“Enchanting.”
“Incandescent performance.”
“A veritable siren!”
The chorus paid homage to the woman in their midst, her black hair piled high on her head, emeralds from her last admirer, a count, glittering at her swanlike throat. She was smaller than she looked onstage, with fine, doll-like features highlighted by the contrast of white skin and dark hair.
Rushford offered Rowena his arm, and they glided toward the lovely actress, whose eyes narrowed appreciatively, her gaze devouring Rushford. Nodding generously to her admirers, she then held out a slender hand to Rushford with a tilt of her head.
“What an honor, Miss Barry,” Rushford said, bending over the diminutive figure, aware of the crush of devotees watching enviously from the sidelines. “Lord Rushford and Miss Warren,” he said smoothly by way of introduction.
The actress looked up at the man who stood nearly a foot taller than she, purring her response. “The pleasure is surely mine, my lord.” Her heavily kohled eyes lowered assessingly. “And your Miss Warren is certainly lovely”—she parted her red lips in a smile—“and so very young.”
Well done, thought Rowena, opening and shutting her fan with a decisive click. Miss Barry had effectively advertised her highly vaunted experience and expertise in the amorous arts in one simple phrase that put the young mistress precisely where she belonged—in the schoolroom.
Rushford bent toward her, his warm breath brushing her ear. “No need to blush, my darling,” he said, his words bringing her instantly back to the conversation and pointedly reminding her of her role. “I was just about to inquire of Miss Barry whether we might take some refreshment, perhaps somewhere quieter, more private.” This was a different side to Rushford, who was suddenly, irritatingly charming. His gaze swung back to Miss Barry.
The actress rewarded him with a devastating smile that could not obscure the faint lines around her eyes under the heavily applied makeup. “Delighted! What a capital idea, my lord. As a matter of fact, I should be more than pleased to give you a tour of the very private and fascinating areas behind the stage, where I happen to have champagne cooling at the very moment,” she said, waving her hand with the flourish of an accomplished performer. “Do follow me, Lord Rushford, Miss Warren.”
Making her second dramatic exit of the evening, Miss Barry clung to Rushford’s arm, her skirts in full sail, supremely confident of ensnaring every pair of eyes in the salon. As the disappointed groans and murmurs of the audience faded, the opulence of the salon abruptly gave way to a narrow hallway and then a labyrinth of narrower passageways that comprised the theater’s spine and skeleton. Old scenery canvases lay against the walls, interspersed with portable spiral staircases and rolls of canvas. “Fascinating,” Rowena said for the actress’s benefit, turning around in a show of appreciation before following Rushford and Miss Barry through another door into what appeared to be a dressing room. A large mirror was propped up against the wall, reflecting a dressing screen draped with corsets and lacy undergarments, to the left of which sat a bottle of champagne, chilling as promised. A lavish canvas was propped against the opposite wall, depicting a Venetian canal complete with gondola and gondolier. Miss Barry collapsed in an extravagant heap on a narrow brocade chaise, taking Rushford with her.
“My kingdom,” she said with a sweep of her hand. She leaned forward deliberately, her jutting breasts barely concealed by the immodest bodice encrusted with black lace and rhinestones. “Alone at last,” she said dramatically. “Now we may talk privately.” Her eyes narrowed on Rowena. “Now wherever did you meet this sweet young thing, Lord Rushford ?” she asked, raising her fine eyebrows mockingly.
“Miss Warren and I have acquaintances in common,” Rushford answered, incongruously seated amidst plush cushions and a waterfall of dainty undergarments. He did not, Rowena observed, look in the least uncomfortable.
Miss Barry nodded understandingly, pulling up a rounded leg, a generous calf peeking out from beneath the froth of her skirts. “It does not really signify how you met, does it? As long as you find one another entertaining. As I’m sure Miss Warren continues to be,” she said with halfhearted conviction, as though the premise itself was indeed doubtful. She had the look of a cat that had consumed a surfeit of cream, eyeing Rowena once more before turning back to Rushford with barely disguised cunning shining from eyes that had bewitched thousands of theater patrons. “I don’t mean to be forward, my lord, but clearly there is something that you seek, that I could perhaps provide,” she said in her lilting voice, accustomed to coaxing intimacies from both the reticent and the eager.
