Hope Tarr - [Men of the Roxbury House 02]

by Enslaved

  “In that case, would you believe I recently suffered a … disappointment, and Harry and Rourke thought I needed some cheering up?”

  Her hands stilled on her breasts, her nipples sticking out as straight as darts. “A romantic disappointment, you mean?” As soon as the question was out, she despised herself for how desperate she must have made herself seem by asking it.

  He didn’t answer but his silence and sealed lips were answer enough. Some woman has hurt him, she said to herself, annoyed at the irrational stab of jealousy the thought brought about. He wouldn’t be the first man to come to a music hall to take his mind off a failed love affair by drinking too much and ogling women’s tits and bare legs.

  He snagged her gaze and for a full moment Daisy forgot to breathe. Feeling as though she were drowning in a deep blue sea, she heard him say, “Believe it or not, my coming here tonight was pure happenstance—or luck, if you prefer.”

  The dressing room was scarcely larger than closetsize, and she was naked except for the thong. Even with the partition standing between them, his closeness had a potent, erotic effect. Remembering the wonderful warmth and hardness of him beneath her bum, she smoothed a soothing hand over her pubis, parted her inner lips, and slid a testing finger inside.

  My God, I’m wet for him. If he came to me now, I’d let him do whatever he wanted. I’d go down on my hands and knees for him on this dirty floor and let him have me any way he fancied.

  Face warm, she bent to unsnap her garters. “Those men with you were Rourke and Harry?” She’d been so focused on Gavin at the time she’d given his friends scarcely a glance.

  “Yes. They both live in London for the time being. Harry has set up shop as a photographer in Parliament Square and Rourke divides his time between his townhouse in Hanover Square and his castle in the Highlands.”

  “Rourke has a castle?” She unhooked the right garter and rolled the stocking down, careful not to run the costly silk.

  Gavin nodded. “He made a bloody fortune on railway shares—several fortunes, actually.”

  So Patrick had done well for himself. It shouldn’t have surprised her. He’d always been a canny chap but a castle, well, that was quite something. “And what do you do—other than sitting about being rich, that is?”

  Too late she heard the bitterness in her voice, amazed that after fifteen years his betrayal must still hurt so very much. She’d thought to have gotten over all that long ago, another of the many lies she told herself.

  “I’m a barrister, actually.”

  That startled her. She remembered the blond-haired man at his table, Harry most likely, making mention of judges and juries, but the reference hadn’t sunk in at the time nor had she given any thought to what he might do for a living. She assumed he was filthy rich or living on his expectations like most highborn young men.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Succumbing to wickedness, she slipped off her black silk panties and tossed them over the screen, laughing aloud when the garment hit its mark on his shoulder. “That’s rich. Do barristers make it a habit to drag performers off the stage and punch out stage hands, or is the law only for us common folk?”

  A scarlet tide swept over his face, and she suddenly remembered how easy it had been to make him blush when they were children. It was good to see that some things hadn’t changed, at least not entirely.

  “I can honestly say you’re my first abduction.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. He might have become a bit stiff, more than a bit, but he had a sense of humor at least.

  He picked off the garment and handed it back to her. “I’ll wait until you’re decent.”

  Naked, she reached for the black silk wrapper she’d left hanging on the wall peg and slipped it on. She stepped out from behind the screen, still tying the sash. “I’m decent—or at least as decent as I’m likely to get.”

  He stared, gaze running over her and then snapping back up to her face. Wondering what he found so shocking, she glanced down. The robe didn’t reach to the floor but it fell below her knees, covering more than her costume had. Was the vee-shaped neckline what he apparently found so objectionable, then? She hadn’t thought it particularly daring, but perhaps she wasn’t the best judge of such things?

  The spot between her thighs was bloody throbbing, a dull, drubbing ache. Afraid he might read her thoughts on her face as he used to read her when they were children, she moved to her dressing table. Back to him, she picked up the powder muff from its tin and dabbed her perspiring bosom. “So, what is it you wanted to ask me?”

  “I suppose I was curious to know where the hell you’ve been for the past fifteen years.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal:

  but love no man in good earnest; nor no further

  in sport neither than with safety of a pure blush

  thou mayst in honour come off again.”

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Celia,

  As You Like It

  Dropping the muff, Daisy turned away from the mirror and shrugged. “France. Paris mostly though I’ve played the provinces in the off-season a time or two.”

  Over the years, Gavin had imagined their reunion myriad times but never had he anticipated it would turn out quite like this. Staring after her, he could scarcely credit how bitter she sounded, how brazenly she behaved. Whether she called herself Delilah or Daisy, the woman powdering her bosom and parading her bare legs in front of him was very much a stranger. He felt enough of a fool without revealing the extraordinary lengths he’d gone to this past year in searching for her. By all appearances, she’d no desire to be found, certainly not by him. Even so, after all he had endured to find her, he wasn’t about to simply walk away. At least not without first hearing her admit who she was and how she’d come to … this.

  “How the devil did you end up in Paris?”

