by Jade Lee
Meanwhile she turned back to Brandon, who was the one who had made this all possible. “Thank you for your kindness today, Lord Blackstone.”
“It was my honor,” he said, his tones deep and serious. He didn’t do anything beyond a slight bow, but when she looked in his eyes, she felt that same intensity as before. It shot deep into her heart and brought her right back to the moment when she had nearly kissed him.
Her face heated and she turned away, embarrassed and confused. “This has been a topsy-turvy afternoon,” she said as much to herself as to the gentlemen with her.
“Then I shall get you home immediately so you can set everything to rights,” said Kit as he grabbed her about the ribcage and lifted her up. A moment later, Kit leaped into the seat beside her and gathered the reins with boyish enthusiasm.
Scher shifted her attention to Brandon, who stood watching from the side of the street. His expression was smooth, but she had the sense that he was troubled. She wished she could speak freely to him. She wanted to thank him again. She especially wanted to tell him that she knew the half crown was gone from the floor, the one that Ashbury had so rudely tossed at her feet.
He had picked it up, she was sure. Not because he needed the money, but because he remembered it and didn’t want her to be reminded. She smiled at him, wishing she could convey her tortured thoughts. His eyes widened in surprise, but there was no other shift in his expression. Then he was lost to her as Kit snapped the ribbons, jolting the horses forward.
Chapter 8
“I’d like to come up to talk to you, if I may,” said Kit as they pulled up before the playhouse. “Privately. Um. In your room.”
Scher smiled, her heart sinking. Did he mean to break their engagement? Should she? “It has been a difficult day, Kit. And we have tonight’s performance as well.”
“A few moments is all,” he said kindly as he touched her hand.
Scher nodded. She waited a moment while the tiger jumped down to hold the horses’ heads, using the time to think of a delay. She found it in the playhouse windows, where at least four faces peered out at her.
“They are going to want to hear all about it.” She couldn’t keep the despair from her voice. She didn’t want to relay her humiliation to everyone else. She wanted to forget it had ever happened.
Kit straightened, frowning at the actors staring out at them. “This is beyond enough,” he said firmly. “I will not have you subjected to that now.” He hopped down and held out his hands to her. “I’ll put an end to it. You’ll see.”
She swallowed, not daring to hope. “It is very difficult to silence actors, you know. Any type of scene only makes it more interesting.”
Kit grimaced. “Gossips. Just like the fashionable biddies. Never mind. I have been watching Brandon, you know. He has a way of silencing everyone. I have been practicing it.”
She was inching over to the edge of the bench when she stopped to ask. “Practicing?”
He straightened his shoulders back, tightened his features into a stiff glower, then abruptly raised one eyebrow. Or rather, she guessed it was supposed to be one eyebrow. He didn’t have the knack of it, so both brows rose. Then he tilted his head to compensate. He ended up looking like a rather startled pug with gastric problems.
She burst out laughing. And when he blinked at her in true surprise, she immediately tried to cover. But laughter could not be credibly shifted to a cough, no matter how earnestly she tried. In the end she simply put her hands on both his cheeks and impulsively leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth.
In truth, it wasn’t nearly as impulsive as she wanted to pretend. She didn’t know what to do about their engagement. She wanted it to continue. She wanted their marriage. But could they make it work? Perhaps the kiss was a test. Could they be happy as a couple? And so she kissed him. Right there in the street, in front of the actors pressed to the window, the tiger holding the horses, and countless street boys no doubt watching them from every corner and rock in sight. She kissed him on the mouth and was grateful when his lips responded quickly to her advance.
She meant it to be a quick kiss. A swift drop on his lips to sample for joy and maybe the promise of love. But he was fast as he caught her shoulders, holding her mouth to his. The position was awkward. Her back quickly began to strain. But what held her attention more was the way his mouth moved over hers, all impulsive enthusiasm and sweet hunger. He desired her, that much was clear.
It was a long time before she heard the cheers from inside the playhouse. In fact, Kit must have noticed them first because he pulled back, blushing all the way through his ears.
“Um, er. Yes. Scher . . .”
She giggled. Lord, who would have thought she would giggle on today of all days? She smiled and reached out her hand, wincing only slightly as she had to straighten out her back. “Would you care to accompany me inside, Mr. Frazier?” she said sweetly.
“I would indeed, Miss Martin,” he responded gravely through his grin.
He helped her down and escorted her inside, never once taking his eyes off her face. The playhouse doors opened as if by magic, and they strolled to the staircase without once acknowledging the dozen or more souls that watched them.
They made it up two flights of stairs before Kit grabbed her and pressed her against the wall. They were about twenty feet from her door, but he seemed too impatient to wait. She felt his groin first, hot and hard against her pelvis. Then his arms went to either side of her and his mouth descended.
She rose naturally into his kiss, feeling her heart beat in her throat. Her hat hit the back wall and tilted as he pressed her backward. The pins pulled at her hair and she gasped in pain. He took the opportunity to swoop inside her mouth, thrusting in with enough force to startle her.
