The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  Castlereagh smiled thinly. "As if I ever could forget. You mark my words. One day I’ll smash the whole lot of them. Radicals? Traitors, more like."

  "Well, Boss, keep your eye on that prize, and stop fooling with George and that little filly. Mares can be the most wonderful creatures on earth, but they have a nasty kick and bite when riled."

  "Thanks for the advice, Edwards, but I think I can manage one tiny whore myself," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

  Edwards smirked. "That’s what all men think, until a woman bests them." He bowed. "Goodbye, sir. We shan’t be seeing each other again."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  George and Miranda knew all the joys of true love as they worked together by day and evening, performing first Twelfth Night, and at the end of a fortnight, beginning their stellar run of Othello.

  There wasn’t a dry eye in the theatre the first night at her death scene, and Miranda felt the soaring exhilaration again that she had first experienced when she had first starred as Cleopatra.

  On their opening night, the attraction between them sparked into a near conflagration. George had all to do not to make love to her right in stage in the prop bed. Fortunately, it was fairly lumpy and creaked and groaned like an old man with rheumatism.

  But once in her dressing room alone, there was no denying the desire which shimmered between them any longer. He tried to hold back, and was delighted when Miranda proved the impatient one. She pulled George to her and kissed him with an unbridled passion that had him spilling like an adolescent in the throes of an incredibly erotic dream, and he collapsed against the door of her dressing room panting.

  "Oh, darling, you have no idea what you do to me."

  "I think I do. The same as your kisses do to me," she admitted, insinuating her fingers into the front of his parted tunic.

  "Nay, my love. Much as I adore you, that would be playing with fire. It’s too soon."

  She nodded. "I know. But I believe there are other things we can explore until the doctor gives us the all clear. After all, there are lots of times that a woman might not be able to—"

  "I can wait, really," George reassured her. "The important thing is for you to not rush yourself because you feel you have to."

  "Maybe I can’t wait," she said impishly.

  "Well, we can talk to Antony. But only if you’re sure. And I would really feel a whole lot better about this if you would, er—"

  He drew the chain around her neck upwards, and palmed the rings. They were still warm from her flesh, and he shivered with yearning.

  She stroked his cheek. "Soon, I promise."

  "I don’t want to rush you, darling, honestly. It’s just that, well, I don’t trust all of this between us. I’ve never told you the whole truth yet about—"

  She put her finger on his lips. "We both need to talk. But not now. Let’s just preserve the illusion, the fantasy that we are both who we appear to be, no more and no less. Just for a little while longer. I’ve had too much reality recently."

  He nodded, and since he was willing to do anything to make her happy, he kissed her and made the whole world go away for them both.

  Miranda never mentioned it, but George knew what she feared. For he feared it too. Every night they both looked out into the crowd for any sign of a pale sandy-haired man.

  She also looked for any sign of Georgina or Kitty, but there was none. Georgina must have known her orange selling days were over now that The New Rose had become a centre for such excellent theatre that the last thing the audience wanted was to tiddle the wenches.

  "All right. Whatever you wish, my dear. But just remember, I'm here if you need me."

  She nodded and stroked his cheek. "I know. It's what's so alluring about you, and so difficult too."

  "Difficult?" he repeated blankly.

  "You're so good to me, I feel I don't deserve you."

  He gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, sweetheart, if only you knew."

  "And difficult because, as you say, now that all the misunderstandings about Oxnard, Viola and our feelings for each other have been cleared up, well, all the old feelings are back again. Even stronger than before, if the truth be told."

  He quirked one brow. "And that's a bad thing?"

  She nodded, meeting his gaze in the mirror as she sat to remove her greasepaint. "It is because it's so intense, but as you say, we shouldn't be hasty. And because, well, having come so close to losing it all, it makes it that much more intense. It's a bit, well, frightening and humbling. I don't know if I really want to get so, um, lost in your world and our desires."

  "If you don't want to act any longer--"

  "I didn't mean that world, though perhaps it's part of it. It's all so, er, seductive. The power, the adulation of the crowd. The fantasy, above all. When I'm up there I can be someone else, forget what ever happened to be. But once we're George and Miranda again, a new intensity takes over and yet I always have doubts that I'm fit for the role you want me to play in my life. Not to mention the fact that I feel like I'm playing a role all the time, covering up what happened to me so that I have actually been avoiding my own sister and brother in law--"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

  She shrugged one shoulder. "I'm telling you know because there can be no love without trust."

  He stooped to kiss her hand, then when she cupped it to her cheek, he nuzzled her neck. "You are more than fit for the role. But I am sorry for the covering up. But you know what people would say--"

  "He'll be back. You and I both know it."