  Standing before the full-length mirror, she pulled the feathers and pins from her hair, grateful for the excuse to face away from him. “I was adopted by an older theatrical couple, Bob and Flora Lake. We went on tour with a regional theatrical company but when the company folded, the Lakes decided Shakespeare was as good as dead and their best chance for scraping out a living acting was to go to Paris and sign on with one of the popular musical review companies.”

  Gavin stopped short of smacking a hand to his forehead. That explained why the trail had gone cold after Dover.

  “So you went from a Quaker orphanage in the Kentish countryside to Paris, the cultural capitol of Europe. Such a change of scene must have entailed quite an adjustment?” He started to ask more—how had she fared in Paris, had she ever thought of him— but her cool-eyed gaze in the mirror had him holding back.

  She gave a glacial smile, and he felt the frost of all that composure like a geyser of ice water shooting through his veins. “I suppose so but then again I’m a survivor, Gavin. I’ve been making adjustments, as you say, all my life.” She turned to face him, shaking out her shoulder-length hair. “In my case, being a tomboy helped enormously. Climbing fences and trees with you lads strengthened my legs so I was able to execute the highest kicks of any girl in the chorus.”

  She hiked up a leg to demonstrate, propping her bare foot on the stool not unlike the stance she’d struck onstage. Gaze riveted on that firm white thigh, Gavin swallowed hard, feeling as if all the air has just been sucked from his lungs while other parts of his anatomy began to thicken and thrum. Growing up, Daisy was the closest person he had to a little sister. The moment he first set eyes on her fifteen years before, he’d been moved to care for and protect her. Beyond that, he scarcely thought about her sex at all. But the long legs he’d seen kicking up a storm onstage and the generous swell of cleavage spilling out from the top of her wrapper reminded him she was very much a grown woman—and a desirable one.

  She lowered her leg, the silken dressing gown sliding back into place, and Gavin found himself once more
able to breathe. “I’ve been told I have a fair voice, and so as I grew older, more and more lead parts came my way.”

  “You have a beautiful voice,” he said, both because it was true and because he sensed that male praise devoid of an ulterior sexual motive wasn’t something she received all that often.

  “Thank you.”

  She looked down as though suddenly shy, the golden tips of her long lashes brushing the tops of her high-boned cheeks. The demure posture put him in mind of the brash yet sweet girl she’d once been, giving him hope that buried beneath her armor of powder and paint, feathers and silk some kernel of the Daisy he remembered might live on.

  She raised her gaze to his face. “I’ve done some acting, too, in what the Parisians call opera-comiques. Of course a theatrical review isn’t at all the same as a proper play, but it’s something, a credit, or at least I hoped it was.” The look of naked yearning on her face wasn’t lost on him.

  As a barrister, gut feeling frequently served as Gavin’s failsafe, especially in cases that ran amok when a key witness suddenly changed his or her story or opposing counsel brought out trumped-up evidence at the final hour. Drawing on instinct, he asked, “Is acting, serious acting, something you’re interested in pursuing?”

  Daisy’s eyes widened, making her look very much as she had when as children he presented her with a lemon drop or peppermint sweet. “It’s what I want more than anything, what I feel I was born to do.” She hesitated and then confided, “Pursuing an acting career is why I decided to come back to England, to London, in the first place.”

  She’d come back for her career, not for him. Gavin knew it was ridiculous to feel hurt and yet he couldn’t discount the pain her admission stirred in him. In a perfect world, she would have revealed she’d been searching for him all along as he had her.

  “Have you had any auditions?”

  She hesitated and then shook her head. “I heard Drury Lane is to open its season with As You Like It, but when I went to see about reading for a part, the stage manager turned me away. Apparently I don’t come with the proper … credentials.”

  “The theater manager, Sir Augustus Harris, is by way of being an acquaintance of mine. I could have a word with him on your behalf.”

  He couldn’t erase her past any more than he could go back in time and prevent his grandfather from finding him, but Daisy’s lack of London contacts was an obstacle he was more than capable of surmounting. He helped their friend, Hadrian, several years before when he’d first come to London and though it had taken some time to build up his business, his Parliament Square photography shop was thriving.

  “You know the manager of Drury Lane?”

  That seemed to impress her. He fancied she looked at him in a new light. “We’re both members of The Garrick.” He hesitated, wondering how much explanation the situation warranted. “The Garrick is a private gentlemen’s club devoted to providing a meeting place for actors and those with a love of the arts and letters.”

  Daisy’s smile fell. “I know what the Garrick is, Gavin. I’m not a complete simpleton.”

  Damn, but he was making a hash of this. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply … I only know you’ve been living abroad and—”

  “Living abroad in Paris, the cultural capitol of Europe, as you say.”

  For the first time that evening, he didn’t only smile, he grinned. “Touché. At any rate, someone has to extend that first helping hand. Why not let that person be me, someone you trust, an old friend?”

  “Are we friends, Gavin?”

  Years ago he would have taken one look at her and known exactly what she was thinking, but now her painted face seemed blank or at least unreadable. “We once were. I’d very much like for us to be so again.”

