her room, and I entered the expensive suite that was so very beautiful, so cold and unwelcoming. Even though I had scattered my books and personal belongings about, it felt impermanent. Every night I sat here, alone, like a prisoner amidst all this splendor. Millie might come in to chat for a while, but when she left the feeling returned, worse than ever after the brief respite. I had not gone out once, not even to dine in the restaurant below. Not daring to brave the restaurant and th
e stairs without a male escort, I had my meals brought up to the room.

  Anthony had come to see me only twice, to discuss the contracts he was negotiating with Dorrance on the first occasion, to have me sign them on the second. What did it matter to him that I was lonely and nervous and disoriented? He cared not a jot. I had signed a contract to appear at the Dorrance Opera House for one month, and I had signed a contract authorizing Anthony to act as my personal manager and collect all monies and handle all business affairs, and that was all that mattered to him. If I paced up and down in this elegant suite, if my nerves were about to snap and my disposition was growing steadily more shrewish, what did he care? My “little temper tantrum” had amused him. He would use it to advantage. I had no doubt I would read all about it in tomorrow’s papers.

  Stepping into the bedroom, I tossed my reticule on the bureau, slipped off my gloves, and looked at myself in the full-length mirror. The skin seemed to be stretched taut across my cheekbones. There were faint shadows beneath my eyes. The strain was clearly visible there in my face, in my body. I glanced at the clock. It was shortly after seven. How many hours would I pace? How many hours would I spend in bed, tossing, turning, unable to relax, unable to sleep? How was I going to endure one more night, wrought up, on edge, frightened out of my wits at the thought of appearing before hundreds of people? He should be here to give me strength and comfort, to reassure me. But he had a very important engagement tonight, and I could go hang.

  Something hard and rebellious tightened inside of me. I pulled a silken cord to summon the maid, and when she appeared I ordered hot water for a bath. I bathed and a few minutes later I was at my dressing table, touching up my makeup, doing my hair, not wanting to call Millie. Millie wouldn’t approve. Millie thought George Dorrance was a fool, pompous and pretentious, laughable with his conceit and self-conscious seductiveness, and I did, too, but I couldn’t stay in this room alone one more night. Dorrance would take me to an expensive, plushy restaurant, where there would be music and laughter and other people, and perhaps I could relax and forget about tomorrow night and what it would bring.

  I chose my gown with great care. It was a vivid scarlet silk with puffed sleeves that fell off-the-shoulder and an extremely low-cut neckline and a full, flaring skirt that swirled over the multilayered skirts of my petticoat. It was a spectacular garment, just the sort of thing Elena Lopez would wear. I put it on. Elena Lopez looked stunning and fiery and tempestuous, and Mary Ellen had never in her life been so tense, so angry and resentful.

  I left the suite and moved slowly down the grand staircase, scarlet silk rustling crisply. Everyone stared, but I ignored them, and when George Dorrance stepped forward to greet me at the foot of the stairs I gave him a cool, curt nod and let him lead me across the lobby and out to the street where a carriage was waiting. I felt cold and hard, barely able to contain my impatience as he spoke in a deep, playful voice and employed his seductive manner and bored me with his transparency. Sensing my mood, he was silent during the carriage ride, a half smile playing on his full lips. He was filled with anticipation. He was certain of success. Whatever had possessed me to come out with him? I had a headache, and it grew steadily worse.

  The restaurant was exactly what I had expected, plush, frightfully expensive, spacious, the walls a pale ivory, the carpets gold, the chandeliers dazzling with crystal pendants. It exuded an atmosphere of wealth and luxury and privilege, and I hated it, and I hated the way Dorrance preened as the headwaiter led us past the banquette and down three gold-carpeted steps and into the main dining room, seating us at a prominent table where everyone in the restaurant could see us. No secluded, private room for Dorrance. He wanted to be seen with me. He wanted everyone to think he had made another conquest.

  “Champagne?” he said.

  “Of course.”

  “Oysters?”

  I nodded.

  “Caviar, too. This is an occasion.”

  “Sí,” I answered in a flat voice.

  He talked. I listened, nodding occasionally, replying when it was absolutely necessary. I sipped the champagne, ate a few oysters, took a spoonful of caviar, bored, so very bored, tense, too. Why had I come? My headache was excruciating and everyone was staring, and this man kept smiling, employing all his charm, lids half-lowered over seductive eyes, voice seductive, too, and very confident. The main course came. I toyed with my food, unable to eat. Dorrance was so intent on wooing me that he didn’t even notice.

  “—very generous terms,” Dorrance was saying. “I must say I fought him, but after I read all the stories in the newspapers—”

  “I—I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  “Duke drives a hard bargain. He demanded top salary. I’m paying you more than I’ve ever paid an entr’acte performer, more than I usually pay the best prima donnas. But Duke was right, you’re worth every penny.”

  “Mmm.” I was distracted.

  “He looks dapper tonight. Celebrating, I suppose.”

