“Then what is it, cherie?” he asked. “You ’ave not dreamt for three years at least.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ve been keeping track of my nightmares?”
“It is my job, ma petite.”
A sudden thought struck. She glanced down at the opal ring on her finger. “Have you told Val? About my nightmares?”
He shrugged, but his eyes were hard. “That, too, is my job.”
She looked away, feeling a bit bitter. “To let him know that his sister is insane.”
“To let the duke know when she feels unwell or unsafe.” Jean-Marie sighed. “’E shows it very oddly, but make no mistake: the duke cares for you very much. ’E wants you to be ’appy.”
Happy. Was that even possible?
Eve closed her eyes. She was so very, very tired of being afraid.
With sudden energy she stood from her worktable. “Come, let’s go to Harte’s Folly. I’ve still not finished those books and Violetta said she would be practicing today. An aria from La Veneziana is really not to be missed.”
A slow smile spread across Jean-Marie’s face. “Me, I would not miss it for the world.”
Eve grinned. “I’d best get myself bathed and dressed, then.”
Which was how Eve and Jean-Marie arrived at the theater nearly before anyone else. They met a guard at the back entrance and two more at the doors to the theater—both new since the stage collapse. Once inside, Eve was startled to see Mr. Vogel in a whispered conference with Mr. MacLeish, both men looking serious.
They broke apart as she neared, and Mr. MacLeish smiled a cheery “Good morning,” while Mr. Vogel merely nodded curtly.
A few minutes later Eve found to her disapproval that Asa didn’t keep his office locked. “Why,” she muttered to herself, glancing at the shiny new lock, installed the day before, “go to the trouble of putting a lock on the door if he’s not going to use it?”
Behind her, Jean-Marie snorted and put Dove’s cage on her table.
“Shall I fetch water for tea?” he asked.
“Oh, please,” Eve said, sitting behind her desk. She remembered the new guards. “And can you find out if Alf is about? I’d like to hear if he has anything to report.”
She heard the door close as she examined the dog. “You’re looking much better,” she told the animal. “Good enough that Jean-Marie might be able to take you outside to wash you. Oh, don’t get up.”
This last was said nervously as the dog climbed laboriously to his feet.
“You really shouldn’t.”
Eve watched wide-eyed as the animal staggered toward her.
“Sit back down, please,” she said, arms raised, but the animal either didn’t know what an order was or ignored hers. He walked unsteadily right to her as Eve glanced wildly toward the closed door, hoping that Jean-Marie would make a sudden, early reappearance.
And then the animal laid his big head on her knees.
“Oh,” she said, for she had no idea what else to do. The dog was looking at her with huge brown eyes, his forehead wrinkled up as though he was worried. His enormous drooping jowls were spread like a messy black skirt upon her lap, and the animal’s triangular ears were back.
Actually it was rather adorable.
Hesitantly Eve laid her palm very gently on the beast’s head.
Slowly the dog’s tail swayed back and forth, and he gave a great sigh.
WHEN ASA WALKED into his office that morning he nearly did a double take.
Eve Dinwoody sat behind her desk, the mastiff’s huge head on her knees, and she was stroking him with slim fingers as she whispered to him.
The dog was looking up at her as if she were his personal goddess, which, Asa supposed, she was.
Dear God, he hoped he didn’t have the same expression on his own face.
Jean-Marie entered behind him, holding a kettle.
Asa tilted his head toward the other man. “What happened?”
The footman said slowly, “What do you mean?”
Asa looked at him askance and then gestured a little wildly to the scene in front of them. “What do I mean? I leave last night with Miss Dinwoody still absolutely terrified by dogs—she refused to touch the animal even when the dove showed herself unafraid of it—and arrive this morning with her petting that beast. Something must have happened in the interval.”
“Henry walked over and put his head in my lap,” Eve said softly. “Isn’t he clever?”
For a moment Asa merely boggled. “Henry?”
“I’ve always liked the name Henry,” Eve said thoughtfully. “It seems a very kind name, don’t you think?”
