Samantha nodded. “Yes, Mr. Kean. This is Mr. Pomroy. He’s my so -” She caught herself in time, not wanting to be overheard. “My friend.”
“I am very pleased to meet you,” said Kean, greeting Mr. Pomroy with a dazzling smile.
“I - I - Such an honor. Can’t find words,” Mr. Pomroy stammered.
Kean’s black eyes met Samantha’s, and she read the mirth in them. “Come, Mr. Pomroy, relax. I am not so fearful. Ask Samantha. She will tell you.”
Samantha smiled slightly. “He’s right, Mr. Pomroy. Actually I was frightened half to death. But I soon learned that Mr. Kean was just another human being.”
“You see,” said Kean, “there is nothing to fear.”
Mr. Pomroy seemed to relax visibly. “I so enjoyed your performance,” he said. “You make Shylock more human than ever I have seen him.”
“Thank you. That was my intent,” said Kean, his eyes again seeking Samantha’s. To her surprise she saw that the merriment was gone. Kean was genuinely moved by the little man’s praise, and as the two of them entered into a deep conversation on the nature of Shylcok’s character, she moved off.
Well, that had gone quite well, except for that little embarrassment with the earl. His lordship was gone when she again reached her station, and she did not know if she felt relief or disappointment. For the hundredth time she found herself wishing that he were not a rake. It was such a pleasure to discuss the theatre with him.
When the curtain went up, she hoped momentarily for his return, but he did not resume his place at her side. She wondered if she had finally driven him away for good. The thought was strangely disquieting. She pushed it resolutely aside and tried to concentrate on the play. Undoubtedly Kean was just as good as ever, but somehow she could not give his performance her full attention. Even in the best scenes some part of her seemed to be waiting, listening for the sound of his lordship’s voice, alert for the first indication of his presence.
But he did not come, and when the curtain fell, she felt more weary than usual. She did not care at all to watch the afterpiece and, seeing that another seamstress was standing by, she moved slowly off toward the work room. Perhaps she could sit there quietly and convince herself that she had been wise to insult his lordship in that fashion. For it seemed that he was insulted. Why else had he left so abruptly and not returned?
The long corridor was dim and deserted as she moved slowly down it, but she did not give it much thought. Almost everyone was in the wings, and from the roars of laughter that she could hear, the audience was finding the afterpiece quite amusing. With another sigh she pushed open the work room door and, letting it swing shut behind her, moved across the room.
“Leaving early?” inquired a deep male voice, laden with sarcasm.
Samantha whirled. Roxbury stood leaning against the wall by the door. He lounged lazily, but when she took a step back the way she had come, he moved instantly to get between her and the door. “What are you doing here?” she demanded nervously.
“That should be fairly obvious,” he said. “I am waiting for you.”
“I do not want you in this room.” She said the first thing that came into her head, for there was something strangely hard about his eyes, something that frightened her.
“Why not?” he demanded. His tone remained even, but his eyes gleamed at her almost maliciously, and as he took a step toward her, she automatically backed away.
“I - I just do not. It does not look -” She searched for a word. “Proper.”
“Proper!” One black bushy eyebrow rose, and his mouth curled sardonically. “You speak to me of propriety? You?”
Samantha glared at him. “How dare you talk to me like this?”
“Dare?” His mouth twisted cruelly. “After you bring your lover here to the theatre!”
Samantha stared at him in dismay. “Lover? I have no lover. Have you lost your wits entirely?”
His lordship’s black eyes blazed at her fiercely, and instinctively she backed further away. “My wits are intact,” he said harshly. “But I have my doubts about yours. Really, my pet! Such a round little man. Can you do no better? And what of your highly vaunted principles?”
Suddenly Samantha broke into hysterical laughter. “You saw me - with Mr. Pomroy. He’s - he’s not my protector. He just wanted to meet Kean.”
