скачать книгу бесплатно
‘But that was before I tasted it.’ Eden feinted with another little biscuit and Maude rapped him over the knuckles and they both laughed. Then their gazes locked and Maude found she was staring, the laughter dying on her lips as something happened, deep in the dark eyes fixed on hers. ‘Perhaps I am not as good with temptation as I thought,’ he said slowly. There was a long, breathless moment before he broke the gaze with an almost physical abruptness and reached for the platter of cheese.
Maude got her breathing back under control. ‘I will be here for the auditions at nine, then,’ she said. ‘I would like to give you my opinions and I cannot compare one actress with another if I do not see them all.’
Eden put down his knife, his face showing no signs of amusement or flirtation now. ‘The decision is mine. We made no agreement about casting or employment.’
‘Yes, of course. I am not claiming any privilege in the matter.’ What was it Jessica had called him? A dark angelfrom the chillier regions of Hell—yes, that was it. Well, he was not apparently angry, so Hell was presumably on hold, but his severe masculine beauty and the implacable expression certainly fitted the first part.
She shivered, more unnerved than she liked to admit to herself at his rapid change from amused teasing to icy assertion of his rights. ‘I thought I would sit up here and watch, as though I was a member of the audience. My opinion may be of value to you, and if not, you will ignore it.’ She did her best to sound neither defensive, nor shaken by his territorial reaction.
‘Very well.’ Eden could not be said to have relaxed again, for his body had not noticeably stiffened in the first place, yet Maude sensed the moment of tension had passed. Don’t touch my theatre! He should have a sign hung up, she told herself, striving to find a lighter note. ‘Yes, that will be interesting,’ he added, ‘to see what you think of each from this vantage point.’
‘It is agreed, then.’ She risked further provocation. ‘And Miss Golding? What news of her?’
‘She has found a place at the Sans Pareil in the Strand. They specialise in burlettas; it will suit her well enough.’
‘Thank you,’ Maude said, warmly. ‘I am so happy that you did that.’
‘You are happier than Mr Merrick in that case, for he is short one week’s wages that I added to what was owing to Miss Golding.’
‘So you are not completely heartless, then?’ Maude watched his face from beneath her lashes, caught the wry twist of his mouth. ‘You did not tell me before that you had done so.’
‘It was no loss to me and it served as a lesson for Mr Merrick,’ Eden said coolly, disowning any motive of kindness. He must, surely, have a softer side?
‘You left me to think you were cruel enough to simply cast her out,’ Maude observed, ‘and you were not.’ Instinctively she reached out, laid her own hand palm down over his. ‘It isn’t a crime to admit to compassion, Eden.’
He sat looking down at her hand, then turned his under it and lifted until her fingertips were an inch from his lips. He is going to kiss them… She could feel his breath, hot on the sensitive skin. Then he raised his eyes, watching her under the thick black lashes as he lowered her hand to the table and released it.
‘It is probably as well if you have no illusions about my character, Maude. I am not one of your society gentlemen, running tame in ballroom and parlour. I grew up differently and I know weakness is not gentility, it is danger.’ He did not appear to expect an answer to that, instead picking up a knife and looking at her questioningly. ‘May I tempt you to some cheese? A glass of port?’
‘No, thank you.’ Maude shook her head, distracted by wondering how she was ever going to crack Eden’s defences.
‘Shall I see you to the carriage, then?’ She nodded, still not concentrating completely. ‘I would like to prolong the evening, but I have no desire to cause Lord Pangbourne any anxiety.’
‘Thank you. But he is engaged with friends until the early hours,’ Maude said vaguely. ‘Still, I should not keep my maid waiting up for me.’ Eden came and pulled out her chair for her to rise and she smiled her thanks over her shoulder as she did so.
It happened so fast, came out of nowhere—there was no time to think. At one moment they were formal, she rising gracefully from her seat, he placing the chair to one side so her full skirts were unimpeded, the next she stumbled, her low French heel catching in the carpet rucked by the table, and she was in his arms.