“Ah…,” Asa began, because the only Henry he’d known in his life had been a small boy who’d enjoyed throwing stones at sparrows and picking his nose, but then Jean-Marie elbowed him rather hard in the side. “Oof.”
“Oui, ma petite,” Jean-Marie said loudly. “’Enry is a most lovely name.”
“It’s a nice name, I suppose,” Asa muttered, rubbing his bruised ribs.
She looked up then, a smile spreading across her face, and Asa stilled, his blood heating, and he realized something. Eve Dinwoody would never be called pretty, but there was something alluring about her nonetheless. She had the sort of plainness that surpassed mere symmetry of feature, transcended simple beauty, and became quietly compelling.
And when she smiled at him like that? With joy and happiness and a sort of peace?
She was radiant.
Asa coughed, turning away, because the thought had shaken him somehow. How could he have been so completely wrong about something? About someone?
A knock came on the door and Alf, the strange urchin boy, popped his head in. “Yer wanted to see me, miss?”
Eve looked up. “Oh, yes, but do you have anything to report?”
Asa’s head jerked up. “What’s this?”
Eve shrugged. “I set Alf to looking into the stage collapse to see if he could discover if anyone was behind it.”
Asa’s eyebrows rose and he made a mental note to never underestimate Eve’s intelligence. “That was smart—the more eyes looking the better.”
Eve cleared her throat, a blush rising up her throat becomingly. “Yes, well, Alf?”
“I ’as a bit o’ news, ma’am, but it ain’t much,” the boy said. “Word is one o’ the gardeners—man by th’ name o’ Ives—never came back to work th’ day after th’ stage fell. I asked about and found that no one knew ’im well—or at least none wanted to tell me so.”
Eve looked skeptical. “That doesn’t sound terribly damning.”
Alf grinned slyly. “Aye, it don’t—until I ’eard tell that one of the dancers caught this same Ives fellow in th’ theater last week. Ives said as ’ow ’e just liked to listen to the music. Seemed innocent enough—save for th’ fact that th’ musicians weren’t playing at th’ time.”
“Why didn’t the dancer report the matter?” Asa growled.
Alf shrugged, looking wary. “’Tisn’t too uncommon for people to wander in and out of th’ theater, as I understands it. Don’t think the dancer thought the matter that important.”
“And you haven’t wanted to tell people that the stage was sabotaged,” Eve reminded him. “There would’ve been no reason to report the gardener to you.”
“Blast,” Asa muttered. “You’re right. I’ll send one of my men to see if he can find anything on this Ives.”
Eve nodded. “Thank you, Alf. I’d like you to continue watching for me and Mr. Harte, please.”
“Yes, miss.” And the boy disappeared into the corridor.
“Damnation!” Asa slammed his hand down on his table, making Eve jump and the dog lay back its ears. “We’re so close to opening the garden again and now this—gardeners sneaking about the place sabotaging the theater, and attacks on you and me.”
“Have you no news from your spy at Mr. Sherwood’s theater?”
“No.” Asa shook his head, frustrated. “Sherwood has apparently fallen i
n love with one of his singers and has been mooning about the woman. Other than that, my man has nothing to report.”
Eve gently pushed Henry’s head off her lap and rose, coming closer to him. “But we know now to be alert and we have people watching.” Hesitantly she laid her hand on his, warm and so light, like a butterfly alighting. He didn’t dare move lest he frighten her away. She looked at him, her sky-blue eyes earnest. “Harte’s Folly will open again, I promise.”
He stared at her and felt his chest warm as her fingers fluttered uncertainly on his hand. There was a connection between them, a sort of rapport that he’d never had before with any other woman.
From outside the room came the sound of the orchestra tuning up.
“Oh, are they readying for La Veneziana?” Eve’s eyes lit. “I’ve so been looking forward to hearing her sing again.”
Asa raised his eyebrows. “Again? You’ve heard her before?”