Roxbury’s scowl did not lessen, and as he moved toward her, she took another step backward and was brought up abruptly by a wall. He put a strong hand on either side of her and pinned her there. “You will release me immediately,” she said, but her voice refused to stay firm, and that fierce look still shone from his eyes.
“No!” He glared at her. “You will stay right where you are until I have the truth.” His face was only inches away, and his eyes bored into hers. There it was again - that terrible feeling that he wanted to look deep into her soul and discover there secrets that even she did not know. He leaned closer. “The truth. Who is this Pomroy? If he is not your lover?”
“I do not see that that is any business of yours,” Samantha began, but her voice faltered as his scowl deepened.
“Who is he?” repeated the earl harshly. “I have made it my business.” His eyes burned into hers. “I think it is clear that I have been devoting considerable time to you. It does not set lightly with me then to discover that you have taken up with a - a mushroom.”
“You are beyond the bounds, milord.” Samantha forced herself to return his look. To avoid his eyes now might make her look guilty. “Mr. Pomroy is a friend. Only a friend.”
“Do not lie to me,” warned the earl sternly. “I saw you at Covent Garden with him. In the coral silk he gave you.”
Samantha thought fast. She could not let him know the truth. “He took me to see Kemble’s Hamlet. He’s the only man I know in the city. He - he was my father’s friend.”
“You would not lie to me?” Roxbury’s scowl had lightened a little.
“There is no need to lie,” said Samantha. “I have told you repeatedly that I do not wish to have a protector.” She smiled as the humor of the situation struck her. He had obviously been so incensed because the thought of her choosing such a man over him had wounded his pride. “After all, milord, do you really believe Mr. Pomroy could win where you had failed?” She meant the remark to be lightly sarcastic, but he took her seriously.
“Of course not,” he replied. “But I had to be sure.”
“And now that you are sure,” Samantha said, suddenly very much aware of his masculine nearness, “you will kindly release me.”
The earl shook his head and smiled devilishly. “I think not. I have you here - in a room-alone.”
Samantha felt her heart begin to pound in her breast. “Milord, please!”
He leaned closer still, until she felt the warmth of his body against hers. “No, Samantha, I cannot lose such an opportunity. The temptation is far too great.”
She sought to evade his lips, but he had her pinned against the wall with his body, and one hand under her chin forced her head up until his lips took hers. Samantha struggled, but no effort could release her, and his lordship seemed only to enjoy her struggles. In spite of all her efforts, his mouth lingered long on hers, so long that that unknown part of herself sprang suddenly into life and began to return his kisses. All thought left her mind. She was nothing but feeling - the feel of his lips on hers, warm, persuasive, taking. The feel of his body against hers. The stirrings of this new part of herself.
Then he released her and smiled down at her triumphantly. “There! I knew I should reach you.” She stared at him in amazement as he gently traced the curves of her full lips. “Your lips give you away, my pet. They tell of the fire that hides in your soul. And soon you will be mine, all mine.”
Thought returned to Samantha’s mind instantaneously, and with it a great wave of rage. Such colossal conceit! The rage within her swept higher and higher, obliterating everything but a wild desire for revenge. Looking quickly around, she spie
d the emergency bucket of water kept in case of fire. It sat only a few feet away. She gave him a sweet smile. “You are quite a man, milord. I see that I have been mistaken.”
The earl nodded, deceived by this false front. “I am glad that you have seen the light at last, my pet. The chase is getting exhausting. But the prize will be worth it.”
Still smiling, Samantha slipped under his arm and moved nearer the bucket. “I shall get my cloak. But first come here. I have something more to give you.”
Obediently the earl advanced. “Now,” said Samantha sweetly, “close your eyes.”