Instinctively her hands went up for balance, fastening on his lapels, and his arms were around her, swinging her away from the low edge of the balcony, folding her against his chest. Her overwhelming sensation was of the scent of him: clean, warm male with a hint of an exotic spice mingling with starched linen and that green earth smell of olive oil.
‘You’ve been oiling your hair,’ she said, such a foolish thing to be talking of when she was strained against his body and he was looking down at her as though he was still ravenously hungry.
‘Yes,’ he said, half-laughing at her, half-serious, with a kind of confusion that seemed alien to him. ‘Maude?’
A question, a statement? A plea? She couldn’t tell. Nor, she realised with something like despair, could she pull away. He was going to kiss her. Too soon…
Eden felt the sensations wash through him, searching with his mind for his self-control like a man who has dropped something precious into a fast-flowing stream. He was going to have to do this, he was going to have to be the strong one, the responsible one. Maude was simply too innocent to realise what was happening here. She probably thought he was going to kiss her, a light good-night kiss, perhaps.
And instead she was a finger’s breadth away from being pulled down to the upholstered bench that ran around the box and ravished. He tried not to hold her so tightly, achingly aware of the force of his arousal, aware of the soft skin, the fragrance that rose from it, the primitive need to strip the silks and lawns from her body. What was it about this woman? He had never so much as flirted with a respectable single woman. She was a virgin, for God’s sake!
Under his hands she quivered and he realised his big hands were gripping her shoulders, the fragile bones trapped under his palms. But she made no sound and the pansy-dark eyes were watching him with something he was quite unable to read.
What had happened? He had thought after that first mistaken kiss that he was simply enjoying her company, the intelligent, amused comments, the sweet femininity surrounding him without any games being played, without any demands being made. Maude was a novelty, a woman he thought might actually become a friend and now—this.
This overwhelming desire came out of nowhere, over-setting him just where he thought he was strongest. He had believed that his will was firm, that his self-control was absolute, that his life was ordered, controlled, planned. And now here was this society chit reducing him to a mass of screaming, mindless need without so much as a flirtatious glance.
And this was not need he could take to some whore to slake. Oh, no, this was need for her, for Lady Maude Templeton, and he might as well desire the moon.
He had done harder things than this, Eden told himself, gritting his teeth and forcing his hands apart. Harder things, more painful things, although just at the moment, in the grip of this madness, he could not recall what they were.
Where had this come from? He was a sensual man, he knew that, knew he would never be celibate. But this lust for an innocent young woman he hardly knew? But he did know her, he realised, with the part of his brain that was functioning clearly. He knew her better already than any woman in his life, other than Madame Marguerite.
He managed to let Maude go, then caught her elbow as she staggered slightly, as though her knees were shaking. How long had he been standing there, holding her, drowning in those lovely, wondering eyes? ‘I’m sorry, did you hurt yourself when you tripped?’
‘No. No, not at all. So clumsy of me.’ She stepped away, apparently steady on her feet now, which was more than he felt. That damned dizziness again. ‘That will teach me to drink two glasses of wine,’ she added, sounding ruefully amused.
Did she not realise what had almost happened just then? Had she not seen how much danger she had been in? It seemed not. And he—what peril was he risking? He could not afford to find himself obsessed with the daughter of a peer, he could not afford the lack of focus that unrequited desire would bring. Or the retribution Lord Pangbourne would bring down on his head if his self-control slipped and he debauched the earl’s daughter.
‘Time to go home,’ Eden said, finding his voice emerged quite normally, not with the huskiness of the desperation he was feeling.
‘Yes, of course. My cloak…’ Maude gestured towards the shadows, then stood while he swung the heavy velvet around her shoulders. ‘Thank you. Now, where did I put my reticule? Ah, here it is.’ She seemed to Eden’s bemused eye to be quite calm, which could only mean she was very innocent, despite her assured air and her age, or completely impervious to whatever dubious attraction he had for other women, or both.
