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‘But why should you be, Miss Corwin?’ Hurst enquired in a voice like sugar soaked in aloes. ‘You are amongst friends here.’
The girl gave a shriek and dragged at the door to reveal her companion just behind it. Maude blinked at the sight of two thoroughly overdressed young women clinging together on the threshold.
‘Lady Maude, may I introduce Miss Corwin and Miss Calenthe Corwin to your notice? Ladies, this is Lady Maude Templeton. I fear I cannot offer you refreshment as Lady Maude and I are discussing business.’
Maude, who was beginning to get some idea what was going on, enquired, ‘No doubt your mama is waiting for you close by?’ Their faces were so easy to read it was almost laughable. ‘No? Well, in that case I will take you home in my hackney, for you most certainly should not be out alone at this hour. Perhaps you would be so kind as to obtain one, Mr Hurst. I am afraid I must forgo the meeting with Madame this evening, but I do feel that seeing these misguided young ladies safe home must take priority. Shall we say eleven tomorrow to continue our discussion?’ She knew she sounded about fifty, but her tone was certainly having a dampening effect on the girls.
‘Certainly, ma’am.’ He might not be a professional actor, but the manager of the Unicorn could dissimulate like a master. His face showed nothing but a slightly obsequious attention to Maude and a faint irritation directed at the two younger women, as though at the antics of a pair of badly trained puppies.
Maude swept out into the corridor, amazed to find her legs steady again. Who these two girls were she had no idea, other than that they were certainly not of the ton, but she had no way of knowing if they would gossip about her. It was imperative that she kept them on the defensive, more worried about their own position than speculating about what the daughter of an earl was doing unchaperoned in Mr Hurst’s office at eleven in the evening.
He led them through a maze of corridors and out into the night. Maude drew her veil down over her face and raised the hood of her cloak to shield her face from the crowd of gentlemen who were milling around the stage door, inside and out, while the stage door-keeper produced a hackney with a blast on his whistle. She allowed Mr Hurst to seat her in the vehicle before he stood back to allow the Misses Corwin to scramble in unaided. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. Until eleven, then.’ He stopped to give the driver an address in the city, then turned away as the carriage rattled out into the late evening bustle of Long Acre.
Maude waited with interest to see what her two companions would say now they were alone with her. In the gloom of the carriage they fidgeted, whispered and eventually one of them blurted out, ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you, Lady Maude?’
‘What exactly do you not wish me to reveal?’ she enquired coolly, finding herself irrationally annoyed with the pair of them. Why she should feel so protective of Eden Hurst she had no idea. He was more than capable of looking after himself, if their encounter in the corridor was anything to go by. If he had pounced on one of these girls in that manner, she would have fled screaming, just as he intended, no doubt. They quite obviously had not got a tendre for him, either of them, so what on earth were they about, risking ruin like this?
‘That we were trying to…um, encourage Mr Hurst into making an offer,’ the shorter one ventured.
‘For which of you?’ Maude enquired, intrigued. Yes, he had known about this plot and had mistaken her in the gloom for one of these silly girls.
‘With any of us. Mama thinks he will, because he wants Papa to invest in his theatre, but we aren’t sure because he never takes any notice of us. We don’t understand it,’ she added naïvely, ‘because we are ever so well dowered.’
‘Perhaps Mr Hurst already has an attachment?’ Maude ventured, finding her irritation turning into something more like amusement until she realised that might very well be the case. She had no idea—Eden Hurst was a very private man.
‘Well, if he has, it isn’t anyone from amongst the merchant families. Papa would know,’ the taller sister offered confidently. ‘And he can’t marry anyone in society, because of being a bastard.’
That was a relief. Then Miss Corwin’s words sank in. ‘A…a what?’
‘Bastard. Although Mama says not to use that word and say love begotten, instead. But it doesn’t matter really, because his father was an Italian prince or something equally grand.’
That would explain his colouring, Maude thought hazily. Was Eden Hurst illegitimate? She had never heard a whisper, although it was not the sort of thing mentioned in front of unmarried ladies. Oh, Lord, if he was, that would be another obstacle to overcome. Trade was bad enough, the scandalous world of theatre even worse. Being the love child of an Italian prince was hardly going to make it any better. Papa was going to have palpitations, poor man, when he was finally presented with Eden Hurst as a son-in-law.
The hackney cab stopped. ‘We’re home.’
‘And how do you propose to get in?’ Maude enquired. They did not appear to be too worried by the prospect.
‘Through the service area.’ The girl hesitated on the carriage step. ‘Thank you, Lady Maude.’
‘Well, don’t do anything like this again. If I were you, I would not talk about this little adventure to anyone,’ she added repressively. ‘And please tell the driver to take me to Berkeley Square.’
