My Secret Life

by C. J. Archer

  An even more disturbing thought needled its way into his head. What would happen to Min if Blake took out the Lord Hawkesbury component of Lord Hawkesbury's Men?

  He shook his head. He wasn't even sure if Hawkesbury was the man he sought. It might be Wells, Shakespeare or one of the other hired actors. Making one of them own up to his unborn child wouldn't see the demise of the company. And if the company became successful again on the back of Min's plays, perhaps another patron could be found if Hawkesbury couldn't continue in the role due to an unfortunate injury Blake might be forced to inflict upon him.

  A lot of Ifs. He didn't like them.

  "Bloody Style," muttered a man frowning at the Marius and Livia handbill. With a vicious swipe, he tore it down, ripped the paper into tiny pieces and threw them into the air. The shreds hovered on the breeze for several moments then fluttered to the road where they were trampled by hooves and feet.

  "What did you do that for?" Blake asked him.

  "This here establishment's puttin' on a play by Lord Carleton's Men this afternoon. Style knows he can't advertise here but the pompous scum always does it." The flat faced man squinted at Blake. "You comin' for the performance, Sir? Care for a drink in the taproom first?"

  "No, thank you, I need to be across town."

  "Aye, well as long as you're not goin' to that other play. I'm sick of hearin' about it." He limped off, grumbling all the way into the inn.

  Blake kept walking. He was surprised to find himself in a good mood. He should have been frustrated by Hawkesbury's elusiveness, angry at whoever had taken his sister's innocence and disturbed by his own fierce reaction to Min.

  But he wasn't. All he cared about was when he could see her again. If not at the performance today then perhaps tonight. That's if she let him into her rooms.

  What if she'd had her fill of him? What if she'd got the experience she'd needed and decided no more?

  But she'd gone off like a cannon last night—she would want him back again, he was sure. Unless she regretted their love-making altogether. It had been a risky step for her to take. A gentlewoman's maidenhead was a valuable thing and he should have known better than to seize it so thoughtlessly.

  He shook off the dark thoughts. He'd had enough of them to last a lifetime. He wanted to enjoy this newfound euphoria, even if it only continued another hour, another minute.

  Min had wanted him last night, just as much as he'd wanted her. She'd been willing, ready. Hell, she'd even instigated it with that kiss. There was no doubt in his mind.

  Sometimes, when the ugly head of guilt threatened to rear, he needed to remind himself of that.

  CHAPTER 13

  Blake reached the White Swan and forced all thoughts of Min aside. It was time to concentrate on the other task ruling his life. He watched the players practice their lines in the cramped tiring room, most already dressed in the costumes required for the first scene. Alice Croft knelt in front of Shakespeare, fixing the hem of his toga. She still managed to carry on a conversation despite a mouth full of pins. Her father sat on a stool in the corner, brushing down one of Freddie's dresses. The boy was the only one of the troupe missing.

  "Where is that ill-bred lout?" Roger Style grumbled. He strode to the curtain and peeked at the stage and inn-yard beyond. "Oh. My lord."

  "What is it?" Edward stood on his toes and peered over his brother's shoulder. Then he turned back to the room, eyes alight, mouth twisted into a foolish grin. "Gentlemen and lady," he said with a small bow in Alice's direction, "we have a full house."

  "Are you sure?" Henry Wells joined the Style brothers at the curtain. He whistled. "There's not a single seat left in the gallery."

  "And the groundlings are packed in too," Edward said. "How many do you think that is, Roger?"

  "The inn holds around five hundred." Style let the curtain go but a hand caught it before it completely closed.

  Freddie rushed through, breathless. "Have you seen the mob out there!"

  "Where have you been?" Style snapped. "Never mind. Get changed. We're about to start."

  Freddie began to strip off clothing. "Behind the screen, lad," Croft said, pointing his sponge at a piece of large cloth hung from pegs that acted as a screen when necessary. "There's a lady present."

  "Alice? Ha!"

  Croft rose and looked ready to squeeze the air out of the lad.

  "All right," Freddie grumbled, "I'm going."