He held the door for her, then followed her out into the wide passageway, resisting the urge to take her arm, knowing he could not trust himself to touch her. She did, however, seem unusually quiet. Perhaps some sixth sense was making her uneasy. Eden walked beside her, racking his brains for conversation and finding none. And finding no possible excuse for not sending her away, breaking their contract, never seeing her again.
Eden seemed unusually silent, Maude thought as they made their way along the wide, deserted corridors and down the sweep of the stairs to the front lobby.
She looked up, seeing the hard line of his jaw, the dark shadow of his beard just beginning to show. Beyond she could see the head of the unicorn, thrusting out of the wall, its horn lowered, its nostrils wide. It had never seemed fierce to her before, or threatening, but now it did.
Someone materialised from the shadows, opened the door and whistled. Eden stepped out into the night, still not taking her arm, and the cold air struck her skin, making her realise just how heated she was. There were the sound of hooves on the cobbles and a carriage drew up.
Eden snapped his fingers at the groom, who jumped down and hurried to let down the steps and help her enter. ‘Eden?’ she queried.
‘I will ride on the box.’ He shut the door and she was alone. Shivering slightly, Maude fidgeted with her cloak and tied the cord at her neck. There were gloves in the pocket and she pulled them on, feeling the need to cover as much skin as possible, as though that flimsy warmth would stop the fine tremor running through her.
Now she was alone she could think about those few crowded moments after she had stumbled and he had caught her in his arms. What had happened? She was not sure. She was not certain even how long he had held her, his strong fingers locked around her shoulders. She had stumbled, Eden had caught her—and for her the world had stopped on its axis.
But for him? He had been so still, his eyes so intent, his breathing hard. Had he felt the sensual shock that had gone through her? Or was it simply that he had found himself, late at night, with his arms full of young woman and it had taken a moment for him to control a man’s natural reactions?
But she did not want him to feel only desire, flattering though that was. She wanted his emotions involved, not his instincts. When they made love—she closed her eyes and shivered—she wanted it to be because he loved her. But Jessica and Bel had warned her that was not how men thought. And it seemed they were right.
Maude was still wrestling with her desires and her ignorance as the carriage slowed and stopped. When the door opened Eden was standing there, his hand held out to help her down. It seemed he was prepared to touch her now. The groom was already climbing the front steps to knock.
She made herself hold Eden’s gaze for a long moment, then pulled up her hood and put her hand in his. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you, I enjoyed your company very much.’ He kept his voice low, conscious, as she was, of the driver up on the box.
‘And I, yours. It was a delicious meal; please thank your chef for me,’ she responded, as though they were parting after a normal society dinner party. ‘I look forward to the auditions.’
One of the footmen had come to open the door. Maude inclined her head to Eden with a smile and walked with perfect poise across the pavement, up the steps and into the hall. ‘Thank you, James. You may lock up now. His lordship will be very late and he has his keys.’
She kept her back straight all the way up the stairs, along the landing and into her room, even though there was no one to see her. Anna came in answer to the bell and chatted cheerfully as she unlaced Maude’s gown, put away her jewels, unpinned and brushed her hair, unperturbed by her mistress’s silence.
When she had gone Maude sat up in bed and watched the dying fire and contemplated, for the first time in her life, a problem she did not know how to solve.
Chapter Eleven (#ulink_978f9bfa-e662-5af2-ab60-9eb109f5d6b8)
Maude was up there, in her box, although it was scarcely half past eight. He could sense her as clearly as if the scent of gardenias had wafted down to the bare stage and driven away the stink of gas, greasepaint and dust. Eden took the list of hopefuls for the audition from the stage manager and scanned it, although he already had it clear in his mind.
‘Who have you got to play opposite them?’
‘Tom Gates.’ Howard, the stage manager, ran his hands through his grizzled brown curls and frowned at the stage. ‘What props do you want, Guv’nor?’