“Hasn’t everyone?” Eve answered absently, withdrawing her hand and brushing at her skirts. “I mean everyone who likes opera, of course.”
“Of course,” Asa parroted, faintly. So very wrong…
“Come, Henry,” Eve said to the dog, and set out as if she fully expected the mongrel to understand and follow.
And the odd thing was that he did.
Though as they passed close to him, Jean-Marie stiffened.
“Perhaps,” he said carefully, “I will take ’Enry to bathe ’im, for ’e stinks most dreadfully.”
Eve’s brows drew together anxiously. “Do you think he’s well enough to bathe?”
“I think so,” Asa said. He had a bit of a vested interest in the matter, since his office had smelled ever so slightly of shit for the last few days.
“Well, if you consider him well enough,” Eve said. “Oh, but you wanted to hear La Veneziana, Jean-Marie.”
“I shall hear ’er from the gardens, for she ’as a legendary voice. Come, ’Enry,” the footman said, bending to scoop the dog into his arms. He staggered a bit as he straightened. Henry wasn’t a small dog by anyone’s standards, even half starved. “We will see about ’eating some water for you. You shall ’ave a bath fit for a king.”
The footman strode out and Asa turned to Eve. “Shall we?”
She smiled at him, taking his arm without hesitation, and Asa couldn’t help a small swell of pride.
This woman had come to trust him, and that was no small thing.
Asa led Eve outside to the musicians’ gallery. The stage was still in the process of being rebuilt, so chairs had been set out here for both musicians and the few people in the audience—Asa, Eve, and some of the dancers and other opera singers. Eve smiled at Polly and nodded to MacLeish, who was lounging on the sidelines.
Asa found two chairs side by side and seated her. He didn’t look at her as he sat beside her, but this close he could smell that flowery scent she wore.
The same one she’d worn two nights before in the carriage when he’d taken out his cock and—
Violetta came out in costume. She wore a bright-red dress with gold spangles sewn on the underskirt and bodice. Gold lace framed the deep neckline and cascaded from the sleeves.
She stood in the center of the round courtyard, as composed as any queen, and like a queen she nodded to Vogel to signal she was ready.
Vogel stared sternly at his musicians and raised his arms.
And then the music began, beguiling and beautiful.
Asa caught his breath. Years now he’d owned Harte’s Folly. He had sat through innumerable performances and rehearsals, and still he felt a thrill each and every time.
God, he loved the theater.
The music, so grand, so bold. The costumes, gaudy in the light of day, but somehow sublime under the candlelight in the theater. And the people—the actors and singers and dancers. Individually they rarely looked extraordinary during the day. One saw the spots, the too-small eyes, the nasty personality. But under the lights, with the music and the costumes, they were deified. Gods and goddesses, more graceful, more quick, more beautiful than any mere mortal. And when one sat in the theater, saw the play, listened to the music, experienced the wonder, why then one felt for a time close to Olympus. To the kingdom of the gods and goddesses themselves.
He’d given up his name and his family for this. Had turned his back on his father’s wrath and Con’s continual disappointment, and in this moment, here, surrounded by his people in his garden, he didn’t regret a damn thing.
La Veneziana—for here she was no longer merely Violetta—parted her mouth, and sweet ambrosia fell from her lips.
Asa felt the clutch of Eve’s fingers and he turned. He saw at once that her reason for gripping his arm was very different than it had been yesterday.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Eve whispered, never taking her eyes from the singer.
A corner of his mouth cocked up to see in her blue eyes the same enthusiasm that he felt. “Yes,” Asa murmured in her ear. “Yes, she is.”
This was his world. His family. He’d created it with his own blood and sweat.
And by God, he’d protect it with his blood and sweat, too.
Chapter Twelve
Eric frowned. “You must not follow me.”
“Why not?” asked Dove. “I haven’t anywhere else to go.”
“Because I am busy,” Eric said, “I am in thrall to a powerful sorceress and she has set me a task to do.”
“Well, perhaps I can help you,” Dove replied hopefully.