  Croft sat back down. Alice caught Blake's gaze and rolled her eyes. He smiled at her. She smiled back.

  "Everyone ready?" Style said. "They're getting restless. Edward?"

  Edward bounded through the curtain and onto the stage beyond. The audience cheered and whistled then went silent as Edward introduced the play. He returned to the tiring house amidst thunderous applause, his face aglow.

  "They're a jolly lot today," he said. "Go on Henry, you're up now."

  Style handed Blake the prompt book. "You'll be needing this." He nodded at the screen behind which Freddie was still changing into his costume with the help of one of the hired men. So the lad hadn't learned his lines yet? He must be too busy nursing his ale. "How's the new play coming along?"

  "Very well," Blake said. He took the book and settled onto a stool near the curtain so he could watch the performance through the gap.

  Around him, players came and went on cue. The Crofts were kept busy with costume changes, repairs and handing out the necessary props. Twice Blake had to whisper a line to Freddie but apart from that, he had little to do except watch the action on stage and in the audience. Their faces were enraptured by what they saw. They laughed at all the funny parts and oohed when appropriate.

  He could only see the first few rows of groundlings, those men and women standing in the inn's courtyard nearest the stage, but he could see everyone in the two tiers of galleries surrounding the yard on three sides. He found himself searching for Min. Instead he spotted Hawkesbury in prime position to the left of the stage where he could see and be seen.

  Peacock.

  He was flanked by two women, one middle-aged but immaculately dressed in gold and black with a fashionably wide ruff that gave the appearance her head was floating above a white lake. The other woman, younger and fairer with a serene, slack-jawed expression, was dressed in deep blue taffeta from head to toe. Where several necklaces cascaded over the elder woman's bosom, the younger wore no jewelry that Blake could see. Both women watched the play. Hawkesbury didn't. Although he occasionally spoke to or smiled at one of the women, his gaze wandered around the audience. Searching for someone?

  For Lilly?

  "Alice," Blake whispered.

  "Yes?" she said, hanging up the costume Edward had worn in the first act. "Something wrong?"

  He beckoned her to the curtain but the door at the back of the tiring house opened and she paused to see who entered. It was Min. Blake's heart leapt into his throat and he felt his face grow hot. Christ, anyone would think he was a schoolboy. He forced his body to relax.

  "What are you doing here?" So much for being relaxed. His words came out harsher than he'd meant them to. Damn it, he was known from the Levant to the New World for his self-control, but it had deserted him after one night of memorable coupling.

  Every part of Min went still at his words. All except her big gray eyes. Those windows widened and blinked rapidly at him. "I've seen the play from the gallery," she said tightly, "so I thought I'd come and see it from back here." Her gaze shifted to his left shoulder, avoiding his eyes—she wasn't entirely telling the truth.

  Had she come into the tiring house to see him?

  Blake ground his back teeth to keep himself from smiling. He couldn't afford to smile, to encourage her to think their relationship meant anything beyond the occasional nocturnal tumbling. During the day, they were merely business partners of sorts, and perhaps even friends.

  He swallowed and blocked out the small voice of derision in his head. There wasn't room in is life for that voice, and certai
nly no room for a woman like Min.

  Min hadn't been sure what reaction to expect from Blake. A smile or a wink or some other acknowledgement of their night together perhaps. Anything but the tightly wound man with hooded eyes and a cutting tongue who greeted her. She discarded the wittily flirtatious salutation she'd been practicing during the first half of the play and instead made up an inane excuse about seeing the performance from a different perspective.

  She threaded her way through the hanging costumes, swords, shields and other props carefully arranged about the room for efficient and swift changes, nodding at Alice and her father as she passed them. She came up beside Blake, keeping as much space between them as possible, and parted the curtain. All of the players were on stage for the final group scene. She could only see their backs but what she really found interesting was the audience. So many of them! And all transfixed by her play. Up in the gallery sat Lord Hawkesbury, and there was Jane, riveted to the stage, and she even spotted Kit Marlowe lurking in the shadows. What was the renown playwright doing watching her play?