‘Table, chair. Throw a shawl over the chair, put something on the table—give them something to use.’ He could feel himself turning to look up at the box and swivelled back, despising himself. He had dealt with his frustration, but he had not been able to force himself to think of just any woman. Instead, his mind had been filled with the image of Maude, her supple body, her soft, warm mouth, and he had groaned aloud, the sweat standing out on his brow. ‘Here.’ He thumbed through the pages of the play in his hand. ‘Give them all this scene.’
‘Right you are, Guv’nor.’ Howard turned back to take the pages. ‘Her ladyship’s here.’ The man lowered his voice and jerked his head towards the tier of boxes up on the right. ‘Been here since eight. Said not to disturb you.’ Eden allowed himself a grunt of acknowledgment. ‘I sent Millie up with some coffee and sweet rolls.’
‘Good.’ At least he wasn’t fantasising, Maude really was up there. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with him at all, except lust, and slender brunettes with heart-shaped faces and haughty little noses were what it took to reduce him to this state of distraction.
His doctor had patiently examined him, peered into his eyes, listened to his heart, performed whatever mysteries medics did over a urine sample and pronounced him as fit as a racehorse. The man had offered to bleed him should the strange dizzy spells recur, advised laying off the port and drinking more Burgundy instead and recommended a few early nights. ‘Not that there’s a damn thing wrong with you, Hurst,’ he’d added. ‘Still, I expect you want some advice for your money.’
Eden stalked off to straddle a chair set stage right, his back to Maude’s box, without acknowledging that he was aware she was there. It was ungracious, he knew. He dumped the papers on the small table set beside it, pulled a pencil out of his pocket and tried to make his mind go blank. And failed.
And it wasn’t just the physical attraction, it was the way she looked into his eyes as though she wanted to touch his soul and asked him questions and he found he was betraying his innermost thoughts, his weaknesses, the sore areas he tried to ignore.
Try common sense… The more you avoid thinking abouther, the more obsessed you will become. There are twooptions—make love to her or get used to her. The first was patently impossible, which left the second.
Eden stood up, moved centre stage and shaded his eyes to look up at the boxes. ‘Lady Maude?’
‘Mr Hurst.’ He could see her easily now. Maude had taken off her bonnet and she was resting her elbows on the velvet padded rim of the box, a coffee cup cradled in her hands. ‘Thank you for my breakfast.’ She could pitch her voice to reach him without shouting, he realised, professionally impressed at the clarity.
He should, of course, acknowledge that it had been Howard’s idea to send up the refreshments. ‘My pleasure.’ He wrestled with the conscience that he had assured her he did not possess. ‘But you must thank Mr Howard, our stage manager, for that.’
‘Thank you, Mr Howard,’ she called, waving, and the man produced a rare smile and raised a hand in acknowledgment. Now she is going to charm the entire company, Eden thought, resigned to hearing Maude’s praises sung by all and sundry.
‘Right.’ He looked at his pocket watch before laying it beside the script. ‘Let’s get on with this.’
Maude bit the end of her pencil and concentrated. Mr Howard had given her a list of the hopeful ingénues and she was making careful notes against each. Not very clear… Moves awkwardly… Over-dramatic… Too old… Moves beautifully, but couldn’t hear her…
When Eden stood up and announced a break for luncheon, she had come to the conclusion that there were only three so far who seemed right. ‘Mr Hurst!’
Eden turned, looking up, and she was almost tempted to launch into the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. She repressed the urge; her acting would reduce the audience to fits of laughter. ‘Would you care to take luncheon up here?’
She had managed, with some success during the day at least, not to think too much about those moments in Eden’s arms that night. Now he seemed to hesitate and she felt her poise slipping.
‘Thank you, but, no, Lady Maude. Perhaps you would join Howard, Gates and me down here?’ He must have thought her silence meant she was doubtful, for he added, ‘With your maid, of course.’
‘Thank you, we will be right down.’ It was not doubt, Maude thought, managing to keep the smile off her face with difficulty, it was delight. For if he was inviting her to join them, then it meant he was prepared to listen to her ideas.