At that Eric snorted, but he didn’t chase Dove away, so she was content.…
—From The Lion and the Dove
Eve hummed as Asa escorted her back to the office, her senses still alight from La Veneziana’s magnificent performance. If they could rebuild the stage in time, finish the theater roof, complete the garden plantings—oh, and all the other myriad things that needed to be done before they opened… if they could do all that, then Harte’s Folly would be a guaranteed success, she knew it, for she’d never heard such wonderful music, such sublime singing, in all her life.
All they had to do was get people in to hear it.
They were almost at the office door when Eve saw Jean-Marie. He was standing, holding a very sad Henry and dripping from head to toe.
Eve’s eyes widened. “What—?”
“’Enry, ’e does not like to be clean,” Jean-Marie said with great dignity. “If you do not mind, I shall return ’ome so that I may obtain dry clothing.”
“I’m so sorry, Jean-Marie,” Eve said, feeling rather guilty, especially when Henry took the opportunity to sidle away from the footman and over to her side. Apparently the dog felt she was above sneak baths. “Of course you may return home and change your clothes.”
“You will feel secure?” Jean-Marie asked very seriously.
“Yes,” she said stoutly.
She might’ve started the day with nightmares, but now it was broad daylight—and she was in the company of Asa. She glanced at him. He was right: he was no longer “any other man.”
She looked back at Jean-Marie. “I’ll stay here in the office with Mr. Makepeace. I’ll be just fine.”
Jean-Marie exchanged a glance with Asa that seemed to impart some male information, and then he nodded. “Bien. I shall return as swiftly as I can.”
He shivered and walked away.
Asa turned to the office and held open the door for her and Henry. The dog made a beeline for his colorful bed, turned completely around, and collapsed into it with a long-suffering sigh.
“It couldn’t have been as bad as all that,” Eve chided, touching one ear gently. “You needn’t have drenched Jean-Marie.”
The dog merely thumped his tail against the floor once and closed his eyes.
Eve glanced up to see Asa watching her intently, and she suddenly realized that this was the first time they’d been alone since the carriage ride when he’d…
She couldn’t help it. He was leaning against his table in his usu
al wide-legged stance, and her eyes went to the juncture of his thighs.
Oh, what she’d give for just one more look!
She hastily averted her eyes, but it was too late. She saw him watching her and knew he’d caught her.
Eve felt her cheeks heat. “It was very good. The music, I mean.”
“Yes,” he said absently. He straightened, his hips thrusting away from the table.
A small movement, but very evocative.
“I think…” Her voice emerged a croak and Eve was forced to stop and swallow. “I think that La Veneziana’s voice has improved since last I heard her sing.”
“Do you?” He came around the table, slowly stalking to her side of her desk.
Eve backed a step and sat abruptly in her chair.
He stopped and propped himself against the corner of her desk, facing her. It was a very cramped space and her knees nearly touched his.
Nearly. Not quite.
Her eyes dropped, because really, his hips were right at eye level, and she thought the bulge beneath his breeches had grown.
Slowly she raised her gaze to meet his eyes. She hadn’t even pretended this time that she hadn’t looked.
He knew.
He knew.
His hands dropped to frame the placket of his breeches. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said, his voice low and intense. “The way you looked at me. The desire in your eyes.” He inhaled. “The scent in the carriage that night. I think about it and I grow hard.”
She stared at him, entirely unable to look away. Her heart beating fast.
“I think about it,” he said again, his voice deeper now. “And I wish I could’ve seen you.”
“Seen me,” she said, very precisely. Very cautiously. And yet with an edge of excitement.
There was no use denying it to herself.
“Seen you.” He was watching her carefully. “Seen your legs, your thighs, your cunt.”
She inhaled at the word. So plain. So crude. There was no doubting it, and even she knew what he meant.
She wasn’t such a fearless woman.
Was she?
“Can I?” he whispered. “Can I see you?”
Sweetest Scoundrel Page 18