Maude was deep in thought when the hackney came to a halt again. The door was stiff and the light from the flambeaux either side of the Standons’ house flickered wildly in the stiff breeze. She almost tripped getting down, then stood shivering while she fumbled in her reticule.
‘All right, m’lady, Mr Hurst paid,’ the man said, leaning round to slam the door shut.
‘Oh. How kind of him.’ Maude felt very tired all of a sudden. The shallow steps up to the front door seemed endless as she looked at them. Her hopes for the evening had been vague, beyond making contact with Eden Hurst, but she had not expected to be ruthlessly kissed and then find herself chaperoning two girls.
‘He’s come along to see you home,’ the man added over his shoulder as the horse moved off.
As she stared across the corner of the square she saw another hackney drawn up, a tall figure standing by its open door. He raised a hand in acknowledgement as he saw her looking at him, then climbed back in. Maude drew her cloak around her and ran up the steps to Jessica’s house, no longer tired.
Chapter Two
‘Lady Maude, your ladyship.’ Jordan, the Standon’s butler, managed not to appear shocked by her unannounced arrival on the doorstep at almost midnight without so much as a valise about her person.
‘Maude darling, I thought you said you couldn’t come tonight.’ Jessica put down her book, removed her stockinged feet from the fender and regarded her with mild surprise.
‘I was trying not to tell an untruth to anyone,’ Maude explained. ‘Thank you, Jordan, a cup of tea would be perfect. And one of the special ginger biscuits if Cook has made any,’ she added hopefully.
‘You intrigue me vastly.’ Jessica curled up in her chair and waved Maude towards the one opposite. ‘You have been exploring at the Unicorn, I surmise?’
‘How did you guess?’ Maude kicked off her slippers and tucked herself up in the depths of the chair.
‘Where else would you have slipped off to? Reveal all,’ she commanded, reminding Maude that her friend had once been a governess.
‘I told Papa that you had invited me and let him think I was coming back here with you directly after the performance. And I told you he was expecting me to go home with him, without actually saying that I did not intend to.’
‘There is a word for that sort of thing. Devious.’
‘I prefer to think of it as considerate. No one was worried.’
‘Go on—’ Jessica broke off as Jordan entered with a tray loaded with tea things, bread and butter, some tiny cakes and the famous ginger biscuits. ‘Thank you, Jordan, that will be all for tonight. His lordship will let himself in.’
Maude waited patiently while Jessica poured two cups of tea and then pounced on a biscuit. ‘I’m famished. Well, my intention was to visit Madame Marguerite in her dressing room and congratulate her upon her performance and while I was at it, just happen to encounter Mr Hurst and make an appointment to discuss a business matter.’
‘And?’ Jessica nibbled a triangle of bread and butter.
‘I, er…encountered Mr Hurst first.’
‘And he threw you out? You do look somewhat flustered.’
‘He kissed me. Ruthlessly, indecently. Without mercy. Until I almost lost the use of my legs. The man is a complete rake.’
‘Oh, my dear! How frightful, you must be devastated—’ Her face full of concern, Jessica put down her cup and began to scramble to her feet.
‘It was wonderful,’ Maude finished. It was beginning to feel unreal, like an incredible dream. Only, her mouth still felt swollen and all those alarmingly wonderful sensations kept rippling through her whenever she thought about Eden’s body pressed intimately to hers.
Jessica sat down again with a thump. ‘Is that all he did?’ she demanded. ‘Kiss you?’
‘Yes, although I don’t think all is quite the word. But he thought I was someone else. He was extremely courteous afterwards and sent me home in a hackney. He followed in another one to see I arrived safely,’ she added in an effort to reassure.
That a number of questions were fighting for priority in Jessica’s head was obvious from her expression. ‘Who did he think you were?’ she asked eventually.
‘One of the Misses Corwin, apparently. I’ve never heard of them, but their father is a merchant and he is about to invest in the Unicorn. The daughters are determined that one of them is going to marry Mr Hurst. Two of them arrived moments after he let me go, apparently hell-bent on getting the elder one compromised. I was able to foil that and escort them home, adding a warning about their behaviour while I was about it.’
‘The pot calling the kettle black?’ Jessica enquired.
‘Not at all.’ Maude frowned. She had been worrying about that as she drove back. ‘I have no intention of entrapping Eden Hurst,’ she reassured Jessica, and herself into the bargain. ‘Only of giving him every opportunity to fall in love with me.’
‘How can he resist?’ teased Jessica, relaxing somewhat.
‘Well, your darling Gareth could, very easily,’ Maude pointed out.
‘It was mutual, was it not? And I won’t lecture you, I promise. How can I, given what I got up to disentangling you and Gareth?’