As soon as he did so, she grabbed the bucket and dumped its contents over him. His eyes flew open and he sputtered in rage. The bucket fell from her fingers as she tried to escape his outstretched hand, but he was too quick for her. Samantha did not laugh. Even soaking wet the earl was a fine figure of a man, and the fire that burned in his eyes would have silenced laughter in the bravest of men. He shook her roughly. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Samantha’s heart was in her throat, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “You have quite an elevated perception of yourself, milord.” She permitted herself the smallest of smiles, though the grip of his hands hurt horribly. “You seemed overheated, and I thought perhaps a little water would cool you off.”
He scowled. “Do not mock me. This is serious business with me.”
Samantha’s rage overpowered her fear then. “Indeed, I should think that the despoiling of a woman’s honor would be. You are lacking in manners, milord. Sadly lacking.” She saw his mouth tighten, and the hands on her shoulders gripped harder until she wanted to cry out in pain.
“Indeed,” replied his lordship savagely. “Lacking in manners, you say.” He smiled a smile that made her blood chill. “I fear you have tangled with the wrong man this time. If there are manners to be learned, it is you who will be taught them.”
“Unhand me” demanded Samantha. “Unhand me this instant.”
But Roxbury only laughed curtly, and Samantha, seeing the hard glitter of those black eyes, knew she had gone too far. He looked around him and then dragged her roughly toward a chair. “Let me go!” Samantha cried. “Let me go!”
“Not until you have learned your lesson.” He pulled her brutally over his knees. “If you insist on behaving like a child, then I shall be forced to treat you as one.” He pinned one of her arms between her writhing body and his; the other he held tightly by the wrist. “Now you shall learn some manners,” he said sternly and brought his free hand sharply down on her struggling behind. Samantha gasped. It was not that it hurt so terribly much, but she felt thoroughly humiliated.
The earl’s grip tightened. “You may as well accept your punishment patiently,” he said. “For I intend that you shall have it.” When she did not stop struggling, he added, “And if you do not cease this useless squirming around, I shall be forced to raise your skirts to facilitate matters.”
This threat froze Samantha into an attitude of submission, but the tears that flowed down her cheeks were tears of rage and humiliation, not of repentance. Not a sound passed her lips.
Finally he set her on her feet and gazed at her sternly. “I am sorry to have been forced to such measures,” he said, though she detected no such sorrow in his gaze. “I trust that in the future you will know how to treat a gentleman.”
Samantha edged toward the door. “You are not a gentleman,” she said defiantly. “And you deserved what you got.”
Suddenly, to her amazement, the earl laughed, a genuine laugh of enjoyment. “You are a spunky one, my pet. I give you that. But I really think you went a bit far.” He looked down at his ruined clothes. “I shall have to come up with a wild tale to explain this.”
“I don’t care how you explain it,” Samantha cried. “You had no right to do as you did.”
His lordship’s mouth grew firm. “Gently, gently, little one. You do not want me to repeat my lesson. Now, if you will just stand aside, I shall leave you to contemplate your lesson and hope that it brings you to a better sense of your position in life.”
“My position in life -” Samantha stopped suddenly. She couldn’t tell him the truth - that she was a woman of quality and should be treated with respect.
“Yes, yes, I know,” he replied in a maddeningly placating tone. “But enough for tonight. I must repair to my rooms and get out of these damp things before I catch a chill.” With a graceful bow he swept past her and out the door.
Samantha sank into a nearby chair and then bit back a gasp as her bruised posterior hit the hard wood. How dare he treat her in such an unthinkable fashion! Like a saucy little chit rather than the woman she was.
She shifted uncomfortably on the chair. Yes, she was a woman and with depths that she had known nothing about. Was that why he had looked so deeply in her eyes? To waken that mad part of her that relished his kisses and the consuming heat of his body pressed against hers? She had only to close her eyes to regain those feelings - wonderful, warm, yielding. Her eyes flew open with a start. Such thoughts were absolutely ridiculous. She did not want his lordship’s kisses or his touch. But this statement to herself was sadly lacking in strength. Had he really wakened some unknown part of herself? Some mad woman who yearned for the embraces of a man whom any decent woman would do well to shun?
