Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  The earl still looked at her strangely, but Byron laughed sardonically. “Ah, my boy, she’s hipped now. Wait till you get home. It’ll be a long chase tonight.”

  Waves of fury swept over Samantha. What arrogant, puffed-up fools men could be. “I’m afraid you quite mistake yourself,” she said to Byron with icy politeness. “The earl and I have not the sort of alliance you seem to presuppose. Nor will we ever. We happen to enjoy the theatre together. That is all.”

  Byron’s dark eyes regarded her cynically. “Of course, of course. Roxbury is well known among the ladybirds for his stimulating - conversation.”

  The earl half-rose from his chair, looking as though he might at any moment lose control and toss the poet over the railing to the pit below. His brows were drawn together in a thunderous frown, his mouth was a tight line, and his eyes had gone dark and hard.

  Samantha put all the sting she could into her next words. “The fact that you cannot recognize a relationship other than carnal,” she said with a look of disdain, “does not mean that Roxbury cannot.”

  Byron considered this for a moment and then laughed harshly again. “It’s a great game you’re playing, but only that. Women are good for certain things. Intellectual conversation is not one of them.”

  The earl rose to his feet, and Samantha could feel the tension in the air. “I believe we are no longer desirous of your company, Byron. I suggest you leave. Now.”

  “Of course, of course.” Byron moved toward the door. “Imagine, Roxbury in a platonic relationship. It’s incredible.” He was still shaking his head as the door closed behind him.

  The earl resumed his seat with a sigh. Samantha’s anger had faded now, but she thought Roxbury might be upset with her. There was silence between them for some moments, and Samantha grew increasingly uneasy. Finally she could stand it no longer. Better to speak and know how he was feeling than to sit and wonder. She took a deep breath. “Are all poets so - so -”

  “Caustic?” suggested his lordship. His tone was relatively even, and she swallowed a sigh of relief.

  “Yes, that’s an accurate word,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

  The earl sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose we must consider the source. Byron is not the kindest of men under ordinary circumstances, and now -”

  “Now?” asked Samantha. “What unusual circumstances would condone such gross rudeness?”

  Roxbury gave her a funny look. “You might consider that your own reaction was a little excessive.”

  “Excessive?” She heard her voice rising but could not prevent it.

  The earl nodded. “Excessive,” he repeated. Then, seeing her expression, he hastened to add, “Softly, Samantha, softly. Remember where you are. Now, as to Byron’s situation - his relationships with women have not been successful. First, there was Caro Lamb. What that woman did to him was way beyond the line. And then his wife. Left him and with scandal.” The earl shook his head. “No, I fear we shall have to forgive the poet. This time at least.”

  “You may forgive him,” Samantha said. “I shall not. I do not know anything about this Caro Lamb - or Lord Byron’s wife. Nor do I want to,” she added hastily. “But little as I do know about Lord Byron, it is easy enough to imagine what kind of thing was going on.”

  Roxbury frowned. “Your imagination is probably sufficient to the task. But Byron is a proud man, and for Caro Lamb to cut her wrists in public like that at Lady Cholmondoley’s ball -”

  “She what?” Samantha’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Slashed her wrists,” repeated Roxbury.

  “How horrible!”

  “And how unmannerly,” added the earl with a dry smile.

  “How can you speak so coolly of such a terrible thing?” Samantha asked.

  The earl shrugged. “She did not really hurt herself. Nor did she intend to. She only wanted to shame Byron after he terminated their affair.”

  Samantha shuddered. “It sounds just horrible.”

  “For Caro it was probably just another adventure.”

  “That is unkind!” cried Samantha. “Perhaps she loved him.” Her own heart was beating rapidly, and she could not forbear from speculating as to what she would do in similar circumstances. Surely she would not do such a dramatic thing. But then, how could she judge another woman harshly for seeking some way out of her suffering.