‘You made a perfectly captivating loose woman,’ Maude said, deciding she could, after all her adventures, manage a third ginger biscuit. ‘Whereas I have no intention of doing anything more forward than making sure I am very much in Mr Hurst’s life from now on. Sooner or later he will come to realise he cannot exist without me.’
‘It did not strike him like a thunderbolt at your first encounter,’ Jessica pointed out. ‘I might have been heavily veiled at the time, but I could see quite clearly and I have never observed a less struck man in my life. I described him to Gareth as an icicle, but an iceberg would have been more accurate. And he appears to have survived kissing you without falling at your feet either,’ she added cruelly.
‘He is probably racked with desire, the more he thinks about it,’ Maude asserted. ‘Another cup of tea?’
They drank in silence, the plate of biscuits mysteriously diminishing until Jessica said, ‘You are sure, aren’t you, that it isn’t just his looks? I know I described him as an icicle, but he is also the most exotically beautiful man I have ever seen. It would not be at all surprising if you fell for that.’
‘You mean, am I being extremely superficial?’ Unoffended by the question, Maude brushed crumbs off her skirt and got up to place some more coals on the fire. ‘You forget, I have grown up surrounded by men of character. Dearest Papa, Gareth, to name but two. I could not possibly love or marry a man without intelligence, drive, fine qualities. Yes, I was attracted to Eden Hurst because of his looks. But it was also his presence, his strength.
‘And then the more I found out about him, the more I admired him. He has revived the Unicorn’s fortunes in mere months in the face of the Patent theatres’ opposition, created a vehicle in England for Madame Marguerite when she was known only by reputation. And everyone says he managed one of the most successful theatre companies on the Continent—and that cannot have been easy under the circumstances of the past years.’
‘How old is he?’ Jessica asked. ‘Thirty, at least, I would have thought.’
‘I do not know.’ Maude frowned into the hot centre of the fire. ‘I can’t find out anything like that about him, who his parents are, where he was born, when.’ She was not going to mention the rumour about his father. Time enough to cross that bridge when she had to.
‘You don’t think he and Madame are, er, involved…?’ Jessica asked tentatively.
‘Surely not?’ Maude stared back, aghast. That had never occurred to her. ‘She’s years older than he is, surely?’
‘Well, I have no doubt she’s a creature of unrestrained passions, if her acting is anything to go by, and he is a very handsome man. Tell me…’ Jessica leaned forward ‘…what was it like?’
Maude felt herself colouring up. ‘Amazing,’ she said finally. ‘I have been kissed before, but this was quite unlike anything else. Is it supposed to make you feel odd all over?’
‘The odder the better,’ her friend said with a grin, uncurling from the depths of the chair. ‘Time for bed, although I doubt you are going to get a wink of sleep after that.’
‘Don’t you think so?’ Maude took the proffered candle. ‘I was rather hoping I was going to dream.’
Eden waved the tired dresser out of the door and closed it behind him. ‘I have called your carriage, Madame.’
‘Call me Marguerite, darling. How many times do I have to ask you?’ The actress fluffed at her hair petulantly.
‘It does not feel right. Here, let me help you with your cloak.’ He settled it around her shoulders as she stood, enveloping them both in a cloud of Attar of Roses, drowning the faint remembered fragrance of gardenias in his nostrils.
‘Foolish boy.’ She twisted round, her head on one side, and smiled. Always the coquette, always practising her charms. ‘Are they all gone?’
She meant the swarm of admirers who had infested the Green Room and queued, petulant if they were not given instant admission, at the stage door. ‘All gone. I got rid of them at last.’
‘They adore me.’ It was a statement, but underneath he heard the need for reassurance. Always the need for reassurance.
‘They worship you,’ Eden agreed with a smile, his watchful dark eyes cataloguing the faint betraying lines beside her eyes, the slackening of the skin over the exquisite jaw line, the harshness of the dark hair tint. He knew he must begin to edge her towards the more mature roles. And how was that to be achieved without her throwing a tantrum to rival Mount Etna? He had witnessed the eruption in 1810, and the fiery image came to mind with increasing frequency whenever Madame was thwarted.
There had been a time, when she had first taken him from the palazzo, before he had learned to harness his emotions and not to entertain foolish fantasies about love, when he had hated her. Now, he thought he understood her, had come to accept her total lack of empathy for anyone else and to admire her talent, her sheer determination. But when he was tired it was still an act of conscious will to humour her.
‘You must be exhausted after that performance,’ he suggested, edging her towards the door. ‘So much emotion.’
She lifted a daintily manicured hand and patted his cheek. ‘Darling, you are cold.’
‘I have been out, a small matter of business to take care of.’ And if Lady Maude had not been there he would still have been dealing with it. The consequences of Corwin discovering that two of his daughters had been found, unchaperoned, in his office late at night would be the most almighty row and the loss of his most promising investor.