“You are indeed a woman of the world, Miss Barry,” Rushford said.
“Life is brief, my lord. I did not become a great actress of the stage by pursuing a false modesty. And having reached the pinnacle of my career, I do not easily bestow my talents nor my favors.”
“I shouldn’t doubt otherwise.”
“Then there is no reason for hesitation, my lord,” she continued, patting his thigh with easy familiarity. “I am without a protector at the moment, of my own choosing, of course, not for the lack of suitors. Although in truth, at the moment I am a trifle confused,” she continued with a brief look at Rowena, “given that you are already engagé with Miss Warren. Or have I missed something?”
“Perceptive, as well as talented and beautiful,” Rushford said easily.
Miss Barry paused. “Perhaps your young Miss Warren,” she continued delicately, “requires further introduction to the wider world. Some tutelage, as it were.”
Rowena stared uncomprehendingly while Miss Barry’s mouth made a small moue of concern. “I’m certain you are a marvelous lover, Lord Rushford, if you will excuse my candor. Although you are unusually discreet, I have heard tell that the amorous company you keep is accordingly sophisticated. Married women and widows are your preference,” she said matter of factly.
“You are exceedingly well informed, Miss Barry.”
The actress bowed her head briefly at what she perceived as a compliment. “Scientia est potentia said our Francis Bacon, if I recall,” she quoted, “and I must say experience has proven him correct. Knowledge is indeed power. As is candor, I suspect, particularly when it is called for, as in this situation. It does give one cause to ponder whether someone as young and, frankly”—she gestured elegantly in Rowena’s direction—“as untested as Miss Warren is enough to sate your appetites.”
Rowena was deadly silent, aware that Rushford appeared thoroughly at ease with the unfolding conversation. He nodded as though he had just received a kernel of wisdom from an important sage, she thought with simmering anger. “How insightful of you, Miss Barry,” he murmured politely. “I am, of course, never averse to entertaining suggestions.”
The actress bowed her head in acknowledgment. “I thought not. You will forgive my frankness.”
“Of course. Nothing to forgive. However, I must confess that you have more than piqued my curiosity, Miss Barry.” His gaze met Rowena’s over the actress’s upswept hair, bidding her to remain silent. “Lord Galveston,” he continued after an imperceptible beat, “whom we may count as a friend in common, recommended your company highly. He confessed that you and a coterie of friends spent many pleasurable hours together at country house weekends and the like.”
The actress laughed, the sound lush with promise. “Galveston—my, my. His proclivities, from what I hear, require a certain amount of stamina.” She patted Rushford’s arm as though they shared a private joke.
“According to Felicity Clarence at least,” he supplied, his expression supremely unconcerned.
“We all make our choices,” she said cryptically, a strange smile touching her lips and eyes. She heaved a dramatic sigh, her glance landing upon Rowena once again. Her gaze swept over the younger woman’s figure, outlined in the gray satin, lingering on the ostentatious ruby choker, before making another moue of distaste.
“And while we are on the topic of certain procl
ivities, if I might say, Miss Warren is darling in a diverting, simple way, I suppose, but one would have thought something a little more voluptuous, and seasoned, would be to your taste.”
“I should not entirely agree with you, Miss Barry, as innocence does have its allure. That’s not to say that an introduction to the wider world of experience would not have its place, as you helpfully suggested,” Rushford said, deliberately looking away from Rowena, as though she were no longer in the dressing room. Rowena forced herself to smile to mask her growing anger. If this was a test, to determine whether she was prepared to take on her role as Rushford’s mistress, she was determined not to fail. Sauntering over to the chaise, she returned Miss Barry’s look with a conspiratorial quirk of her lips. “I bow to your superior experience in such things, madam. I shall do whatever is required to remain in Lord Rushford’s good graces,” she said with a lingering hand on his arm. “Don’t I always, darling?” she asked with mock concern.