With Anna at her heels she made her way on to the stage to find hands were transforming the make-shift set into a dining room and putting chairs around the table. Millie bustled on with a tray and began to lay out plates of cold meat, a raised pie, bread and cheese.
‘Have you ever been on stage before?’ Eden asked her as she stopped, centre front of the fore-stage, and looked out over the ranks of seats.
‘Only in small private theatres in country houses. This is breathtaking. It feels so much bigger than it looks from the box.’ She glanced at him and saw he was standing, studying the view from the stage with the same look on his face as she sometimes saw on her father’s countenance when he came home to Knight’s Fee, their Hampshire estate. This was not just Eden’s work, not just a tool of his trade—this theatre belonged to him in a way that went far beyond deeds of ownership. What she could see was passion and possession and pride.
‘You have good projection and pitch,’ he remarked, turning back to the table and taking the jug of ale from Millie. ‘Are you sure you cannot act? Think what the appearance of Lady Maude Templeton on the stage would do for the box office.’
‘Empty it,’ she said, laughing, and took the chair he held for her. Anna, looking alarmed, was seated next to Tom Gates and Howard took the foot of the table.
‘Help yourselves.’ Eden waved at the spread before flattening his notes next to his plate and pouring ale. ‘Can you drink this, Lady Maude?’
‘I expect so,’ she said, cutting the pie and serving it out. ‘It is thirsty work, listening.’
‘Right, then. The first one.’
It took about three minutes for the men to forget who she was and to absorb her into the discussion. Elbows appeared on the table, notes were scribbled with one hand while the other waved a slice of bread to make a point, slices of meat and cheese were heaped on her plate without ceremony and Gates clinked his mug against hers. ‘Cheers.’
Anna sat, quiet as a mouse, eating steadily, while Maude listened. So far, everyone was agreeing with her impressions, although their analysis of faults and talents were far more detailed and technical than her own.
‘Number ten,’ Eden said, spearing an apple with his knife. ‘No projection. No presence.’ The others nodded. Maude looked at her notes.
‘I don’t agree.’
The three men reacted as though the loaf of bread had addressed them, she thought, amused. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Maude.’ Howard stopped gaping at her. ‘She wasn’t good technically.’
‘She looked charming, she is graceful and she reacted well to Mr Gates’s lead,’ Maude stated. ‘Can’t you teach her to project her voice better?’
‘She should know how,’ Eden said.
‘But she’s young, she cannot have much experience. Won’t you call her back?’
Gates looked at Howard. Howard looked at Eden. Eden poured more ale. Maude could almost hear their thoughts. His theatre, his company, his decision—and if he let her override him, would it diminish his authority?
‘Why didn’t you say anything about the others?’ he asked.
‘Because I agreed with you about them.’
‘Ah. Well, Lady Maude, you are our expert in the audience. Howard, put number ten down to call back.’ Face studiously blank, the stage manager made a note. ‘Number eleven?’
By mid-afternoon Anna had fallen asleep on the padded bench and was snoring softly, but Maude was still engrossed. She had three more possibles on her list and was finding her judgements easier now she had heard the men’s opinions over luncheon. Finally, at half past five, Eden called a halt and she went back down to the stage, leaving Anna sound asleep in the box.
‘Well,’ Eden said. ‘Show me your lists. Lady Maude, gentlemen.’ He spread them out on the table side by side. ‘It would appear we are unanimous. There’s six for you to call back tomorrow, Howard.’
‘You mean I got them right?’ Delighted, Maude bent over the table, tracing the notes with her finger.
‘I’m impressed.’ Eden was standing close beside her, the others had walked off; in the distance she could hear Howard calling the names of the afternoon’s selection. ‘Are you tired?’
‘No,’ Maude said, then found she could not stifle a most unladylike yawn. ‘But I do have a thick head. All that concentrating, I suppose.’
‘And no fresh air. These gas lights are all very well, but it is not a good atmosphere to be in all day.’