Eden smiled grimly, then caught sight of his saturnine expression in the big glass. Why the devil would a woman want to marry him in any case? Used to scrutinising the faces of actors at close quarters, all he could read in his own features was cold, hard ruthlessness wedded to the theatrical tricks of a mountebank—the earring, the hair. His profession and his birth made him ineligible to all but the merchant classes and below, and his character was surely something a woman would take on only in return for his money.
Which brought him back neatly to Corwin. ‘What are you scowling about, darling?’ Marguerite allowed herself to be guided out and towards the Green Room. The square chamber with its green velvet curtains, Turkey rug and motley collection of chairs, sofas and side tables was both the common room for the company and the reception salon after a performance.
Now, in the wake of Marguerite’s admirers’ departure, the room resembled the aftermath of a drunken party. Bottles were upended into ice buckets, flowers were strewn everywhere, empty glasses stood around and most of the company were sitting or reclining in various combinations of stage costume, street clothes and undress.
They struggled to their feet, or, in the case of George Peterson, the heavy who was already well in his cups, vaguely upright, as their leading lady swept through. ‘Good night, darlings,’ she trilled, blowing a kiss to the three walking gentlemen, the bit-part players, who swept her bows as she went.
Eden noted in passing that Miss Harriet Golding, the ingénue, was sitting almost on the lap of Will Merrick, the juvenile lead. That could spell trouble—Merrick was living with Miss Susan Poole, the lively soubrette who had apparently already left. He could well do without a love triangle in the middle of the cast, especially with a visiting leading lady next week. Madame would sail blithely through any amount of emotional turmoil provided it was not her own emotions at stake. Mrs Furlow could well find it most disagreeable. He dug out the notebook and added Merrick/Golding/Poole below the note on oil lamps. If this was serious, then Miss Golding would have to go; ingénues were two a penny.
‘I am utterly drained,’ Marguerite announced, draping herself across the gold plush of her carriage seats. ‘Drained. I have given my all for a month.’
‘Well, you have two weeks when you need only rest and get up your lines for the next part, then rehearsals,’ Eden soothed, the words forming themselves without any conscious work on his part. Then some demon prompted him to add, ‘And I have an idea for the piece after that.’
‘And what is that to be?’ she demanded.
Eden knew he had been hedging round breaking this to her, seeking the right moment. Oh well, now, with no audience of dresser and sycophants to fan her tantrums, might be as good a time as any. ‘Lady Macbeth.’
‘Lady Macbeth? Lady Macbeth?’ Her voice rose alarmingly. ‘That Scottish hag? A mad woman? A tragedy? Are you insane?’ She subsided. Eden braced himself; she was not finished yet. ‘In any case, we cannot perform it. The Patent theatres have the monopoly on legitimate drama.’ Her voice dripped scorn.
‘Not if we introduce music, have a ballet in the background in some of the scenes. I have been working on it and we can scrape past the licence issues.’
‘Why should we want to?’ she demanded. Even in the dim light he could see the alarming rise and fall of her bosom.
‘You do not want to do it?’ Eden injected amazement into his voice. ‘One of the great Shakespearian roles? The woman who is so seductive, so powerful that she can drive a great king to murder? Imagine the dagger scene. Every man in the theatre would take the knife from your hands and do the act if you commanded it. The sleepwalking scene—you, magnificent yet so feminine in your night rail…’ He fell silent. She was already rapt, eyes closed, lost in her imagination.
Eden offered up silent thanks to whichever minor deity looked after theatre managers and sat back against the soft squabs. Finally, he could contemplate those hectic few moments in the corridor with Maude Templeton in his arms.
Thinking about it had the inevitable physical effect. He crossed his legs and tried to pin down the nagging feeling he had seen her somewhere before. It would not come and concentrating was virtually impossible while the memory of the feel and the scent and the yielding of her filled his brain and agitated his body.
What business had she with him? he wondered. She was quick witted as well as beautiful, with a sense of humour that matched his own, he rather suspected, recalling her stated reasons for allowing him to kiss her. He did not believe for a moment that she had been subdued by his superior strength. Which left the flattering probability that she had enjoyed the experience.
And the not very flattering recollection that a second later she had been all business. Not that there was any legitimate business an unmarried lady, with the emphasis on lady, could possibly be transacting with him, which was puzzling. Eden found himself intrigued, aroused and curious, a combination of emotions that he could not recall experiencing before.
He indulged himself with the memory of her slender waist, spanned by his hands, of the slither of silk under his palms, the erotic hint of tight corseting as his thumbs had brushed the underside of her breast…
‘I need a new carriage.’
Back to reality. ‘This one is only eighteen months old, Madame. I bought it in Paris, you recall. I cannot afford a new one.’
‘Why not? You are a rich man, Eden.’
