The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  "Just that he’s been through a lot, and I don’t want—"

  "You had your chance with him. Besides, it doesn’t matter what you want any longer, now does it, Viola. George is falling in love with her. Learn to live with it or you’ll lose his friendship forever."

  Viola sagged back in the chair. "I thought he loved me."

  Jasmine’s tone was icy. "So you wanted him as a tame little puppy who would follow you around giving you nothing but adoration?"

  "No, just that, well, he was my confidant, and I his."

  "Are you so sure about that? How much do you really know about George?"

  "Well—"

  Jasmine's violet eyes narrowed. "He’s confided more in Sebastian than he ever has in you. Now he is entrusting more and more of the real George to Miranda. Sebastian knows it too. You could see his expression yourself. You’ve both met your match and are afraid of losing him.

  "But you both have to stop thinking of how this change will affect you both. George needs your help. Don’t fight him on this. Be gracious, kind, welcoming. Or at least pretend to be. I’m sure you’ll find that she’s a lovely woman. As I said, she's part of the Rakehell set now and has not had the easiest life any more than you have. And even if you don’t like her, pretend to for his sake. He’s been alone for an awfully long time. Anyone can see that."

  "Has he told you or Philip exactly why?" Viola asked curiously.

  Jasmine poured them both more tea. "No, but I’m sure he told Sebastian in confidence. George is your friend, just as Alistair is mine. But there are places inside of them that we can neither of us can touch. So we have to let them go, do you see? You wouldn’t want me to be so intimate with your husband. You would resent it. Please, don’t try to compete with Miranda. She’ll be the making of George's happiness. You’ll see."

  Viola gave a grudging smile. "You sound more and more like Philip every day. Gypsies, the pair of you."

  "Speaking of, I’m going to go see the children. I’ll talk with you more anon." She gave her friend an encouraging smile, patted her on the shoulder and left.

  Jasmine left Viola sitting at the table wishing she could read tea leaves, if only to see whether George’s future were as bright as Jasmine was hoping, or if the sultry dark haired beauty would prove the ruin of them all.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sebastian had been to the theatre often enough to render a guided tour superfluous. George escorted Miranda to her dressing room to get her final agreement on Twelfth Night and living at Fulham House.

  "Everything all right?" he asked, noting her surprised look as she lifted the single perfect red rose to her nose and inhaled its rich fragrance. George felt tremors break out all over his body at the thought of kneeling at her feet again the way he had last night.

  The blush on her cheeks told him that she had not forgotten the incident either and she now dropped the rose back on the dressing table as though it had scorched her.

  "Everything is fine. The house is lovely, my room is superb, and I’m looking forward to doing a breeches part. At least I’ll be able to cover my tits for most of the play."

  Now it was George’s turn to blush and wince. "I’m sorry about that. I really had no idea you could act so well. Now the play really is the thing. Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask—"

  "Yes?" she said, her breath catching.

  He was about to repeat the invitation for a private supper, but Milly came in with more flowers and boxes of chocolate. "They’re already queueing up outside to see you and buy advanced tickets."

  "I was just going to ask you what that trick is you do with your hands. I’ve seen you do it on several occasions."

  "Oh, that." She blushed. "It helps me concentrate and, well, get in touch with my body. All parts of the body are supposed to be seats of pleasure, and in order to know something you really need to study it. I massage and meditate—"

  "Meditate?"

  "Focus my mind on one thing for greater concentration," she clarified. "My sister taught me."

  "I see. Will you show me some time?"

  "Certainly. But for now they’re all waiting for you."

  With a last look at the rose, which had not had a note attached, she shivered with desire and hunched her shoulders forward so George would not see her nipples protruding from the fine linen of the pearl grey gown she had donned that morning.

  "No, my dear, they’re waiting for you." He took her hand in both of his own, patted it, and tucked it into the crook of his arm.

  For the rehearsals for Twelfth Night, George began with some of the most famous lines Shakespeare had ever penned.

  "If music be the food of love, play on;

  Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,

  The appetite may sicken, and so die.

  That strain again! it had a dying fall:

  O! it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound

  That breathes upon a bank of violets,

  Stealing and giving odour."

  He looked at her. "I pause, listen to the music, and then I say,

  "Enough! no more:

  ’Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

  "Then I shall move around moodily, from window to sofa, and throw myself upon it in a languid manner."

  "Don’t throw yourself too hard, Boss," Bart joked. "All the legs will snap off."

  George made a comical face, and everyone laughed.

  "Then I say,

  'O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,

  That, notwithstanding thy capacity

  Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,

  Of what validity and pitch soe’er,

  But falls into abatement and low price,

  Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy,

  That it alone is high fantastical.'