His mouth was warm, the pressure on her lips uneven depending on his movements. Full dominance one second, more delicate stroking the next. She really had no idea what he was going to do at any given moment. Sloppy sometimes, delicate nips the next.
Then his hands abruptly dropped to her breasts, where he tugged and squeezed in awkward motions. She gasped in discomfort and tried to pull away. He also pulled back, though his hands continued to squeeze her.
“You have great breasts,” he said. “I could do this for hours.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Somehow “thank you” didn’t sound quite right. And her breasts were beginning to feel slightly abused from the attention. She opened her mouth to say something—what she didn’t really know—when he suddenly swooped down and kissed her again. His hands left her breasts to brace against the wall behind her and her head banged backward hard enough for her to wince. But that didn’t stop his kisses. Nor did it stop her giggles when she repeatedly banged her head from his enthusiasm.
“Kit!” she laughed. “Ki—Kit!” She pushed back on his shoulders, gaining a small measure of separation between them.
“I cannot tell you how disheartening it is to have your fiancée giggle when you are kissing her.” He didn’t look nearly as forlorn as he pretended.
She pressed her fingers against his wet lips. “But that is the very reason I especially adore you. You bring such joy to everything.”
“To you?” he pressed, his expression sobering a bit.
“Of course to me. What else would I mean?”
He shrugged with good-natured enthusiasm, pushing off her such that she could at last take a full breath. “Do you know I have been called adorable and delightful all my life? Every woman from my mother down to the scullery maid seems to see me in the same light as a favorite dog.”
“That’s not true,” Scher said firmly, though privately she could see how it might be.
He looked at her then, his expression cooling by the second. “I want to bed you now, Scheherazade. I want it bad enough that I could strip you naked right here.”
She swallowed, her gaze quickly scanning both ends of the hallway. They were alone, as far as she could tell, but anyone might w
alk up here at any moment. It wasn’t likely, especially given that the entire troupe knew that he was up here. But still, the idea of rutting twenty feet outside her doorway was mortifying, to say the least.
“Kit—”
“I want to, but I won’t. We’re to have an honorable wedding. I can wait until our wedding night.”
She felt her face heat. “Kit,” she began, but she didn’t know what to say. Her heart was thundering in her ears, but she didn’t know from what. “I don’t know what to think.”
He lifted her chin, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I have sent the notice in. We can set the wedding date for three weeks from Sunday.”
To her horror, her eyes abruptly teared. She blinked them back as rapidly as possible, but a few escaped.
“Silly puss,” he murmured. “Did you think I meant to cry off?”
She swallowed, looking up to the ceiling in an attempt to forestall the waterworks. “I would understand,” she whispered. “This is so much harder than I thought. And I’m not sure it will work. Today was just so . . .” She stopped speaking. She couldn’t even express how terrible it had been.
“Horrible, wasn’t it? But it will get better. Never you fear.”
Would it? She desperately hoped it would. She straightened and wiped the tears from her lashes. He allowed her to do it, stepping backward before shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I’m going to leave now, Scher, before I dishonor you.”
She released a short laugh at that. She was already dishonorable, but she didn’t argue. It was too kind a sentiment for her to disagree.
“I’d planned to see you tonight, but Grandmama has insisted I accompany her to the Royal theater tonight. Says I need to be exposed to good acting and won’t hear the word no. I think she was about to invite you, but Mama nixed it. Insisted she would make a scene if you were to show up.”
Scher sighed. “Wouldn’t that reflect rather badly on your mother?”
Kit grinned. “It would, but Grandmama is getting older. She wants peace in her life. She will stand up for you, never you fear. It will just take a little more time.”
Scher nodded, praying to God that Kit was right. But she very much feared that the power struggle between his mother and his grandmother would end up with Scher on the outs. Still, it was early. Maybe they would come around and agree to the wedding. The worst thing Scher could do now was try to step between Kit and his mother. That was the surest way to appear the shrew and lose everything.
“Whatever you think best,” she said as sweetly as she could manage.
“I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon. We can talk then about the wedding itself.”
“I’ll be here,” she promised.
“Excellent.” He pressed a swift kiss to her lips. “Most excellent.”
Then he shoved his hands into his pockets, effectively lifting his pants away from his groin, and strolled down the hallway whistling with every step. She watched him saunter to the stairs. She stood exactly where she was as he descended from sight, and barely breathed for fear of missing the sound of his whistle. When she no longer heard anything but her own heartbeat, she let her head drop against the wall.
She was going to be married, she thought. Despite everything, she was going to marry the son of a peer. Her sons could have a respectable profession and her daughters would not be whores. And when she called for a doctor, one would come.
Her knees crumpled beneath her. She slid to the ground not twenty feet from her door and began to sob. Long, loud wracking sobs of confusion. Nothing felt right. She was finally going to have everything she’d wanted her whole life, but she couldn’t stop replaying that moment in the park with Brandon. No matter how she pushed it away, how much she focused on Kit, her mind kept bringing back that moment when she’d nearly kissed Brandon in the park.
Which meant what? Nothing had changed. Kit was the one who offered marriage, not Brandon. And so it was Kit who deserved all her allegiance. So why did it feel so very wrong?
