by Jade Lee
“You are quite right,” he heard himself say. “I am useless to you. Next time you require the debauching of an innocent, pray do not call on me.”
“She is not innocent!” retorted Aunt Adelia, but no one paid her the least mind.
“Everyone, stop being so dramatic!” Grandmama said with a sigh. Her face looked wan again, and he could see that her strength was leaving her. “No one asked for debauchery.” Clearly, she didn’t understand that Michael had indeed asked for exactly that. “But I would be grateful if you could discover the details of her money. How ridiculous would it look if after all this to-do, Kit discovered himself saddled with a penniless actress.”
“And,” continued Aunt Adelia when Grandmama had fallen silent, “if that requires your more manly skills, then you should stop acting so democratic”—she practically spat the word—“and get on with it!”
Beside him, Brandon heard his brother sigh. It was echoed as well by Lily. Neither of them appreciated Aunt Adelia’s vulgar moments. But Brandon had a different reaction: He smiled. But in his distant place he felt none of the joy of his smirking expression. And no satisfaction either as he pushed to his feet. “No,” he said loudly.
“No?” Aunt Adelia retorted. “No, what?”
“No, I am not up to the task. Nor will I ever be.” And with that, he threw down his napkin and departed. His steps were long and fast. He covered the ground to the doorway with maximum speed. And yet, he was still not fast enough to prevent hearing his grandmother’s parting words.
“Now you’ve done it. You insulted his pride.”
He didn’t catch his aunt’s waspish retort, only the tone. And then he was mercifully out the door. Unfortunately, he couldn’t escape his grandmother’s words. Everything he’d said, everything he’d tried to express had been boiled down to hurt pride. Not a one of his family would ever think of Scheherazade as anything more than a rich purse or a scheming whore. And any words to the contrary from him would simply be put down to hurt pride.
Bloody hell, he hated England. Or perhaps it was merely the English he despised. Either way, he was done with them all. He intended to board the next boat to . . . to where? Back to India? Never! Besides, he would be shot on sight. Scotland? There were only more English there, except that they spoke funny. Australia, perhaps, to reside with the transported criminals? He was not that suicidal. Perhaps he could go to the colonies, though he very much feared it would be just like Scotland only with a different accent.
Which left him right back where he was. London and the English. Was there anyone in this entire benighted place who thought of people as people and not resources to be exploited? Yes, a few. William Wilberforce was one such reformer. And he had many admirers. So Brandon turned his feet toward his club, hoping that someone would be there. Someone who understood the difficulty of expressing democracy to people who refused to hear.
Besides, he thought with a sigh, it would be hours yet before he could sneak into the Tavern Playhouse to see Scheherazade.
Brandon became sharply alert the moment he heard someone’s steps on the stairs. He had been lurking up here in the hallway beside Scheherazade’s room since the beginning of the farce. It was the best way to be sure of seeing her, and truthfully, he had little interest in the show. He found the Tavern Playhouse fare rather crude. Funny, but crude. And after the first showing, there was little to be gained by repeat viewing.
So he had climbed the stairs to her bedroom and waited like a lost dog for her return. And now his patience was about to be rewarded. Except, the tread on the stairs sounded rather heavy. He had little time to do more than frown before the burly stagehand Seth appeared. Fortunately, the man was followed a moment later by Scheherazade, but that didn’t stop the stagehand from tightening his hands into fists and bulking his shoulders until he looked like a furious bull.
“Hello, my lord,” Scheherazade said sweetly. Her voice was slightly hoarse and she appeared tired, but that didn’t stop him from thinking she was beautiful. He didn’t even know why the thought filtered through his mind. He’d seen women more lovely in a purely physical sense, but that didn’t change the lust that heated his thoughts. Somehow, Scher was different. She was better.
“Hello, Lady Scher,” he said equally gravely. “I had hoped for a private word with you.”
Scher smiled at him, her expression falsely sad. “I’m so sorry, but as I’m an engaged woman, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“I mean you no harm,” he said softly, his eyes still on Seth’s fists. He could probably best the man in a fight, but only if Scheherazade didn’t help.
She raised her eyebrows and thankfully didn’t comment. Of course, her very silence spoke volumes about what he had done to her last time. But still, he appreciated her restraint, and so he held out a jeweler’s box.
“This is for you. An apology for my abominable behavior.”
Seth stepped slightly aside so she could take it, but Scher didn’t move. “Again, my lord, I’m an engaged woman. It wouldn’t be appropriate—”
“What we did before wasn’t appropriate either, but we did it. And in this very hallway.” His words were tight and his face was heating as he stood there with the box in his hand. But she was adamant. He could see it in her face.
“My lord,” she said softly. “Brandon. You must go now.”
He shook his head. He even took a step forward, but Seth stood squarely between them. “We need to talk, Scher.”
She didn’t answer, but he knew better than to think she had agreed. She was a woman of few words. Instead of arguing needlessly with him, she pulled out her key and moved for her door. He stood in her way, but she merely stared hard at him. He stepped backward, shame heating his face.
A pressure built in his head and the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. She meant to cut off all contact with him. He could see it in her firm stance and her huge bodyguard. She would be completely removed from him. But that was unacceptable.