His eyes bored into hers. “All part of your many charms,” he said, pulling her toward him, until her hips were nestled at his side.
“Your wish is my command,” she murmured.
“What an intriguing concept,” he said a half smile on his lips before he turned to the actress. “Miss Warren is a quick and willing study, and inordinately amenable. Are you not, darling?”
Miss Barry did not wait for Miss Warren’s answer. To her mind, the matter was entirely resolved. She arose from the chaise in a tidal wave of bronze, her arms extended in invitation. “Then it is settled,” she said, her hands fluttering extravagantly rather than finishing the enigmatic statement, “and we must, absolutely must, have our champagne.” She hovered indecisively for a moment. “However, my darling Rushford, I have entirely forgotten about the time. One of my many admirers, the Baron Sebastian,” she continued with no false modesty, “has insisted that I join him and a small set of friends after the theater. I cannot possibly disappoint. However, I should be absolutely downcast should you refuse to accompany me.” She looked at the two of them expectantly, hands at her breast, deliberately framing herself to best advantage against the canvas depicting the Venetian canal.
“You are too kind, Miss Barry,” Rowena responded instantly upon hearing the Frenchman’s name. “We should positively love to attend. I have never met a baron before.” She beamed at Rushford. “Darling, I am so excited! Have your carriage brought round instantly. Miss Barry, I’m sure you would like a few moments of privacy. May we meet with you at the backstage entrance?”
Rowena deliberately looked away from Rushford—who was already propelling her toward the dressing room door. “Indeed, thank you for your generous invitation, Miss Barry,” he said over his shoulder. “We shall see you shortly.”
The dressing room door closed behind them, leaving them in the narrow corridor leading in one direction to the stage and the other to the street. The odor of greasepaint hung in the air. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Playing the role of your mistress.”
“I should like to congratulate you on your performance,” he said tersely, his arm around her shoulders. “Well done.”
She tightened against him. “I have some small talent, it appears.” The tension was suddenly thick between them.
“I believe we’ve made some progress. You may return to the apartments whilst I accompany Miss Barry.”
Rowena shook her head and took one step back, throwing up her hands to hold him off. “I don’t believe I understand. We have come this far together this evening, and now you wish me to return home?”
“Whatever happened to the amenable, biddable Miss Warren ?” Rushford leaned back against the stained planking of a makeshift boat, eyes hooded. “I don’t have to explain, Rowena. If I discover anything about Faron and your family, you will hear about it immediately.”
Rowena stared at him in infuriated bewilderment. “I am fully capable of going through this charade, Rushford.”
Rushford remained unmoved. “Don’t be naïve, Rowena. Faron and his people are dangerous. You yourself claim to know that, and yet you would place yourself directly in his path. A wig and evening clothes will not protect you if you insist on going into the lion’s den.”
She waved him aside, continuing toward the door leading onto the street. “I do not have to follow your orders. Did you not hear—Baron Sebastian? Galveston’s man.” The moment the words left her lips, she realized the truth. “Of course, you knew all along, didn’t you? The reason you chose this theater and this play, with Miss Barry in the lead role.”
“I had some time on my hands to investigate the matter,” he said shortly.
“This gambit of ours is not going to work if you continue withholding information, Rushford,” she said. “How am I to play my role convincingly if I don’t know what’s transpired? Ignorance is what’s dangerous. All the more reason that I need to attend this evening at the Baron’s—accompanied by you.”
He had obviously not heard a word she was saying. “You will plead a headache. You declined the invitation in order to take to your bed,” he informed her coolly. “We have no time for argument at the moment. You asked for my assistance—demanded it, as you’ll recall—but there are conditions. That you obey me implicitly. For your own safety.”