  The light in her eyes dimmed. She looked at him warily, or so it seemed. “We haven’t seen each other in fifteen years. Why would you go to such trouble for me?”

  He hesitated, wanting to answer honestly but disliking dredging up that painful part of his past. “You may not know it, but when we were at Roxbury House, you helped me greatly. Many of the other orphans poked fun at my stammer, but you did everything you could to set me at my ease, drawing me out to take part in games, refusing to simply let me sit on the sidelines and watch. Even managing our little attic theater was a sort of therapy for me. Now that I’m in a position to help you, why not allow me to return the favor?”

  Knowing how self-conscious he was of his stammer, which grew worse whenever he was singled out, she had him act as stage manager, a role that had allowed him to remain behind the scenes while still being a part of it all.

  She’d understood him as no one else ever had.

  Arranging an audition was the very least he was prepared to do for her. He wasn’t a social reformer such as William Gladstone, but he could see she badly needed rehabilitating. Since they got back to her dressing room, nearly every bawdy word from her mouth, every brazen behavior had struck him as a cry for help. The stage paint made her look older than her age, four-and-twenty at his last reckoning, and rather hard. He desperately wished she would use one of the many jars of creams and lotions set atop her dressing table to take it off. Once the concealing cake of it was stripped away, he would very much like to lay his hand against her cool, clean cheek.

  She shook her head. Beneath the garish greasepaint, she looked like a bewildered child. “I don’t know, Gavin. After all these years, I never expected to even see you again let alone be beholden to you. I’m not sure it would feel … right”

  He hadn’t anticipated she might turn him down. “You can’t really mean to … to go on as you are … can you?”

  She bristled visibly, and he knew at once he’d made a grave mistake. “And just what’s the matter with the way I’m going on as you put it? All things considered, I’ve taken rather good care of myself and—”

  She clamped her mouth closed as she had when as a child she’d been on the verge of blurting out some secret. Wondering what that secret might be, he cautioned himself not to press. Her life until now really wasn’t any of his affair no matter how much he might wish it otherwise.

  Navigating the landscape of her brash self-sufficiency and stubborn pride was proving a trickier affair than he’d first thought. Giving up on diplomacy, he said, “Dash it, Daisy, you’re better than this, and we both know it.”

  “Am I now?’ She pulled open a dressing table drawer and took out a bottle of gin. “Fancy a drink?”

  Horrified, he shook his head. No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” She unstoppered the bottle and knocked back a healthy swallow.

  That decided it. “Daisy, I want you to leave this place tonight. I want you to come home with me.”

  “Come home with you!” She whirled about.

  “Not only for tonight but for however long you might wish to stay.”

  The startled look vanished. She pulled another swallow and set the bottle aside. “Are you asking me to move in with you? Why, Gavin, this is all so sudden.” Her lips twitched as though suppressing a smile.

  Face heating, he hastened to reassure her. “You would be my houseguest. I have a flat near the Inns of Court. It’s spacious, and I’m not there terribly often. You’d have the place more or less to yourself and could come and go as you pleased.”

  “But I’ve two more weeks before I finish out the run. If I forfeit on the terms of my contract, Sid can sue me. I doubt he’d bother, but I’m also quite certain I’d never see the money he owes me.”

  “Let me worry about that. I’m a barrister, mind? Contracts can be broken.”

  “Even if that’s true, I’ve still got to live, eat, and pay my rent, haven’t I? And I’ve … obligations in Paris I can’t, I won’t abandon.”

  Obligations. Gavin didn’t much care for the sound of that or the fierceness in her voice when she said it, but he reined in his curiosity—jealousy—rather than risk chasing her off. “I’ll provide you with a stipend to cover any … ob
ligations you may have here or abroad. You’ve only to tell me how much you require.”

  “I don’t know, I … I’ve never lived with anyone, a man that is.”

  “Give it a month, then. If you find you simply can’t abide me, I’ll help you find a fitting lodging of your own.”

  A lodging he would pay for, she presumed. All this talk of money had Daisy feeling as if a cold draft had entered the room, which was odd because ordinarily a man’s offering to settle a sum on her brought about a warm, fuzzy glow. But the man standing before her and as good as offering to take her into keeping wasn’t any man. He was Gavin, and the thought of taking money from him in payment or anything else filled her with a sick sense of loss.

  And yet the opportunity he was offering her, how could she possibly turn it down, especially when the future was no longer hers alone to consider and hadn’t been for a very long time? What for so long had been a dream, and a far-fetched one at that, was transformed into a distinct possibility—and in the span of less than an hour! It was like a dream, a fairytale, a circumstance so fantastic she should be pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t really asleep.

  One by one, he’d knocked down her objections until there was no other answer to give than yes. “Very well, Gavin, if you’re sure you really want to do this. If you’re certain I won’t be a bother.”

  “Quite. I’m scarcely home these days. In likelihood, we’ll rarely run into one another.”

  She followed him to the door. “In that case, I accept only I can’t come with you tonight. I’d like the chance to smooth things over with Sid, if I can. I owe him that much if nothing more. And it will take me a few days to gather my things.”

  “At least let me see you home safely.”