“I am not a patient man,” he said softly as she pressed her key into the lock.
She arched a brow back at him, obviously startled by his odd statement. He was too. He did not usually talk about himself like this. But he always said the strangest things around her.
“I am not a patient man,” he repeated, “but I have waited for you, dangled after you, and loitered in hallways like a dog.”
“Then you should be happy to be rid of me.”
He took her arm, but Seth raised his fist, and he released her. He had been gentle, the idea to get her attention, not to harm her. But obviously her stagehand was being overly zealous. “You won’t take my gifts, you won’t talk to me, how can I apologize for what I have done? How can we discuss . . . your future?”
She turned then. Her door was open, but she didn’t step through. Instead she looked at him and shook her head. “You are not part of my future. Can you not find a woman on your own? Must you pester your cousin’s fiancée?”
He winced even though he knew the jibe was coming. And in truth, what she said was absolutely correct. Kit had won her. Brandon ought to leave her alone. Hadn’t he said as much to his family? And yet, he could not leave.
“You are still sad, and I am still your friend,” he said softly. He didn’t need to look to know that Seth had given Scheherazade a sharp look. Her grimace told him that much.
“It has been a very long day,” she said dryly. “I am merely weary.”
“No. I feel it too. A vague . . .” He gestured with his hand and was pleased to see that Seth did not tense at the movement. “Something is wrong.”
She arched a brow. “Perhaps you should look to your own life then, and not mine. Good night, Lord Blackstone.”
She stepped backward into her room and shut the door. He would have pursued her, but with Seth standing guard, he would accomplish nothing more than bloody knuckles. Or a bloody nose. Either way, he could not force the issue. So he did one of the most ridiculous actions of his life.
He stood at the door and spoke through it.
“Please, Scher, I have come to help you.”
Silence.
“I wish to take you driving.”
Silence.
“In Hyde Park. At the height of the fashionable hour. It’s all perfectly proper. I’ll bring a high-perched phaeton, so there will be nothing untoward. You can ride with me and we can talk in perfect safety.”
Still nothing. He was beginning to sweat beneath his shirt collar, and the feeling was excruciatingly uncomfortable.
“It will only aid your cause with my family. The more you are seen in public in a respectable manner, the more acceptable you will be.”
He glanced sideways at Seth. The man had folded his arms, but his expression told it all. He glared at Brandon with total distrust, but he’d put away his fists, so to speak. Angry tolerance. He could work with that. Brandon turned and handed the jeweler’s box to Seth. The man was no fool. He took it, though with no obvious promise to give it to Scher. Then Brandon pulled out a wad of pound notes and pushed those forward as well.
“I am giving Seth money,” he said loudly. “It is so you can have a new dress made. Something fashionable. No more nun’s habits. You aren’t fooling anyone and it merely points out how unrespectable you are.”
Seth snorted at that, but Brandon didn’t stop.
“I like the color green on you,” he said. “It brings out your eyes.”
Again no response. She would be firm on this then. He sighed, making one last attempt to mollify her.
“I supported you against the family,” he said to the door. “After you and Kit left, I defended you to them.” He sighed. “I’m only trying to help, Scher. This marriage won’t happen without help. A lot of good help.”
He pressed his hand against the door.
“You need me,” he said. “I shall come in two days, Scher. That’s enough time to have a dress made.” Then with a last sigh, he turned and left.
Chapter 6
“He has given me money for a dress, Kit. And he wants to take me driving in Hyde Park tomorrow.”
Kit slouched in his chair and stretched his legs forward. He had obviously had a late night of it. His eyes were bloodshot and he could not stop yawning. But he had responded immediately to her urgent note, presenting himself in the Green Room well before noon. That was something at least, though she couldn’t help being irritated by his lack of focus. She had stayed up at least as late as he and had risen just after dawn.
“Kit, I think I should go.”
Her fiancé rubbed a hand over his face and frowned. “He says he wants to help us?”
Scheherazade worried at her brown skirt and wondered at Brandon’s “nun’s habit” remark. Did he think her gowns dowdy? “I want to believe he means well,” she finally confessed.
Kit fully opened his eyes to look at her. His expression was sour, but his words were calm enough. “There’s not much that can happen in Hyde Park at that hour. The real danger is that you shall be bored to death.”
Scheherazade ground her teeth. “No, Kit. The real danger is that he will ruin my chances in society. That he shall make me appear disreputable somehow.”
Kit was silent a long time, obviously considering her words. Then he rubbed a hand over his face, speaking with the offhand way of a man trying to be gentle. “You already are disreputable, Scher. I don’t see how he could damage you further.”
She bit her lip, hurt by his casual way of dismissing her. “I have done my best to be an honorable woman, Kit.”
“Well, of course you have. But that’s the way of the world, isn’t it? All actresses are damned by their very birth.”
She looked at her skirt rather than allow him to see her tears. But a moment later, he was holding her hand and drawing it gently to his lips. “But that’s the thing of it. You will never be respectable until we marry.”
How did she tell him that she wished for the polite fiction? She wanted him to pretend she was as precious as any of the aristocratically born virgins paraded about Hyde Park every day. But that was illogical, and so she swallowed away her words.