The authoritarian tone grated. Rowena turned around to face him directly. “I don’t recall discussing any such conditions,” she declared, jabbing at his chest with a forefinger. “You are not my—”
“You are my mistress,” he said, catching her fingers. “Or have you forgotten already?”
Rowena drew a breath deep into her lungs. He was still holding her hand, and there was a sudden intensity in the eyes resting on her face. Rowena pulled her hand from his grip. “It will look suspicious if I do not accompany you,” she repeated, turning to pull on the tarnished knob to pry the door open. If she took a step back, her body would collide with his chest. “You cannot stop me.”
“Your intemperance is going to get you into trouble,” he growled, “and not for the first time, I’d wager.” He tugged her backward, tightening his hold and pressing his mouth to her temple. “I will not have you hurt, Rowena, not under my watch.”
“We don’t wish to keep Miss Barry waiting. She will be here at the stage door any moment.”
His hand wrapped more tightly around her waist, and she was relieved that she did not have to look into his face when he said, “This is hardly wise. Do you realize what might transpire this evening?”
“And do you not yet realize that I will do anything to keep Meredith and Julia from Faron’s grasp?”
“At your peril,” he whispered. Rowena jerked from his grasp and pulled the door open wide. Gaslight flooded the dingy hallway, and she took a cleansing breath, exhaling the sting of anxiety and greasepaint. Her every instinct warned her to run away from this man and from this evening, but she knew she never would.
“I shall have the carriage take you to Knightsbridge,” Rushford said.
Too late. He lifted her easily, and her hands grabbed reflexively at his shoulders, their bodies entirely too close. She was enveloped by the feel of him, the scent of him, the heat of his hands burning through the fine silk of her gown. She could not pull away if she wanted to. And she didn’t want to.
It was then she heard the lilting tones of Miss Barry. “My, my,” she trilled, sweeping toward them, a velvet shawl with swinging gold tassels wrapped dramatically around her tiny frame. “I do so hope that I am not de trop?”
Chapter 10
“You brought guests?” Baron Francois Sebastian uncharacteristically revealed his surprise as he watched a footman pour champagne into two crystal goblets in the salon of his town house off fashionable Cavendish Square.
“I didn’t think you would mind.” Miss Barry eyed Lord Rushford, his head bent to catch something Miss Warren was saying, a proprietary arm around her waist. They seemed to be insensible of the throb of guests around them; the heat between the pair w
as palpable. He was devastatingly handsome, in an overtly masculine manner that very definitely caught Miss Barry’s interest. As for the young mistress, she was quite the mystery. Her vanity pricked, Miss Barry peered at her reflection in the glass over the mantelpiece and tucked a straying wisp of hair back into place. She smiled approvingly at her reflection before catching the Baron’s eyes in the mirror. “I thought perhaps that you would like to meet Lord Rushford, given his acquaintance with Lord Galveston, and the fact that he very deliberately sought out my company after this evening’s performance.”
Sebastian pressed a goblet into her hand, well aware that Rushford was not the type to cool his heels at theater doors. He did not elaborate, extracting a slender cigar from the case in his pocket.
“I would introduce you, of course, but it appears that you already know the man.”
“I know of him,” he said, rolling the unlit cigar between his elegant fingers, regarding the couple through assessing eyes. “Although I doubt that he is made of the same malleable material as our friend Galveston.” His mouth moved in the semblance of a smile. “Would you not agree, madam?” he asked in his near flawless English.
“He seeks a liaison to add some spice,” she said blandly. “Nothing unusual there. The girl is much too young and inexperienced to hold his interest for long. Innocence, however despoiled, loses its charms very quickly.”
“That remains to be seen,” Sebastian suggested. He stuck the cigar in his mouth and felt in his pocket for his sulphur matches. For some reason, he then changed his mind, putting the cigar back in the silver case and sliding it into his waistcoat pocket. He reached instead for his champagne, his eyes drifting across the room. “It’s clear that she is quite beautiful, indisputably what first attracted Lord Rushford’s interest.”
The Darkest Sin Page 13
