“Claudine Bellerose. I am an actress and a playwright at your theatre. There are several of us in the company.”
My theatre. Damnation. He liked the sound of that. The Drayton had simply been a name and numbers written on a piece of paper when he’d crawled from bed that morning. Now he couldn’t help picturing a cast and crew, stage settings, and costumes. His blood ran a bit hotter as he realized he owned an actual theatre. Unfortunately, reality extinguished his enthusiasm. He didn’t have time to invest in the business, and it certainly wasn’t profitable under the current manager.
“I assure you, Miss Bellerose. Closing the theatre was a difficult decision.”
“Was it? We had no advance notice. If you had been weighing your options, you might have alerted us ahead of time. You’ve given us a week to clear out of the theatre.”
“By advance notice, do you mean I should have had my solicitor send a letter informing Mr. Jonas four months ago that I would be selling the theatre and offering to make reasonable arrangements if he wished to buy it?”
Her plump lips turned down. “Well, yes. That certainly would have provided ample warning.”
“Or perhaps I should have urged my solicitor to write again six weeks later when Mr. Jonas didn’t respond to the correspondence, followed by another letter at the three month mark to inform him another buyer was showing interest in purchasing the building and closing the theatre.”
“Oliver Jonas, you infuriating man,” she grumbled in French. “You are careless and disorganized, and I might just strangle you when I get back.”
Russell chuckled to hear some of his own thoughts spoken aloud. Mr. Jonas’s lack of attention to this matter had been infuriating indeed.
She froze. “You understood me?”
“French was part of my studies, although I understand the language better than I speak it. Where are you from?”
Her eyes shuttered. “Seven Dials.”
“What a clever girl,” he muttered, although she was no girl, and he didn’t find her answer amusing. She knew he was asking about her origins, not where she’d ended up. “I am sorry Mr. Jonas didn’t take advantage of my offer, miss, but there is nothing I can do about it. You and your fellow thespians are expected to clear the premises by the deadline.”
“Where do you expect everyone to go? For most of the company, the Drayton is their home and only means of support.”
“Can they not find work elsewhere? There are more theatres in London than I can count.”
With one hand still on her hip, she wagged the pointer finger of her free hand in his direction. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find work with another company? The season is in full swing. Casts are already chosen, and performances are underway. Closing the theatre will displace everyone who relies on the Drayton for survival.”
“How many are there?”
“Eight players and four stagehands. We are short an actor, so one of the actresses performs as a man when needed.”
If Mr. Gordon had discussed people instead of figures and sums, Russell would have taken more care with his decision.
A smartly dressed couple strolled past en route to the hotel entrance. Russell waited as the footman opened the glass-front door, and they disappeared inside.
“I’m sorry, Miss Bellerose. An offer has been received, and I would be a fool to decline it. Unfortunately, the theatre has proven to be a poor investment.” He tipped his hat. “I bid you a good day.”
As he turned to go back inside, her light touch on his forearm stopped him. “Please, Mr. Hawke. Allow me to speak with Oliver. Perhaps there is a way he can purchase the theatre.”
“I expect there is not, or he would have responded.”
She grimaced. “That is because you don’t know him. He is brilliantly creative, but he requires a keeper. I realize you have given him plenty of time to respond, but I’m begging you for a little more. Could you visit the theatre this evening? We are in rehearsals until six. Please.”
Russell rubbed his forehead. Jonas was in the wrong for ignoring Mr. Gordon’s correspondence, but Russell didn’t know if it was fair for everyone to suffer because of the manager’s negligence. “Why did you come in place of Mr. Jonas? He should have arranged a meeting with me himself.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I volunteered. I think Oliver is too proud to approach you, and I don’t want to see him lose the theatre. It means everything to him. The cast and crew are like his family. But the truth is, I have another motive for coming to see you.”