  "So, who can tell me what is going on here in this scene?"

  Bart gave an eager grin. He had read the book through. "He’s in love and pining for Olivia, but she’ll have none of him. Because he’s a posh nob, he gets some geezer to woo the bint for ‘im. Only she falls for the geezer, see. So then the two men seem to fight over the same woman. Except that the geezer is a woman disguised as a man."

  "Very good, Bart. And why did she do that?"

  Milly put her hand up. "Because she was in a foreign country, needed a job, and thought all men were swine. Her dead dad knew the Duke was a good man, so she reckons that no matter what happens, she'll be safe with him."

  George looked stunned. "Very good, Milly."

  "I been reading the play too, see," she said proudly. "Miranda is teaching me."

  "You forgot one thing, though," Becky pointed out. "She has a brother. A twin. And so the woman thinks he’s the same geezer as the duke’s messenger. They get married, and the duke is furious."

  Liz interjected, "And she loves the duke."

  "Who?" Bart asked.

  "The girl wot is dressed up as the man, of course. Viola. Miranda in this case."

  "So George and Miranda are going to get married?" Milly asked in confusion.

  George and Miranda blushed.

  There was a bit of giggling, but everyone was looking at them pointedly, almost holding their breaths.

  Finally George grinned. "Yes, that’s exactly what they’re going to do. Once all the mess in both their lives is sorted out."

  Miranda gaped at him, completely at a loss at this change in the man who had told her last night they could never mean anything to each other.

  George cleared his throat and said gruffly, "But it takes time. Speaking of which, we need to do Antony and Cleopatra tonight, a couple of more performances, so let’s finish this scene and give the finale a run through."

  The performance went well, though Miranda had a fit of nerves when she saw her friends Philip and Jasmine in the front of George’s special box. She also caught the glint of knowing and disapproval in Viola’s eyes. But her husband Alistair was the soul of politeness. Tall, silver-haired, distinguishe
d, he did not seem to care who she was or where she came from. He treated every woman with equal courtesy, from a Duchess to an orange girl. Miranda could see why Viola, an impoverished gentlewoman, would have been swept off her feet by him, for he had not been one of the most eligible bachelors of the Ton for years for nothing.

  Jasmine gave her a warm hug which George noted and was pleased by, and whispered, "Lawrence is coming at two."

  "I’ll just stay out of the way then."

  "All right, whatever you think. But I personally think you should let him know, before he finds out by accident and gives the game away before your ready to tell everyone the truth."

  The next day, Miranda kept her word that she wanted to help, and measured the sitting room which had been demolished, running the tape along everything from floors to windows.

  George met Mr. Lawrence Howard in Philip’s study. He liked him at once. He knew he had helped Alistair and Viola a great deal during the Cato Street conspiracy and that they were very similar in terms of disposition, straightfoward, no-nonsense types. He also discovered they were compatible in the sense of always being prepared to negotiate in a reasonable manner.

  George had been listening for Miranda’s arrival, and jumped at every opening and closing of the front door. At three there was still no sign of her.

  Finally he had to say, "Well, I think we’ve discussed all my needs. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time."

  "Not at all. It’s been a pleasure getting to know you," Lawrence Howard said truthfully.

  "I’m only sorry my friend isn’t here to help make a more firm decision about what we need. She must still be measuring up."

  "Well, why don’t you come with me to the warehouse and we can at least make a start on the furniture. The black shellac really will go with everything."

  "Very well. But if we could stop at The Three Bells to see if she’s there, I would be most grateful. It’s just on the way," he said apologetically.

  "Really, it’s no trouble at all."

  Miranda got the shock of her life when she espied her brother-in-law coming in the back entrance of The Three Bells. She tried to scurry into the kitchen with her set of plans but George spotted the hem of her skirt whisking through the door and called, "Miranda, my dear. There’s someone here you need to meet."

  Oh God.... It was all up with her now. She was about to bolt out the second door heading into the pub when she decided to brazen it out. After all, if she wished to be an actress, she was going to face many more challenging roles than this.

  So she came sailing out of the kitchen like Cleopatra on her barge, and said, "So pleased to meet you. I am Madamoiselle Lyons."

  She shook hands with a flabbergasted Lawrence, who caught just in time the urgent pressure on his hand and the swivelling of her gaze in George’s direction. A tiny shake of her head gave him the final warning. He swallowed his exclamations of astonishment as she smiled up into his face and said how much she was looking forward to seeing the samples.

  She led him into the kitchen and flicked through the swatches expertly, for she had become quite familiar with all of his wares through her sister’s hard work as Lawrence’s agent in Bristol.