  "Then it will be the role of your lifetime to act as if you don't even know him."

  "I want to kill him," she admitted raggedly, gripping her hairbrush so hard that George could hear the wood crack. "For what he stole from me, and from us."

  He stroked down her shoulders and then took the hairbrush from her hands to use it on her long dark billowing tresses, before she smashed the mirror in fury.

  "I know, love. No one would blame you. But you would hang for it. It's not worth it."

  "Nor for you, my love," she said, catching his eye in the mirror.

  "Aye, I know. Sebastian said the same thing. But he also reminded me that there can sometimes be much better ways to destroy a person than simply killing him. Ruining him and making him suffer might be as apt a punishment as any for what he did to you."

  "Run him to ground like a fox, and starve him out, then? Lead the hounds to him so they can rip him to pieces?"

  He stood up and began to run the brush from her crown to the tip of her waist-length hair. "Aye, something like that."

  "The Rakehells don't hold with fox hunting, you know. If you don't eat the creature, why torment it with such cruelty."

  "Farmers say foxes are cruel. They kill everything in the hen house even though they can't eat it all."

  "And you?"

  "I would say it depends on the fox. Some are starving. Others have to feed their cubs. For still others, it's simply their nature. And still others do it for sheer anger and spite."

  She looked up at him. "So which is Oxnard?"

  "The latter two, for sure. In which case, he will be stopped. It's only a matter of time."

  "But you won't take up fox hunting, will you, George?" she asked quietly.

  He heaved a ragged sigh and shook his head. "Not on purpose, no. But Sebastian's plan is a good one. If he runs to ground, or crosses my path, well, no more raiding hen houses for him." He peered down at her closely. "And you must promise me the same. No matter how much you long for revenge, darling, the best way to get it is for us to live happily ever after in spite of what he did."

  "You're right, of course. Not be his victim. Nor any man's."

  "No, never."

  She mentally resolved to ask Sebastian and Philip to teach her how to protect herself if she should ever be attacked again. She knew she had been fortunate that first time in the alley when George had saved her. The second time, she had been far less fortunate and nearly die
d trying to save herself. The third time, well, who knew, if she didn't take steps to save herself before it was too late…

  She remained silent for a time as he brushed his hair, then sighed and leaned back into him, caressing his calves with both of her hands as she sat on the low stool.

  "Mmm, that feels nice."

  "You always do it to me."

  "Thank you. If you don't mind doing it some time when we're alone in our room, I would be very grateful. For now, it's like playing with fire."

  She continued to massage his calves with a smile.

  "Your hair too, brushing it like this is so erotic."

  "For me as well. But do you think we could continue this elsewhere, like in the privacy of our own room?"

  He handed her the brush with a grin. "I thought you would never ask. I'll just get changed, and we can go home. And see Antony Herriot together in the morning?"

  "Aye. It's not time yet, but it will be soon, I feel sure. Best to be prepared for anything."

  He kissed her check. "Anything you want, my darling, you have only to say. I just want you well again, and happy."

  "With our triumph in Othello, how could I not be. Now shoo," she said with a playful smile. "Go change, so we can go home."

  "Your wish is my command, my queen." With a flourish and bow, he left, leaving Miranda still gripping the hairbrush like a dagger.

  Their successful new run seemed to cheer up Miranda a great deal, and as the third month since her attack wore on, all appeared well, until one morning when she found a dead rose on her dressing table. It had been put in place of the usual red one George continued to give her each morning. She didn’t think too much of it, or the dead bird, the dead mouse, or the rotten orange she found in the room. The bloodied scrap of fabric, broken glass and manacle were far more sinister, however, and she was sure now that Oxnard was making his presence known at last.

  She tried to remain outwardly calm, but as soon as the bloodied metal cuff appeared, she took it to Sebastian and told him all that had been happening about every other day for the past fortnight.

  "He's been here. He's trying to rattle me. Or blackmail me, with me giving him money in order for him to remain silent about what he did to me."

  "Possibly both. And just because he is a sick bastard who enjoys toying with people," the tall blond man said, pacing up and down in her dressing room. "When George finds out--"

  She shook her head. "But that's just it. Why I've come to you. I don’t want you to tell George."

  Sebastian stared at her in confusion. "But why? He can help. He loves you and wants you safe."

  "Aye, I know. But my biggest fear is that he will go after Oxnard and kill him, and then he’ll be hanged."

  "Still, if this is happening ever other day, it means the bastard is awfully close," he said, his brows knitting.

  "He may well be, but you’re all here with me. He just wants to scare me. But I also know we would have spotted him at some point sneaking back here, so he has to have an accomplice. I think we can both guess that Maggie will do anything to get back at me, and Oxnard is nothing if not charming. Just keep an eye on her."