“Oh?” Russell cocked an eyebrow. The intimate nature of her relationship with the manager seemed rather obvious with the way she referred to him by his given name and spoke of what was important to him. It shouldn’t concern Russell in the least, but envy churned in his stomach.
She took a deep breath. “I have written the play we are performing. It is my first, and I am funding it. If the theatre closes now, I have no chance of a return on my investment, and I truly want to see my work performed on stage.”
“I see.” Why hadn’t he walked away when he had the chance? Her investment wasn’t his concern, and the welfare of the cast and crew was not his responsibility. His decision had been made. It was final.
She gazed up at him with hope glimmering in her turquoise eyes. Her hand still rested lightly on his arm. Her long lashes fluttered, betraying her nerves. He couldn’t help recalling her claim in the restaurant that she didn’t need a rescuer, but she did. She needed him. And he needed to walk away.
“Very well,” he said. “Tell Mr. Jonas I will come by later today. If he is interested in buying the Drayton, I will see if we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
A beautiful smile played upon her luscious lips, and her fingers tightened around his arm. “Merci.”
His mouth grew dry. Hellfire and damn! He really should have walked away when he had the chance.
RESISTING ROMEO
CHAPTER THREE
When Claudine lost her place in the reading of the script again, Oliver tossed his hands in the air. “Stop watching for Mr. Hawke and focus. You are an actress. Try to act like you know what you are doing.”
Claudine’s face heated under his criticism. Oliver was correct. She was better than this. She had performed Much Ado About Nothing with broken ribs and never missed a cue. Then there was the time her fellow actress had fainted on stage. Claudine had leapt over her and kept dancing, because everyone who worked in theatre was of the same mindset. Short of a fire, the show must continue. If the audience didn’t get what they paid to see, the players would go hungry when the seats remained empty the next night.
“Sorry.” She lifted the script in front of her face to hide her embarrassment.
“Start from the beginning,” Oliver said, softening his tone.
The theatre door swung open, and a river of dull light spilled into the auditorium. Two men entered, their faces in shadow with the dwindling daylight behind them, but Claudine knew one of them was Mr. Hawke. Her body responded to his presence just as it had earlier at the hotel with pleasurable shivers racing through her. When his bare fingers had touched her skin in the restaurant, she’d felt the shock of his touch all the way to her toes.
“Good afternoon,” he called out as he sauntered down the aisle. She noticed his eyes first, and they were locked on her. On the walkway outside the hotel, she recalled they had been brown, but not quite like any shade she had ever seen. His eye color hovered somewhere between a rich ebony and jade. Now, they radiated with vigor and a blatant sensuality that made her shaky inside. For a moment outside the hotel, he’d looked at her in the same manner, and she wasn’t any more immune to him now than she had been then. She hated that he held sway over her body. Her career was already at his mercy.
Oliver glowered at the intruders. “Please come in, Mr. Hawke. You are only interrupting a rehearsal.”
Tilde came up behind her and placed her hand on Claudine’s shoulder. “Very handsome,” she whispe
red. “No wonder you couldn’t concentrate. Which one is the owner?”
Claudine allowed herself a brief glance at Mr. Hawke’s companion. Until now, she’d barely taken note of Mr. Fletcher’s looks. With his dark blond hair and strong jawline, the rogue likely collected his fair share of admirers—the poor saps. She, however, only had eyes for Mr. Hawke.
“The one with dark hair is the gentleman in question,” she whispered.
Tilde made a humming sound that conveyed her approval.
“Enough of that,” Lars teased from his place at Tilde’s side. The couple had been together for fifteen years and often boasted that they’d never spent a night apart. They barely spent two feet apart. And they were Claudine’s proof that love did exist.
Ignoring Oliver’s steely glares, Mr. Hawke made his way to the front row and lowered onto the bench. Stretching his long legs in front of him and crossing them at the ankles, he smiled at Claudine. “Please continue. I’ve been told this play is a masterpiece. I would like to see for myself.”