The night’s performance was awful. Not because the actors did badly. No, actually, they were especially energetic, which was always a crowd pleaser. No, what was terrible were the comments, the staring, the sly innuendoes, and the outright insults to Scher. She had a headache before Delilah’s first song. By the time she was to enter the Green Room, Seth had appointed himself her bodyguard.
She hardly thought it was necessary. The crowd was heavy, but did Seth really think the gentlemen would actually damage her person?
Yes, they would. In fact, she barely made it in the door to the Green Room before the first brawl started. Someone loudly decried her as a whore and an upstart. Another shot to her defense. A man she didn’t even know, but who was a self-proclaimed patron of the common man and woman. It took Seth and three of the largest of his boys to escort the brawlers outside. Scher took that excuse to disappear upstairs to her bedroom. She could only hope that no one chose to follow her.
She was wrong. One young man, the particularly earnest Mr. Tully from that afternoon, followed her up the stairs.
“Lady Scher! A word, please. Lady Scher!”
Scher winced as his voice got rather strident. Another bellow like that and everyone would be up here. So she turned around, pasting on a strained smile. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Tully, but my head aches so. Please, I must retire for the night.”
“Just a moment please, Lady Scher.” When she made to leave, he grabbed for her arm. She was no stranger to grasping men, so she twisted away. Unfortunately he was faster than she expected and managed to snag her sleeve, tugging it sharp enough that she heard a few stitches pop.
“Mr. Tully!”
“I know this is hard, Lady Scher, but you must hear me out.”
They were near the top of the stairs, only three steps down. Another five steps and she would be at her door. So close, and her head did pound. With a sigh, she let her head rest against the wall, closed her eyes, and dreamed of a cool lavender compress across her eyes.
“I have a small cottage just north of London. It isn’t much, but there are such trees there that privacy is assured. I had a bench put in the back near a small garden. In the fall, you can sit for hours and watch the leaves turn gold. I vow it is the most beautiful place on Earth.”
His grip had shifted from her sleeve to her hand. He clutched it tightly, but she didn’t open her eyes. In fact, she didn’t react until she felt him lift her hand to his lips, where he pressed swift, dry kisses into her palm. Only then did she open her eyes.
“Mr. Tully? What are you about?”
“Your marriage to Kit will never work. Today was just the beginning. You are rapidly becoming a symbol of the common plight.”
“What?”
He gripped her hand tighter as he pulled it to his heart. At least he wasn’t kissing it anymore.
“Don’t you see? You have become political.”
“I am no such thing!”
“I know, I know! You had no wish for this. Truly, I understand. But it has happened nonetheless.”
She straightened, a chill going through her body. “Please release my hand, Mr. Tully.”
“Not yet, Lady Scher. Scheherazade. I wish to ask if you would, if I could . . .” He flushed a bright red that she might have thought was cute if her head weren’t pounding. If he weren’t still clutching her hand. “I wish to offer you my cottage. As my . . . um . . .”
“Mistress?”
“Yes!” The word was released on a gush of relief. “I have long admired you. Surely you know that. And I am a kind and considerate lover. You may ask Annette if you don’t believe me. She said that very thing to me—”
“I am an engaged woman, Mr. Tully!”
He looked sadly into her eyes. She would have laughed at the sight except she could see that he really was distressed on her behalf. “Not for long. I am so sorry, but I know Kit. He was thrown out of his club today! Do you not understand what that means to a man like Kit?”
> She arched a brow, reaching for every ounce of acting talent she possessed to appear as aristocratic as a queen. “You insult me,” she practically hissed. “That would be bad enough, but to so malign Kit is beneath contempt. He is your friend!”
“Oh no!” gasped Mr. Tully. “I am your friend. Do you not understand? I am offering you a way out of this mess!”
“By offering me carte blanche?” She turned away from him, mounting the steps with precision. But he would not let go of her hand. Not until she looked back at him over her shoulder, giving him her most freezing look.
It took a while, but in the end he let go of her hand. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done. As she topped the stairs, he followed right behind her.
“The offer stands, Lady Scher. You will find soon that you need to escape London. When Kit throws you over, when the political noise threatens to cripple the Tavern Playhouse, you can come to me. I will serve as your most devoted servant. I will—”
“Not follow me again.” She had made it to her bedroom door, but it might as well have been on the moon. He was only a half step behind her, and she would not unlock her door as long as he was in the hallway with her. Where was Seth? What she wouldn’t give for his burly presence right then. Or Brandon’s. If anyone could freeze away an upstart, it was Viscount Blackstone.
Mr. Tully put a hand on her shoulder. “Do not forget what I offer,” he said softly.
“Do you know,” she said dryly, “that someone offers me carte blanche at least once a month, Mr. Tully?” It was a lie, but one she gleefully embraced. “If I had wanted to be a mistress, I have had plenty of opportunities.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “Not after this.”
“On the contrary,” she drawled, a chilling bit of insight burning through her. “If I am as political as you say, then I shall have dozens of offers soon. Anyone who wins me will be cause célèbre for a time.”
He straightened, thankfully removing his hand from her shoulder. “But I am the only one who really cares for you.”