  "The Turkey red for certain. Elegant but practical, wouldn’t you say? I like this one with the bit of green and gold. And of course some black lacquer furniture would go well with any colour and wallpaper."

  George gave her a warm, appreciative smile which Lawrence could not fail to note. "That’s just what Mr. Howard was saying, my dear."

  Lawrence and Miranda exchanged significant looks, and put their heads back down near the sample books. Their whole body language betokened their familiarity with one another if they did but know it.

  Confusion reigned in George’s breast. He frowned as the two of them continued to chat and stare at each other and he could feel his blood boil with jealousy. Lawrence Howard was a most handsome man, tall and broad with unusual silvery eyes.

  At one point she looked up and asked, "Will you have some tea?"

  "Why not coffee?" George asked.

  "Oh, but, but Lawrence never drinks—" She clamped her mouth shut for a moment. A look passed between brother and sister-in-law which had George seething, for it could only be described as intimate.

  "Yes, no self-respecting tea trader would ever drink coffee," he said smoothly.

  Miranda now offered him lardy cakes and gingerbread, and the awkward moment passed.

  Lawrence looked at all of Miranda’s sketches and measurements and asked George about his budget.

  George named a generous sum, and Lawrence declared. "That sounds fine. I shall do the entire room floor to ceiling, all in, for that. Including furniture, wallpaper and carpets."

  George stared. "My goodness, are you sure? That seems like a prodigious bargain to me."

  "I’m letting you have everything at slightly above wholesale. You’ve had some bad luck. I want to help. And if you will forgive my saying so, you can afford much better tea than this. I’ll make you a deal on my special Assam by the tea chest load at a price you can’t refuse.

  "And you know, it’s never too late to change. This place may well have been a brothel and pub, but there’s no reason why it can’t move upscale, be a tea and coffee house. You have plenty of staff, and a good location. And I hope you’re going to buy lots of fabric for the ladies here from me." Lawrence gave him a warm smile.

  "Er, most generous of you," George said in surprise, for most respectable men would have run a mile at the notion of befriending a brothel-keeper. Well, business was business, he reasoned. "It’s a deal. I help your business, you help mine."

  Lawrence offered his hand and shook heartily. "I have a feeling we’re going to become very great friends."

  Miranda, sitting next to George, gave a warm relieved smile to her brother-in-law and passed another cake.

  "I’m just going to take one more look around the room if you don’t mind," Lawrence said after a time.

  George and Lawrence went out, but Miranda noted that he had deliberately left his hat behind. She listened near the door, and sure enough, he came back in, ostensibly to look for it.

  "Are you all right?" he asked in a worried undertone.

  "Fine. Only it’s too complicated to explain now."

  "Will you come to the warehouse, see Juliet?"

  "Of course," Miranda said quickly as she heard a footstep outside the door.

  "My wife would be most pleased to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle," Lawrence said more loudly.

  Miranda looked at George as he entered. She deferred to George at once. "I would love to come to the warehouse, but Mr. Davenant might have other plans."

  "No, it’s Sunday. We’re fancy free all day. It would be a privilege to meet your wife," George said sincerely, relieved that the handsome younger man was married.

  "You’ll stay to supper, of course," Lawrence offered. "And no need to worry about dressing. We’re quite informal in our house."

  "Delighted," George said.

  Miranda felt her heart sink into her boots, but gave him a convincing smile and prepared to put on the best performance of her life in front of her own family.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Miranda thought the next few hours would be torture, but Lawrence and her sister Juliet were unflappable. Once they reached Lawrence's warehouse, Miranda and George got all of their shopping for The Three Bells accomplished without any disagreements. George pronounced her choices first-rate, and then they went in to supper. Juliet managed to refrain from asking any really searching questions of George, keeping the talk light.

  George was astonished at her graciousness, her beauty, and her evident intelligence. He wondered who she reminded him of with her ebony hair and lovely eyes. It was good to meet other women besides Jasmine and Viola. It made him appreciate his own Miranda so much more.

  The meal over, George and Lawrence disappeared into his study to bond over brandy and cigars, which left Mira
nda with her sister, who grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into her small private parlor.

  "All right, out with it. What on earth are you playing at? You're working as an actress, of all things? South of the river? Living in The Three Bells brothel?" Juliet hissed.

  "Well, it is a pub and bathhouse too," she said feebly. "And I’m living with Philip and Jasmine Marshall now."

  "Thank God for small mercies. We heard about the theatre riot, of course. Everyone did."

  "I can’t think why. The police didn’t even come," she said quietly as she sat on a small silk sofa.