  Dorrance was staring across the room, toward the steps, and I turned to see the headwaiter leading Anthony and his companion to a table. Anthony was wearing his formal attire, and he did indeed look dapper, his mood positively jovial as he took his seat and leaned across the table to say something to his companion. She smiled a cool smile. She was beautiful, far more beautiful than I could ever hope to be, her features perfect, her eyes a clear blue, her hair a pale, silvery blonde. I stared. I felt nothing. I seemed to be numb. Dorrance was saying something, but I didn’t hear a word.

  Anthony must have felt the intensity of my stare. He turned and saw me. He looked surprised, then alarmed, then sheepish, and then he grinned and gave me a little wave, but I continued to stare until he grew uncomfortable. Dorrance was still talking. I forced myself to look away from that table across the room, to concentrate on what this pompous, conceited fool was saying. It was difficult.

  “—good working relationship with all my performers. I want them to be happy. To feel pampered and secure. I want them to know I’m behind them all the way—”

  I didn’t care. He could have a different blonde every night of the week for all I cared. I wasn’t his type. He had told me that on more than one occasion. He had made it very clear. I wasn’t his type, and he certainly wasn’t mine. He was a rogue, a scoundrel—handsome, yes, and breezy and charming, and any woman would be a fool to trust him for a minute and I couldn’t care less what he did. He could go straight to hell. I hadn’t any illusions about him. We had a business arrangement. He had transformed a pathetic little ballet girl into a colorful personality and we were both going to make a great deal of money, and that was all that mattered to him.

  “—like to give you a little token of my esteem. It’s not much, but I hope you’ll be pleased.”

  Reaching into his vest pocket, Dorrance took out a flat white leather box. He looked deep into my eyes as he opened the box. The diamonds gleamed and glittered, silvery-blue, silvery-violet, flashing brilliantly as he held the bracelet up for my approval. I hardly noticed. The waiter had brought champagne to their table, and Anthony was pouring it for the blonde, who took her glass and smiled another cool smile and Anthony was saying something to her and Dorrance was dangling the bracelet, diamonds shimmering, and I was no longer numb. I could feel my fury rising.

  “—a mere bauble compared to the jewels you’ve already received from admirers, but—”

  A very important engagement, he had told me. I’d take you out myself, but I’ve got a very important engagement. Busy all the time. You know how it is. He had a very important engagement with a blonde iceberg when I was going to make my debut tomorrow night. I had needed him tonight, but he sat there grinning and having the time of his life, and I was supposed to take it calmly and act as though nothing had happened.

  “Something wrong?” Dorrance inquired.

  “Excuse me,” I said, forgotting the Spanish accent.

  I stood up. Dorrance leaped to his feet, startled, still holdin
g the diamond bracelet. Everyone in the restaurant watched as I marched over to Anthony’s table, my silk skirt crackling loudly in the sudden silence. Anthony stood up, a worried expression on his face. His eyes were filled with alarm.

  “Uh … uh …” He looked at the blonde, looked back at me. “This is Elena Lopez. She … uh … she doesn’t speak much English. I’d like you to meet Elizabeth Clark, Miss Lopez.”

  Elizabeth Clark and I exchanged venomous nods.

  “Fancy seeing you here tonight—” Anthony stammered.

  He sank back down into his chair, still looking upset. A large platter sat on the table. It was white, rimmed with gold. I picked it up. Anthony grinned a foolish grin and shook his head, silently begging me not to do what he knew I was going to do, and I slammed the platter down on top of his skull. The fine porcelain shattered into a dozen pieces that clattered noisily as they fell. Anthony cried out. People gasped. A waiter rushed over, horrified. Anthony staggered to his feet, stunned, but not really hurt.

  “Temperament’s always colorful!” I snapped.

  I turned and moved briskly toward the steps. George Dorrance, catching up with me, took my arm, but I pulled free and shoved him away. I moved up the steps and through the door, until I was standing outside on the edge of the street, signalling for a hansom. I gave the driver the name of my hotel and climbed inside, still seething with anger, fervently wishing I’d broken Anthony’s skull instead of the platter.

  XVIII

  I paced up and down the sitting room, trying to calm myself, horrified at what I had done to Anthony in the restaurant but, at the same time, wishing I had hit him harder. Half an hour had passed since I returned to the hotel, and I was still filled with conflicting emotions, though anger dominated. I wanted to scream and beat my fists against the wall, and I wanted to sob uncontrollably to let loose the flood of tears dammed up inside. It wasn’t just tonight that had put me in such a state. I had been building toward it for weeks and weeks.

  Someone knocked on the door, a loud, insistent knock. Who could it be? Millie always tapped lightly. I was in no mood to see anyone. I ignored the knock, and after a moment it sounded again, louder, even more insistent. I flung open the door. Anthony stood there with his top hat in his hand and a grin on his lips, looking inordinately pleased with himself. I tried to slam the door in his face but he shoved me roughly out of the way and stepped inside.