She bowed her head in her hands. He was arrogant, toplofty, rude; she told herself so firmly. Such a man had no business in her life. But still the memory of his kisses lingered. Again and again Samantha’s fancy drifted off to contemplate the life he proposed. Of course it was impossible. She would never succumb, no matter how strong his charms. And yet - how would it be to be kissed like that? Again and again - until she was made quite dizzy by it.
Well, she told herself firmly, such speculations were foolish. She was not likely ever to see his lordship again. Not after the liberties she had taken with his person. And he with hers!
Her hand stole unconsciously to her still smarting behind. Briefly she wondered how he would explain his bedraggled appearance to his modish friends, but quite probably he had made his way unseen to his carriage and thus homeward. She sighed again and rubbed absently at her lips. They felt almost as bruised as her bottom. How utterly weak and helpless she had felt in his arms. His mouth had seemed to devour hers, to hold her suspended in some delicious limbo where neither space nor time functioned, where principles were vague forgotten things, and the only reality the feel of his body against hers.
With a muffled groan Samantha rose abruptly from her chair. She simply must stop this kind of thinking. She could never espouse the kind of the life that the earl postulated for her. It was sheer madness to consider it. She would not do so one moment longer. She hurried back out toward the stage.
Chapter 11
On Sunday Samantha’s bottom was only slightly tender and by Tuesday, when Elliston was playing the title part Jean de Paris, she had only hurt feelings left. There was nothing particularly outstanding about this new piece, and she sat through it somewhat dully. She knew quite well that his lordship was not going to come backstage to talk to her again. Why should he? It was madness to persist in waiting and listening for him.
Finally the play and the afterpiece were over, and she and Jake set out for home. The wind blew chilly through the dark streets, and not many folks were abroad. The carriages of the playgoers were soon gone - all but one that seemed to stay a certain distance behind them. “Is that the same carriage we saw before?” Samantha asked.
Jake nodded. “I see’d it every night lately. But it allus stays back, so’s I can’t tell if it’s got a crest.”
“I don’t like it,” said Samantha. “It’s not right.”
“I shouldn’t worry none about it,” said Jake. “I did afore, but’s clear enough it don’t have nothing to do with us. It ain’t never bothered us.”
“Still,” said Samantha, increasing her pace, “it does seem strange.”
Jake also lengthened his st
ride. “Well, we’ll hurry then. But honest, Miss Samantha, if that there carriage meant us some harm, why’d it wait so long?”
Samantha shook her head and pulled the cloak tighter around her. “I don’t know, Jake. I just know I don’t like it. I wish there were some other way to get home.”
“Now, that don’t make no sense,” said Jake logically. “Any other way’d be longer.”
“I know, Jake, I know.”
By this time they had reached the door to the house, and she breathed a sigh of relief as they hurried inside. Perhaps Jake was right. Perhaps the carriage really had nothing to do with them. Behind the darkened curtains she waited for some moments, but the carriage did not pass.
“See?” said Jake. “It didn’t have nothing to do with us. Just some fancy lord dallying on the way home.”
Samantha sighed. “I guess we’d better get to sleep. Good night Jake.” She made her way slowly up the stairs and to bed, but she did not sleep for some time. The mysterious carriage preyed on her mind, but even more disturbing was the recurring thought that two nights later, on Thursday, Kean would play Luke in Riches for the first time this season. And every time Kean had done a major character for the first time, his lordship had been there beside her to comment on it.
* * * *
By Thursday night she was all nerves. But, she thought as she moved toward the wings, at least in her bed tonight she would not have to speculate any longer; she would know whether or not his lordship had appeared.
She did not feel her usual excitement at the thought of seeing Kean do someone new. She shifted restlessly. She did not care to sit down just yet. Once she moved toward the curtain to take a peek at the audience, then stopped and drew back. Even if she saw him out there, it would mean very little. He was clearly not coming backstage. She might as well become used to the idea.
Love Plays a Part Page 15