“I shall have to get a new green dress as he suggested. I haven’t anything else appropriate.”
“Hmm? Oh, I quite agree. You look lovely in green.”
Her head snapped up. “Kit! You know that’s not what I was asking.”
He was grinning at her, his expression mischievous. Clearly, he was teasing her, but she just didn’t find this situation funny. Still, it was hard to be annoyed when he chucked her under the chin and planted a quick kiss on her lips.
“He has buckets of money. If he wants to spend it on a green dress for you, then I have no objection.”
“But it’s not respectable, Kit.”
“And neither are you. Yet. Get the dress, Scher. Get two if you can manage it!” He pushed to his feet. “If it makes you feel better, I promise to show up as well. I’ll be strolling or some such thing, and we’ll meet as if by accident.”
She stood as well, not because she wanted to but so she could touch his arm and try to impress upon him how worried she was. “So you won’t feel odd that another man takes your fiancée out for a drive?”
“He’s not another man, Scheherazade. He’s my cousin.” And with that, he shoved his hands in his pockets but he didn’t leave. Instead, he cocked his head and looked at her. “He defended us to the family. After we left that disastrous meal, he said some nice things about you. I heard it from my mother, but of course she didn’t put it like that.”
She huffed. No, his mother would likely have damned both her and Brandon to hell. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” It was so hard to judge his mood this morning. Perhaps because she herself felt so unsettled.
He grinned. “It’s an excellent thing! I believe my cousin got to know you and realized how wonderful you are. Just watch. It will be that way with the others as well. We just have to give it time.” Then he turned around and strolled out the door. She heard his whistling all the way to the stage, and then it was lost as he undoubtedly walked out the back door.
A little more than a day later, Scher once again sat in the Green Room, but this time in a new green dress. And she was waiting for Brandon, not Kit. The other members of the troupe kept finding some sort of excuse to slip into the Green Room, but she shooed them out just as quickly. She was nervous enough about this afternoon’s trip without their prying eyes and gossiping tongues. But it did little good. The moment one person left her alone to gather her thoughts, another stepped in from the opposite door. In the end, she just sighed and let them remain.
She was worrying at a crease in a particularly expensive part of the lace trim when he finally appeared. Nearly on time, she realized with surprise. It had felt like he was an hour or more late, but it was a mere seven minutes past the hour.
She straightened immediately upon his entrance, escorted by a dour-looking Seth. Brandon looked stunning, of course, in his coat of bottle green superfine. It was a darker shade than her dress but still matched her perfectly. She gritted her teeth against a sudden tightening in her chest. With matching outfits they would look like a couple.
He paused a few feet away from her. “You are frowning.”
She immediately smoothed her expression. “Nonsense. I was just thinking something unsettling, that’s all. Nothing of import. And now you are here to brighten the day.” She gave him her most vapid smile.
“Humph,” he said with his own frown. “If you are going to act the virginal twit today, it will be a very dull afternoon.”
She moved slowly as she picked up her reticule. She should not be surprised that he was so direct with her, but it still disoriented her. “I thought it was to be a proper afternoon,” she responded carefully. “I am being proper.”
He rolled his eyes. “Then it will be a very dull afternoon indeed.”
“Ah. So I was to be your entertainment? I thought you wanted to help me and Kit. Perhaps I should stay home,
then.”
He didn’t answer for a moment. He kept his mouth shut and his expression blank. His gaze traveled the room slowly, starting with her, but touching on every member of the cast who had somehow managed to wander in. Eleven people in all watched and listened about the room without even the pretense of a reason beyond to gawk. But in the end, his gaze returned to hers and his voice was soft.
“This will be difficult for you today, Scher. You have not the flare to revel in being disreputable, nor are you callous enough to be cut and not feel it. It will be very hard.”
She swallowed, knowing that everything he said was true. “You are trying to cry off, then. You don’t want to take me.”
“I am trying to prepare you. And to say that starting the trip at odds with me will only make things worse.”
She looked away, uncomfortably aware that he was right. He could be a great aid to her and Kit, assuming he was dealing honestly. It would be unwise to battle him now.
“My apologies, my lord. I have no wish to fight with you.”
“Nor I with you. But I do have a question for you.”
She looked up, her belly tight with worry. “Yes?”
“Why is it so important to be respectable? You have much more freedom in your life now. Be very sure that you want to enter that jail of propriety before you marry. What you experience today will never ease no matter how long you are married or how rich you become. Be sure that it is what you want.”
She shot him a grimace of distaste. “Only a wealthy aristocrat could ask me that. Of course it is worth—”
“Scher!” He held up two hands in surrender, but his expression was anything but repentant. “I merely ask that you think about it. That is all. Just . . . think about it.”
She lifted her chin in disdain. “You act like I have never been snubbed before. As if I have never sat at a meal and been roundly criticized and humiliated by my fiancé’s family.”
She expected Brandon to flush slightly at that or maybe even acknowledge the truth of what she said. He didn’t. His expression turned even gentler. “Today will likely be much worse, Scher. But I swear I will do whatever I can to make it easier.”