  “Caro Lamb is incapable of love,” replied his lordship. “She did not love her husband, William, or she would not have made a public fool of him. Nor could she have loved Byron in the way I believe you use the word, or she would not have treated him as she did.”

  Samantha did not reply to this. First, she was much aware that she did not know anything about Caro Lamb. And second, she was afraid of giving herself away. The depth of her reaction to Byron’s desertion of a woman who had once meant much to him told her clearly that she was contemplating the time when the earl would tire of her company. She had only known his lordship’s companionship, disregarding those several kisses; how much harder it must be to have known the fullness of a man’s love and then be abandoned. She could never stand that; she felt it instinctively.

  “I suggest that we leave the subject of Byron and his amours,” said his lordship with a strange look. “It is certainly not conducive to pleasure for either of us. Besides, the curtain should be rising soon. Unless you do not wish to see the rest of the play.”

  “Oh, no!” cried Samantha quickly. Then, aware that her eagerness might be misinterpreted, she hurried to add, “That is, I want to give Kemble a fair chance.” She managed a small smile. “I should not want to be accused of being unfair.”

  “Heaven forbid,” declared his lordship dryly.

  * * * *

  And so they watched the rest of the play - and even the afterpiece. As the curtains fell and the earl moved to help her with her cloak, Samantha felt a distinct sense of disappointment. Their evening together was over, and there would never be another like it - not now that she knew what the ton would make of it. She turned to his lordship. “In spite of the fact that you tricked me into coming,” she said with a small smile, “I enjoyed this evening. Or, at least, the play,” she amended quickly.

  A strange glint appeared in his lordship’s eye. “How fortunate for me that you did not en joy Byron.”

  Samantha shook her head. “Now, milord, you have behaved so admirably this evening. Do not spoil it.”

  The earl sighed in affectation. “You are extremely unfair, Samantha, my pet. I spend the whole evening with this vision of loveliness, and I am forbidden to press my suit. Certainly this is grossly unfair. How am I to encompass my object if I am forbidden to mention the subject?”

  As he spoke, he was placing the cloak around her shoulders. He lifted a stray curl, and his fingers lingered overlong on the nape of her neck. Samantha felt a warm melting that wanted to creep over her.

  “A man of your parts and experience,” she said, moving slightly to escape his touch, “doubtless has many ways of achieving the same effect.”

  The earl gave her a quick, reproachful glance, to which she returned a bright smile. “I fear your idea of my reputation may be inflated,” he commented dryly.

  “Did you not admit to being a rake?” asked Samantha.

  He nodded. “Yes, but so might any lord in London. One can hardly be fashionable otherwise.” He tucked her arm through his and led her toward the door of the box. “Would you have me be unfashionable?” he asked with a wicked grin.

  “I would -” began Samantha and stopped suddenly. She did not intend to fall into his trap. “What I would have you be is quite immaterial,” she said as they stepped out into the corridor.

  “You know that is not the case,” replied the earl, looking down at her warmly, so warmly that she felt her heart begin to flutter. “What you would have me be is of great import to me.” He said this in such an intimate tone that her knees trembled. For a moment she thought her legs might refuse to hold her, but as he too
k a step, she was able to follow.

  They did not speak much as they made their way through the crowd. The stairs were so thronged that conversation was almost impossible. The crush of people was a little frightening to Samantha, accustomed as she was to being backstage till the crowd had left. It seemed as though she had never seen so many people in so little space.

  The carriage was waiting for them, the earl’s coachman having arrived early, and he resolutely held his ground till their approach. As his lordship helped Samantha in, the babel of noise around her grew even louder. Coachmen vying to get in close shouted and cursed at each other. The earl shook his head. “What a vocabulary sweet young ladies hear in this place. No doubt their education is given a great setback.”

  “A lady simply doesn’t hear such things,” Samantha replied. “They don’t register in her mind.”

  The earl looked at her strangely. “For a young woman who has no desire to move up in the world, you know a great deal about ladies.”