  "I will. Are you sure you’re all right?"

  She nodded and gave a brave smile. "Of course. I’m not going to let that swine ruin the rest of my life."

  "Still, I would really like it if you would let me teach you more about pistols."

  "I'd like that too," she admitted. "I had already been thinking of asking you for help in that regard. But if George finds out—"

  Sebastian shook his head. "He won’t. I can teach you how to load it and we can dry fire when he’s rehearsing on stage. And we can use the garden at Fulham House for target practice. But basically, you point and shoot."

  "All right," she agreed. "I don’t like it, but anything’s better than being someone’s victim."

  Miranda tried to be brave, but the little ‘gifts’ persisted, a scrap of her ‘wedding gown,’ her drawers, her stocking, her shoe, hair ribbons, part of her chemise.

  George could see she was under some sort of strain, but Antony reassured him that she was fine, healing well in fact, and still showed no sign of disease.

  A month after the ‘gifts’ had started, George and Miranda came into her dressing room laughing in glee over the reception their performance had received that night. Without even stopping to think what he was doing, he lifted the ornate gold handled walking stick which had been placed on her chair so she could sit down.

  She blanched and shrieked. Cowering in the corner, Miranda screamed until her throat was raw.

  "Keep it away from me!" she howled, shivering as though she had contracted the ague.

  George looked at it in confusion, and at last recognised it as Oxnard’s. "Oh my God, the bastard’s been here."

  Her screams had roused the rest of the cast, and Sebastian now pressed forward through the throng. He took one look at the hysterical Miranda and the cane, and knew.

  "Maggie, Hugo, get in here right now," Sebastian barked.

  "What is it?" Maggie asked worriedly. "What’s happened to her?" She tried to go to Miranda to comfort the wild-eyed girl.

  Sebastian commanded, "Stay the hell away from her. Haven’t you done enough damage?"

  Maggie looked at him in utter confusion. "What did I do?"

  "The little presents, the gifts. You’ve been in league with that bastard Oxnard."

  "What?" Maggie protested, but Sebastian saw her dart a look of consternation at Hugo.

  "Presents, gifts? I don’t understand," George said, looking at the four of them as though they had gone mad.

  Sebastian said, "They’ve been leaving little, well, mementoes of Miranda’s unfortunate, er, meeting with Oxnard in this dressing room for the past few weeks."

  George’s teeth gnashed audibly. "Get out, now. The pair of you," he ordered, his voice deathly quiet. "I’m giving you five minutes to clear out. And be thankful I don’t call the constables, or kick your arses myself. If you ever step foot in here again, I’ll have you arrested."

  "But I never—" Maggie protested.

  Hugo grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away, her denials and fury with him getting louder, not softer, as they vanished under the watchful eye of Sebastian and Daniel.

  Then George and Miranda were alone at last and she fell into his arms sobbing.

  "It’s over now, pet. They won’t hurt you again. I just wish you’d told me what was going on around here."

  "I wanted to," she wept. "But you have to promise me you’re not going to kill him."

  "I promise. I’ll defend myself and you with the last breath in my body, but I’m not going to swing on the gallows for a swine like that. Not when I have the love of my life in my grasp, so very close."

  He was about to pick up the stick to break it when she shuddered. "No, let Sebastian deal with it."

  "I should have let Sebastian deal with a lot of other things," he grumbled as he threw her cloak right over her costume and began to bustle her out of the dressing room, leaving the cane behind.

  "What do you mean?" she asked worriedly.

  "Just that he said there was more than one way to skin a cat. You don’t need to kill someone to destroy them."

  Miranda knew the ugly word. Blackmail. She had heard enough rumours about Georgina Jerome and what she did to her more vulnerable victims. She had been afraid Oxnard would have tried the same thing. But thus far there had been nothing...

  She shivered, and George lifted her into his arms and brought her to Philip’s waiting carriage. She was not going to think about Oxnard now. But Sebastian’s words were certainly something to contemplate if things got any worse.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Miranda moved from terror to bliss the next day as the troupe rehearsed their new play to follow on from Othello. George had stated he would do The Tempest if it killed them.

  It proved a real logistical challenge, but he was fairly sure he could recreate a storm at sea wit
h some huge canvas sheets for sails and large hoses with water pumping through fretwork nozzles to drizzle rain from the heavens.

  He ordered in some loads of timber for the ship’s mast and the work scene in Act Three, Scene One, in which Ferdinand was labouring as a slave, and he and Miranda declared their love for one another.

  It was this scene they were rehearsing today, and George felt a thrill of delightful anticipation at the thought of saying such sublime words to the woman he really loved.