  "It's certainly interesting seeing it from back here," she said, closing the curtain. She looked from Blake to Alice. The seamstress was a pretty woman, with a confident air and an odd smile on her lips that Min couldn't decipher. What had she and Blake been discussing before Min entered? A stab pierced her rib cage where it remained like an open wound. She recognized it as jealousy. A curse where Blake was concerned because Min had no right to be jealous. He didn't belong to her. She had no claim to him, not even after their love-making the night before.

  But the thought of sharing him made her fingers curl into a fist. "Were you watching the play too just now?" she said to both of them in an attempt to learn more of what precisely had occurred between them.

  "We were spying on Lord Hawkesbury," Alice said with a twinkle in her eye. A twinkle, not a gleam or a shine but a twinkle. Women's eyes only twinkled when they had mischief on their minds.

  Min could think of all sorts of mischief a man and woman could get up to in a tiring house while the actors were on stage. Although with old man Croft looking on, perhaps not.

  "He's sitting with two women," Min said, ignoring the green-eyed monster lurking on her shoulder. "Do you know who they are?"

  Alice poked her head through the curtain. Behind her back, Blake's gaze met Min's. She smiled but couldn't summon a single ounce of happiness into it. Blake had made it clear last night would not happen again, and it seemed he'd already moved on.

  "Lady Enderby and her daughter," Alice said, closing the curtain again. "Patience or Temperance or something like that. Hawkesbury's charm doesn't seem to be working on his intended though. See how she leans away from him slightly as if—."

  "Intended?" Blake stared at Alice and nearly dropped the prompt book. Min carefully took it out of his hands and placed it on a nearby coffer. A ruined prompt book would be a disaster. "They are to be wed?" he went on.

  "Aye. You didn't know?" Alice said. "I thought everyone knew."

  "I obviously don't move in the same illustrious circles as you," he said wryly.

  "You'd be surprised at the things I hear," Alice said, a somewhat secretive smile on her lips. "Actors have access to courtiers and their servants and can move between the two societies seamlessly. Some, like Henry and Edward, are desired by so many who watch the plays and think them to be the heroes they portray..." She shrugged. "Let's just say they are privy to much gossip. And since actors like to talk by nature, they talk to me, the little seamstress no one takes any notice of."

  "I find it hard to believe you could ever go unnoticed," Min said. She meant it too. The woman wasn't a beauty but she was intriguingly pretty, added to which she had a certain quality about her—a quick wit and the confidence of a woman capable of befriending anyone.

  Alice cast her a sardonic smile. "Oh, you'd be surprised. The actors quite forget I'm here sometimes." She glanced to her father then leaned towards Min. "I see all sorts of things I'm not supposed to. When Father's not here of course. He makes sure everyone behaves themselves when I'm around." She sounded a little disappointed by that.

  Min couldn't help laughing. And with that simple exchange, she felt herself relax. Despite her jealousy, she liked Alice.

  Blake cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I want to hear any more. What else can you tell me about Lord Hawkesbury and his bride-to-be?"

  "Their mothers arranged the betrothal when the girl was a babe in arms," the seamstress said.

  "Is the match a favorable one? I know nothing of her family."

  "They're rich and she's the daughter of a viscount so I'd say it's definitely favorable on both sides. She'll move up a rung in rank and he'll gain her dowry which is considerable if the rumors are to be believed."

  "He doesn't need it," Blake said. "Hawkesbury is a very wealthy man."

  "How odd." Min peeked through the curtain once more at the threesome in the gallery. Blake shifted beside her, drawing closer, and the exotic scent of him filled her nostrils, his heat caressed her skin. Thank goodness she wasn't the sort to swoon or she'd have been flat on her back at his feet already. "A love match?" she heard herself ask. She couldn't be entirely sure who she was discussing anymore.

  "Who can tell?" Alice said. "She's much younger than him."

  "She can't be more than seventeen," Min said, closing the curtain once more. "And he would be at least your age, Blake."

  He gave her a thin look. "Thirty is not so old."

  "It is when you're seventeen."

  He stared at her for longer than decent. Just as she was about to look away, he said, "How old are you?"