  “My mother used to work for a lady,” she said quickly. “She taught me a lot of things.”

  “So it seems,” observed the earl dryly. “So it seems.”

  The ride to Samantha’s house was a short one, and some few minutes later the carriage stopped. His lordship was instantly out the door, offering her his hand. “The hour is late,” he said gravely. “Therefore I hope you will not object to being escorted to the door.”

  Samantha did not protest. A light in the upstairs window had revealed to her the figure of a waiting Hester. She knew her servant would soon be there to let her in.

  The earl stopped before the door. “I much enjoyed your company this evening,” he said in that same sober tone. “I am sorry that Byron’s boorishness caused you pain. I intend to speak to him about it.” He smiled slightly and gently squeezed her arm before he released it. “I will attempt no liberty upon your person,” he said softly, his eyes caressing her. “And I will only remind you that, if you were to accept my offer, we should be able to do this sort of thing quite often.”

  The door opened on his last word, and Hester stood there waiting. Samantha swallowed her reply and contented herself with a brief nod. Then he bent low over her gloved hand and was gone, moving with that lithe grace that seemed suddenly to tear at her heartstrings. Swallowing over her tears, Samantha turned and made her way up the stairs to bed, a bed that by morning would show the effects of a very restless night.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning found Samantha more than a little irritable. It was not that the late hours bothered her; certainly she was used to them by now. But this restless tossing about gave a person little relaxation. The worst of it was that her tossing and turning accomplished no end. Struggle with her problem as she might, she could find no solution. She did not want to leave her position at the theatre or her lodgings, both of which would be necessary if she really meant to avoid his lordship’s importunities. The rub was, though, that uncomfortable as his rakish words made her, she did not want to lose his companionship. The truth of the matter, now unavoidably clear to her, was that her partiality for his lordship had increased until the future without him in it seemed an eternity of unbearable dullness.

  She was well aware that such an attitude could only add to her suffering. To keep Roxbury at her side must eventually mean the abandonment of her principles. And this she did not see that she could do.

  She washed, dressed in one of her drabbest gowns, and twisted her hair into a tight knot at the back of her head. Kean was not appearing in tonight’s play, a piece called The Devil’s Bridge. He would most likely find it beneath his notice, she thought as she made her way to breakfast.

  So silent was she on their way to the theatre that Jake glanced at her suspiciously several times, but Samantha, deep in her problems, did not even notice.

  The day passed with monotonous slowness, and for the first time Samantha wished to be elsewhere. Of course, she told herself, she was being foolish to feel this way. But she could not seem to feel differently. The supper Jake brought was eaten in the same automatic fashion, and when she went backstage to take her accustomed place, several people gave her second glances. Even this she did not notice, so lost was she in her own thoughts.

  The play had only just begun when she was approached by one of the other seamstresses. “Maria says for you to leave,” the young woman said. “You don’t look good.”

  “I can’t go home till the play’s over,” Samantha replied.

  “Then go back to the work room and wait. You look sick.”

  Samantha nodded. “All right. Thank you. I’m not feeling very well.” She rose unsteadily and made her way back down the long, dim corridor. She was not ill; she knew that. It was just that she couldn’t seem to muster any energy or enthusiasm. She was haunted by visions of herself in coral silk, gracing his lordship’s arm, sitting beside him in his box, and - her pale cheeks flushed at the thought - having him draw her into his arms and hold her.

  Quietly she opened the door to the work room. At least now that Lily was gone she need not worry about her possessions. But things like cloaks didn’t seem to matter anyway, she thought as she sank heavily into a chair. Her mind, it seemed, could think of nothing but the earl and her longing to see him. What if she were to do as he asked? To become his - his - Her mind refused to say the word.

  Suddenly Samantha leaped to her feet. She must shake off this terrible lethargy. The earl was only a man and, aside from his good looks, not all that exceptional a one. There would be other men in her life. She could move about in the ton if she found that she wanted a husband that badly. She would not let any man, and most particularly not the earl, lead her down the path of dishonor. She would never, never consent to such a thing.

