by Lucy Ashford
She interrupted him with something like anguish in her eyes. ‘I could not claim to be innocent,’ she whispered.
And she told him, about the actor, Jack Bentall, whom she’d allowed to seduce her five years ago. She told him how after her experience with Bentall she had gone out of her way to deter any other possible suitors, and instead put all her passionate heart into her acting.
He listened, and when they were almost at his house he called out to his driver. ‘Ten more minutes, please, William.’
William took the carriage around the streets again, slowly, so Deb could tell him the rest: about Palfreyman trying to prosecute the Players; about breaking into Hardgate Hall, because it was the only way to save her friends from a fine or gaol, even; and how horrified she had been, to return and find Beau trussed up in the forest.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Beau said. He drew her into his arms and lifted one of her hands to kiss it. ‘You were forced into an impossible situation, I can see that. Even when you realised I was Palfreyman’s enemy—as you were—I gave you not the slightest reason to trust me, or confide in me. Let me make it up to you, Deborah. Let me come to your room tonight. Please.’
Chapter Nineteen
That night Beau undressed her with great tenderness, unbuttoning her gown and slipping her undergarments from her body one by one until she stood there in her nakedness. He’d lit only one candle, so the light didn’t daunt her, but instead made subtle play over the planes and curves of her body. He’d already taken off his coat, and now steadily began to remove his shirt and his boots, while Deb stood gazing at him, at this man who’d come so unexpectedly into her life and altered it, for ever.
Hope warred with terrifying doubt. She thought she’d made herself immune to him, but of course she hadn’t. Instead she’d let herself fall in love with him. What would she do, if he asked her to stay in London and be his mistress? Since her station in life was so lowly, that meant he would have to hide her away somewhere, visit her in secret; then she really would be a whore. But how could she say no?
She loved him. She loved him because she’d seen the honesty and courage and true compassion beneath his iron-hard façade of power and wealth.
He walked steadily towards her, picked her up in his strong arms and gently laid her on the bed. ‘Stop thinking,’ he breathed, kissing the lobe of her ear with light brushes of his lips that set her blood on fire. ‘Or if you have to think of something, think of me. Because I’m thinking that you are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen—Miss O’Hara.’
He stood back from the bed and began to strip off his breeches while Deb feasted her eyes, and he was completely unselfconscious as he exposed the rest of his muscular body. Oh, my. Her breath caught in her throat. His extremely aroused muscular body...
He walked to the bed, and with the palm of his hand he pushed her gently back against the pillows and came to join her. But there was nothing gentle about the pressure of his chest against her sensitised breasts, as he eased himself beside her and gathered her in his arms. Nothing gentle about the ferocity of his erection, burning against her soft abdomen.
‘I want you,’ he breathed. ‘You want me. This is about us and only us, do you understand?’ He took her hand and drew it down against his pulsing arousal. ‘You are exquisite, Miss O’Hara. And I’ve wanted to make you mine ever since that day in the forest when I was tied up and you wore those damned breeches and flaunted yourself in front of me. I want you. Forget about the jewels, forget about Palfreyman—all I want to think of at this precise moment is you. Are you listening to me?’
His hands slid under her hips. While she was struggling for a reply beneath his fierce gaze, he parted her thighs and entered her, thrusting deep; and Deb abandoned any hope of answering him with words. She was his. Whether it was for days, or for weeks, she was his. As he pleasured her, her body responded with a will of its own, and then everything inside her began to break apart; until she was convulsed by the beginnings of an explosion of delight so impossibly intense that she thought her heart might stop beating. Sensations that were almost too exquisite to bear rolled through her as he kissed her breasts and lips. She was dazedly aware afterwards of him pulling out and spilling his seed on her belly as he breathed her name, then he gathered her in his arms and kissed her again.
Beau realised, after a few moments, that she was asleep.
Deborah O’Hara. He gazed at her with tenderness and wonder. She’d actually broken into Hardgate Hall, to save her friends. And today, he’d seen her stand up to Palfreyman with all the determination of a feisty little warrior. He looked at her in fresh astonishment. She was tough. She’d had to be tough, to survive everything that fate had cast her way. He was determined to keep her in his life —somehow.
And with that resolve dominating his thoughts, he slept too.
* * *
Beau woke up in the night to find that she was no longer in his arms, and realised how cold the bed felt without her. How empty his arms and his heart felt without her. He got up and pulled on his dressing gown, then he saw her in the small parlour that adjoined his bedchamber, sitting on the window seat. She’d parted the curtains and was gazing outside.
‘What are you looking at?’ he asked her gently.
She turned to him. ‘The moon. It’s so low and full tonight. Do you see it?’
He sat beside her and drew her into his arms, realising she wore only her nightgown, and was cold. He held her very close, so her back was snug against his chest. Breathing in the scent of her hair, he gazed over her head at the moon, but hardly registered it, because all his thoughts were concentrated on her.
He remembered the hurt in her eyes when she’d told him about the wretch of an actor who’d seduced her, and his anger boiled again, but then he felt a different if equally urgent emotion; the need to protect and cherish her—yes, for ever.