She wrinkled her nose. He’d heard no such thing, and most certainly not from her. She knew her play wasn’t a masterpiece, but she hoped it was at least good.
Mr. Hawke’s friend dropped down beside him and propped his foot across his knee.
“You heard the gentleman,” Oliver snapped. His entire face, from his jawline to the tips of his ears, was scarlet. “Perform for him.”
She’d never seen her friend in such a temper. Typically, he was a mellow gent. Perhaps too relaxed at times. She had a hard time reconciling this surly man with the amiable one she’d known for years. He wasn’t happy with her asking Mr. Hawke to the theatre, but Oliver needed to fight for what he wanted.
His maternal grandfather had created this company. The Drayton Theatre existed only because of Timothy Jonas’s determination and sweat. Oliver had a chance to secure the company’s future by purchasing the building. No more leases, no more threat of being evicted. Not many managers owned their own theatres, and the opportunity seemed too good to ignore.
Oliver waved his hand toward Claudine. “From the beginning once again.”
She nodded sharply at Lars and raised her script. As she delivered her first line, the auditorium and her small audience faded away. She was no longer an orphan stealing to stay alive, former mistress to the Duke of Stanhurst, or even an actress when she stood on stage.
When Claudine performed, she was the character she portrayed, and today she was imbued with confidence and courage. This play represented Claudine’s quest to seize control of her life and banish any fears that wanted to keep her oppressed—although to the uninformed observer, it was simply a story about a farmer’s daughter traveling alone to London to find her missing father.
In the scene she and Lars were reading, Claudine’s character realized she was falling in love with the investigator she had hired to find her father, using the last of her family’s savings. Lars played the investigator, and he was a delight to work with on stage, his timing impeccable. The scene unfolded effortlessly between them. Claudine’s real life burdens vanished, and she basked in this single moment of perfection while it lasted.
Inspired by the love and gratitude she held in her heart for Nan, the woman who’d rescued her and had become like her mother, she delivered the scene’s closing line declaring her feelings. Lars hesitantly drew closer to her, correctly ascertaining his character’s conflict between falling in love and remaining objective while searching for the lost father.
A quiet stillness lingered in the theatre. Claudine sensed Mr. Hawke’s gaze on her. Awareness of him rippled just beneath her skin. She swallowed and turned expectantly toward Oliver for further instruction.
The manager’s mouth settled into a firm line. He removed his hat, swept his dark hair from his forehead, and plopped his hat back on his head. “That was acceptable. We will leave off here today. You may go.”
Claudine and her fellow players hesitated. The outcome of Oliver’s meeting with Mr. Hawke would affect them all.
“Now,” he barked.
Everyone jumped and scrambled to go backstage.
“I want Miss Bellerose to remain.” Mr. Hawke’s calm baritone was nearly as surprising as Oliver’s ill temper. She halted at the crimson velvet curtain and peered over her shoulder at Mr. Hawke. He unwound his legs and pushed from the bench. “If you please.”
She stole a glance at Oliver’s stormy face. “I think it would be best for me to allow you and Mr. Jonas privacy.”
“If you can waylay me at the hotel to champion the man’s cause, you can stay. Isn’t that right, sir?” Mr. Hawke’s dark brows arched high over his hazel eyes.
A muscle in Oliver’s jaw bulged. “I didn’t ask her to speak to you.”
“Perhaps that is your problem. You don’t recognize when you need assistance.”
Oliver’s gaze swung toward her accusingly.
She held up her hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.” Well, she’d said a few things, but nothing about offering Oliver the funds to make a good faith payment. She had only thought of the idea when it was clear Oliver wouldn’t have the necessary funds. She had a pension to sustain her, and it was more than she needed to live in modest comfort. Oliver had refused her offer of help, of course.
“I must admit,” Mr. Hawke said, “I am disappointed that you seem to care so little about the Drayton. Miss Bellerose thought it held more importance to you.”
She received another glower from Oliver, and she refused to look in his direction again.