  "Twenty-two."

  "I thought you were older," he said and shook his head. Whatever for?

  "Why have they not yet married?" Alice asked, breaking into their conversation.

  "Perhaps they're trying to decide if they like each other," Min said, tearing herself away from Blake who was watching her with far too much intensity. "I've seen Lord Hawkesbury here several times but this is the first with her."

  "Aye." Alice nodded. "He used to always come with his sister or alone. I've never seen this girl before either. Perhaps it's an indication they will be wed soon."

  "He looks a little...disinterested in her," Min added. "He's not looking at her at all."

  "That in itself is odd," Alice noted. "It's been my experience that Lord Hawkesbury gives women his full attention no matter who they are."

  "She's a remarkably pretty girl," Blake added.

  Another one. There were far too many pretty girls in London, and they all seemed to be parading themselves in front of Blake.

  "He's not looking at the play either," Alice said. "Who could he be seeking, I wonder?" She suddenly wagged her finger at Blake. "That reminds me. You were asking about a lady the other day. Lilly."

  Blake whipped around to face her. "Yes? What about her?"

  Who was Lilly? And why was he reacting so strongly at the mere mention of her name? The green-eyed monster's talons clawed at Min's heart. It hurt.

  "I remember her speaking to Lord Hawkesbury on more than one occasion," Alice went on. "Not that that's surprising. He's an easy man to talk to and very charming."

  "Alice," Croft said, coming up behind them, "we do not gossip about our betters, especially our patron."

  "Oh Father, don't be such a puritan. Gossiping about the people who run this country is a legitimate way to pass the time and as far as I know it hasn't been outlawed."

  "Yet," he said with a pointed glare.

  Blake coughed. "Lord Hawkesbury and Lilly," he prompted.

  "Who's Lilly?" Min asked again.

  "Oh yes," said Alice over the top of her father's mutterings and Min's question, "they struck up a conversation when they met in the tiring house after one of our performances. A dire play called... Oh, I don't remember but it was awful."

  Blake grew pale beneath his sun-kissed skin. This Lilly woman certainly had a profound effect on him. He'd nev
er gone pale because of Min before.

  "Blake," Min said, hands on hips, "who is Lilly?" Whoever she was, Min knew with absolute certainty that she was linked to the reason he wanted to join the company. Perhaps the secret he couldn't share with Min was Lilly's secret.

  It didn't stop her from wanting to know the truth. All of it. She was beyond caring about other people's secrets, she wanted to know why Blake was so interested in Lord Hawkesbury, why he'd used Min to find a way into the company, and most of all, she burned to know who on God's earth was Lilly. She no longer wanted to be left in a darkened room without so much as a candle for light. Blake had embroiled her in his situation, and she deserved to know.

  "Well?" she said.

  He rubbed a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. For an entire heartbeat, Min thought he would tell her.

  But then he said, "Not here. And not now. I'll explain later."

  "Yes," she said, "you will."

  A flicker of surprise at the determination in her voice crossed his face before he controlled his features once more. "Wasn't she chaperoned?" he asked Alice.

  The seamstress frowned. "Yes, by her mother." Her face cleared and she laughed. "Now there's an interesting woman."

  His eyes widened for a fleeting second. "You have no idea."

  "You know her? Now what was her name again?" Alice clicked her tongue in thought. "Ah yes, Lady Warhurst, the widow of a baron from up north. Apparently she married for love the second time around to a merchant adventurer. Now what was his name...?" She snapped her fingers then pointed at Blake. "Blakewell!"

  "Blakewell!" Min blurt out. Style, coming off stage through the curtain, shushed her. "But you are—."

  Blake half shook his head, warning her—commanding her?—not to say his full name—Robert Blakewell. It irked her, particularly because she didn't know why she had to keep his identity a secret. But she shut her mouth anyway. For now, she would keep her own counsel.

  "Blake and Blakewell," Alice mused, "are remarkably similar names." The seamstress stared unblinking at him, her jaw set firm. A spare pin fell out of her padded shoulder roll and landed silently on the floorboards.