He kissed the top of her head and said, ‘You were rash to visit Palfreyman. Rash and brave.’
She laughed softly. ‘Not really. He was the one who was horrified to see me. He wanted to know what I planned to do, after my arrangement with you was over. I think he was worried I would come back and haunt him.’
He stroked her hair and the soft nape of her beautiful neck. ‘What did you say? About what you’d do next?’
She turned a little, so he could see her sweet profile. ‘I let him assume I’ll do what I’ve always done, of course. I’ll carry on being an actress.’
He nuzzled her hair. ‘You’re very good at it.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said tonelessly. He couldn’t see her expression. ‘I’ve always been good at it.’
He turned her round properly to face him. ‘Deborah. These times we’ve spent together. The nights. Were you acting then?’
She couldn’t lie to him; not now. In his powerful arms, with his wonderful blue eyes scorching her soul, she couldn’t lie. ‘No,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, no.’
‘Then stay,’ he urged her. ‘It’s the memorial service for Simon, in a week—please stay for that, and then...’ He stroked her hair back from her cheek. ‘I cannot bear the thought of not seeing you again.’
Her eyes were full of emotion. ‘I would be no good for you. No good at all.’
Beau said softly, ‘Let me be the judge of that. I’m inclined at the moment to feel that I’ve never met anyone who’s better for me.’
‘You must not feel like this.’ Her voice was a little desperate. ‘You thought I was for sale, and I wasn’t—but I’d done something almost as bad! I burgled Palfreyman’s house...’
‘To get those books—how truly wicked.’ He twined a lock of her hair around his finger.
‘But there’s something else you need to remember.’ Her eyes were full of anguish. ‘If I were your mistress, Beau, you would have to hide me away. From all your friends, from society...’
‘Paulette would have to vanish to the countryside again, that’s true.’ His voice was serious now.
And you would have to keep me in a small house somewhere, in secret... ‘Beau,’ she reminded him, ‘I don’t even know who my father was.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Of course it does. You must let me tell you. After my mother ran away from Hardgate Hall, she went to London and found a job as chambermaid at an inn—Gerald told me her story, when he felt I was old enough to understand. She—she was seduced by a rich traveller, and when her pregnancy began to show, she lost her job and had nowhere to live. But then she met the Lambeth Players, and began a new life with them. When I was born, the Lambeth Players became my family too— especially when she and Gerald married.’
Beau was listening intently. ‘You loved your stepfather, didn’t you?’
‘Oh, yes. Gerald couldn’t have looked after me better if I’d been his own daughter. But I cannot hide the fact, Beau, that I am illegitimate. That I have no idea at all who my father was. And what’s more, I’ve spent years as an actress, a travelling actress...’
He was laughing. Her heart suddenly lifted. ‘Do you know,’ Beau said, ‘I believe it’s considered quite the thing to be in love with an actress.’
In love with. Her heart bumped and her breathing almost stopped.
‘And,’ he went on, ‘I might come and meet your actor friends some day—after all, I’m providing them with a new theatre, remember?’
She was still speechless.
‘I mean it, Deborah,’ Beau went on quietly. ‘I don’t want to lose you. I will make this work, somehow. You don’t have to give me your answer this very minute. But please think about staying in my life, will you?’
* * *
Over the next few days, she never stopped thinking about it. He had to marry, he had to have heirs; she knew that. But...if he did set the Lambeth Players up with their own theatre, as he’d promised, she would be able to live in London from now on, and continue with her acting. They could still meet, if they were discreet. She wouldn’t have to give him up.
By day, Beau was occupied with the final plans for the memorial service, so she tended to see him at mealtimes only, with Laura in attendance, and the footmen and butler hovering nearby. By night, though, he came to her room, always, and their lovemaking was almost frighteningly intense. As she lay in his arms afterwards, he would tell her more about his own secrets: about his father’s harshness, his mother’s infidelities and his brother’s gambling.
‘I tried my best to help Simon,’ he said, lying on his back with her curled against his chest. ‘But he seemed to find a refuge in his gambling. And gamblers are always their own worst enemies.’
‘It was cruel of Paulette to marry him,’ said Deb.
‘She was certainly calculating. Once she realised that she wasn’t going to succeed in entrapping me, I think she resolved to be happy with Simon at first—if only, perhaps, to say to me, You’ll be sorry you didn’t marry me!’
Deb pulled herself away from him just a little, to draw her finger across his naked chest. Beau, she wrote. I love you, Beau. ‘I feel sorry for anyone,’ she whispered, ‘who doesn’t have this.’
She kissed him, trying not to think about the future, and soon she was lost in his lovemaking, and he in hers once more.
* * *
Because of her overwhelming need for Beau, she didn’t notice as swiftly as she should have done that Laura was becoming unusually secretive in the next day or two, not only spending more time by herself in her room, but also declining Deb’s offers to accompany her when she went shopping, and taking only Miss Champion.
Up till then Laura had been a lively and welcome distraction in the big house, what with her extravagant shopping expeditions, and her many friends who came to call. Often Deb looked on in amusement as Laura showed all her latest purchases to her distinctly unimpressed big brother.