  Right this minute she would stop this stupid moping in the dark and get herself back to the wings. Even if The Devil’s Bridge was not the equal of Shakespeare’s work, she could certainly find something of interest in it. She would go this minute and do so.

  Without wasting another second she stepped out into the hall. She was no schoolroom miss, she told herself crisply, to be so smitten by Cupid’s arrow as to lose all sense of herself as a person. What the earl asked of her was degrading and demeaning. She would never consent to it.

  She quickened her step as she rounded a corner, and then she was brought up abruptly against a white marcella waistcoat. This time she did not fall to the floor, for two strong arms reached out to clasp her close. Even without seeing his face Samantha knew that it was Roxbury who held her. The rush of joy she felt was so intense that it brought tears to her eyes. For a long moment he held her close, and Samantha, unable to protest or move away, listened to the heavy beating of his heart under her ear and surrendered herself to her feelings.

  Finally he held her away and looked down with worried eyes. “Samantha, are you ill? They told me you had come back to lie down.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, and certainly that was not a lie, not now at least. “I - I had a touch of the headache, but it’s gone now.”

  Still he did not move but continued to gaze down at her. His eyes seemed to be searching hers, seeking for something. The conviction was strong in her that she should avert her eyes, but somehow she could not do so. She wanted to lose herself in those dark depths, feel the full extent of the passion she saw waiting there. Then his hands drew her closer and his lips descended on hers. Even as their lips touched, she sighed in pleasure. She had wanted this kiss, wanted it with every fiber of her being. Without further thought she surrendered herself to it. As his mouth moved on hers, her senses went spinning off into ecstasy, her knees began to quiver, and her bones felt as though they were melting. The only thought she had was the half-formed wish that this intense joy might last forever. She abandoned herself entirely to her feelings, her mouth softening and opening under his, her body shaping itself to fit against him.

  When finally he released her, the earl smiled triumphantly. “Samantha! I knew I could r
each you! Oh, it will be glorious. You’ll see. We’ll go immediately tomorrow to Bond Street and order some new gowns. And then to the jewelers. But tonight -”

  He began to pull her back into his arms. It was then that sanity returned to a dazed Samantha. Dear God, what had she done? “No, no,” she cried, hysteria near to overtaking her as she fought the wild urge to fling herself back into his arms. “I can’t.”

  She tore herself from his grasp and in doing so left a part of her sleeve in his hand. Panting, Samantha leaned against the wall, her legs too weak to carry her farther.

  The earl frowned darkly. “Samantha, you are being foolish. Don’t fight your feelings.”

  “No, I can’t,” she repeated wildly. “Don’t ask me.”

  He took a step toward her. “Samantha.”

  A door opened nearby, and a disheveled Kean stuck his head out of his dressing room. “What’s going on here?” he demanded truculently.

  “This is a private matter,” the earl said softly, not taking his eyes from Samantha’s face.

  Kean looked at her. “Samantha, what’s going on here?”

  She shook her head. Speech seemed to have deserted her and she could only shake her head and give herself up to the sobs that possessed her.

  “Now, see here,” said Kean, stepping out into the hall.

  Ignoring the actor, the earl took another step toward Samantha. “Samantha, you are behaving foolishly. Now stop it. You know I have done nothing to hurt you.”

  Still she could not answer, and Kean, moving closer, spied the piece of dress material in Roxbury’s hand. “Here now,” he said, “that’s doing it up a bit brown.”

  The earl turned and frowned. “As I said before, this is a private affair.” His look would have quelled any sane man, but Kean shook his head belligerently, and Samantha’s dazed mind noted the fact that he had been drinking.

  “Anything that concerns Samantha concerns me. We’re friends.”

  Evidently the earl too had become aware of the actor’s condition, for he tempered his look as he replied, “Samantha and I are having a private conversation. I am trying to discover what upset her.”