Mr. Hawke’s eyes sparkled when he met her gaze, and warmth rose in her cheeks. “Fortunately for everyone, she convinced me to make my final offer to purchase the theatre in person.”
Oliver crossed his arms over his chest, wisely holding his tongue. He was a lean man, made of hard muscle. His heart was soft, however, although one wouldn’t know it with him behaving like a tyrant.
Mr. Hawke strolled to the stairs to join them on the stage. Each step he took across the boards sent vibrations strumming through her. “I would prefer not to sell to a man who is only interested in the building. I would like the place to stay a playhouse. I assume my father intended to keep it a theatre when he purchased it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have financed several plays throughout the years.”
Oliver blushed and averted his gaze. “We always paid back the debt.”
Claudine came forward to keep the peace between the men, directing her attention toward the current owner. “Regardless of how it might seem, Oliver does care about the Drayton. His grandfather formed the theatre company, and his family has been producing shows for many years. When his grandfather died, the building’s owner wouldn’t lease it to Oliver’s mother. Oliver tells me your father saved the Drayton.”
“Given the abysmal income generated by this theatre, I would say his intention might have been noble, but his efforts were for naught. The Drayton is limping dangerously close to a freshly dug grave.”
Claudine frowned in Oliver’s direction, but he refused to meet her eye. He’d mentioned nothing about the theatre being in trouble.
“What do you know about the lease agreement?” Mr. Hawke asked Oliver.
“There is no ending date as long as the company belongs to my family, and the property remains in your family name. Quarterly rent is based on a percentage of the profits earned.”
The details surprised her. It was an unusual lease arrangement, to say the least.
Mr. Hawke’s brows lowered. “At first, I thought it was a forgery, but I had my father’s signature compared, and it is legitimate. I don’t know what possessed my father to make such a foolhardy decision, although the theatre was making a decent profit in the beginning. Unfortunately, the lease agreement leaves me little room to maneuver. The Drayton is no longer a wise investment, and my only recourse is to sell it.”
“Are you blaming me for the theatre doing poorly?”
“You are the manager.”
Law. What
did any of this matter now? She sent Mr. Hawke a sweet smile, hoping to smooth over the rift between the men. “I believe we have become distracted. You came to offer Oliver a chance to purchase the theatre, and you mentioned that you might be able to make arrangements?”
Mr. Hawke nodded slowly. “Yes, perhaps that is a possibility. If Mr. Jonas wants to pay installments—”
“I don’t want to buy it.”
“Oliver,” she said through gritted teeth. One more word from him, and she would be tempted to use one of the Wing Chun moves she had learned on him.
“No, Claudine. I don’t want your charity, and no matter what you say now, you will resent giving me the money.”
“I won’t. Besides, I wouldn’t be giving it to you. I would be investing in my future. If this play is successful, I want to produce more.”
Oliver threw his hand in the air. “And what happens when the theatre goes under? You heard the man. Business has been bad for some time now.”
“We can turn it around,” she said.
Mr. Hawke looked back and forth between them as they continued to bicker.
“Claudine, look at the mess I’ve made since I took over.”
“You haven’t had someone to help you. You lost your mother. I could help you.”
“Gads!” Mr. Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. “I can’t keep up with either of you.”
Mr. Hawke’s friend slowly pushed from his seat and stretched with a slight groan. “Let’s bring this meeting to an end, Russell. We have plans, remember?”
Oliver grimaced. “Thank you for coming, sir, but I’m not interested in purchasing the theatre.”
Mr. Hawke’s eyes widened, and he gestured toward her. “Did you hear what he said? I’ve come all this way to offer him a way to keep the doors open, and he isn’t interested. I guess Mr. Jonas doesn’t care that your play won’t be performed, or that you will see no return on your investment.”
“Wait one moment,” Oliver grumbled. “I never said I didn’t care about Claudine. She is like a sister to me.”
Resisting Romeo (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 2) Page 3