‘You see this pink bonnet, darling Beau? It’s quite delightful, isn’t it? And it only cost ten guineas! But I do need a gown to go with it, in the latest style from Paris. And I also think that I should have a horse and gig of my own, to go out driving in the Park, so that all the gentlemen fall in love with me. You do want me to make a wealthy match, don’t you?’
‘My dear Laura,’ answered her brother, ‘I can’t think of a single gentleman in London who could afford to keep you.’
Deb was always touched to see how kind and humorous Beau was with his little sister. What a lovely father he would make...
To think like that was lethal, and she knew it. And then, suddenly, Laura seemed to change, and Deb saw less and less of her. At first she worried in case Laura suspected something, about her and Beau’s relationship; then one afternoon she came upon Miss Champion on the steps outside the front door, talking in a hurried voice to William, the coachman.
‘Miss Champion?’ Deb was puzzled. ‘Miss Champion, I thought you’d gone shopping with Laura.’
Miss Champion, always nervous, looked almost frightened. ‘Lady Laura went to the theatre, Lady Simon. There was an afternoon performance—a comedy, I believe...’
‘She’s gone on her own?’
‘No—she went with her friend Helen, my lady, in a hired coach. She didn’t want me with her, she said she’d be quite all right—’
Deb could see William looking grave. ‘A hired coach?’ Deb exclaimed. ‘You let Laura go out without you, in a hired coach?’ What would Beau say? He would be livid.
Miss Champion flushed. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. And since she’s a little late back, I was asking William to go and find her.’
‘I’ll go straight away,’ said William. From his expression, the Duke’s coachman clearly regarded the situation as seriously as Deb did.
‘Which theatre was it, Miss Champion?’ Deb asked with sharpness in her voice. Oh, the foolish woman. To let Laura run rings around her like this...
‘It’s one of the small theatres over the river, I believe.’ She looked even more frightened. ‘Lady Laura told me the name, and I was trying to remember it for William, but I can’t. Though I can remember the name of the entertainment. I’ve seen it on a poster. It’s called All For Love.’
Deb uttered an exclamation. All For Love was a miscellany of songs and theatrical scenes put on by the Lambeth Players—they always staged a light afternoon show in advance of their main production. And Twelfth Night, she remembered, would begin later in the week.
‘I know where to find Laura,’ she told William swiftly. ‘She’ll have gone to the Dragon Theatre in Southwark. Wait for me, please. I’ll get my hat and cloak, and I’ll come with you.’
Beau was out, she knew, on business; and it was as well. He would be so very angry.
* * *
When they got to the Dragon, it was clear that the performance of All For Love had just ended, for dozens of people were spilling out into the street, laughing and talking eagerly to one another. Always a good sign they’ve enjoyed it, she registered automatically. And then—there amongst them was Laura, arm in arm with her friend Helen, chattering excitedly; but when Laura saw Deb her smile vanished.
Laura was the kind of girl, though, who could not be daunted for long, and she gave Deb a wave and hurried towards her. ‘What are you doing here, Paulette?’
‘I’ve come to take you home, Laura.’ Deb forced herself to sound calm. ‘Before your brother discovers that you’ve been out without Miss Champion. Do you realise that if he knew, he might forbid you to leave the house for a week or more?’
Laura’s face fell. ‘But he wouldn’t...’
‘I rather think he would. And I can’t say that I blame him. I’ve tried to explain to you before that he makes these rules only because he cares about you very much.’
Laura looked rather pale. ‘And I l
ove him too, but... Oh, Paulette. You won’t tell him, will you? Please?’
‘I won’t, no,’ Deb said more gently. ‘But you must go home, now, before Beau returns and finds out you aren’t there. William’s here to take you—he’ll take Helen home too.’
Laura’s friend Helen was looking anxious as well by now, and she gave a little sigh of relief. ‘Thank you so much, Lady Simon.’
‘Yes,’ said Laura, ‘thank you, dear Paulette. You’re always so calm and understanding. I wish you lived with us all the time! And I’m sure Beau wishes that as well. You know, he’s been different since you came to stay. Less sombre. Happier. And he likes you so much!’
Deb’s heart was thudding. Please. Please don’t let this innocent girl ever guess about their nights together...
‘Hush now, Laura. In you get, into the carriage with Helen, and leave room for me. Look, William’s up on the driver’s seat, all ready to go. I’ll just explain to him that he’s to take Helen home first...’
But then she saw it. The gaudy playbill, posted to the wall of the Dragon Theatre.
Twelfth Night
by the Lambeth Players.
Starring Francis Calladine, Peggy Daniels and all your favourites,
with Jack Bentall as Duke Orsino.
Her head swam. Jack. Jack?
She heard her name called and whirled round, to see Luke hurrying eagerly towards her along the crowded pavement. He was in a jester’s costume; he must have just left the stage. Swiftly she turned back to William. ‘Will you take the two girls home for me, please? There’s someone I must speak to.’
‘But, my lady, how will you...?’
