She smiled at Henry. “I shall be perfectly safe, Henry. Who would risk offending Hercules? Besides,” she laughed heartily, “you know how well trained he is.”
Henry, a slight smile curving his lips, contented himself with a nod and opened the door for his mistress.
With the great dog pacing sedately at her side, Miss Fancy Harper promenaded the Square. If she was conscious that more than one pair of eyes were watching her from behind curtained windows, she gave no sign of it. For all that she cared St. James’s Square might have been a stretch of deserted meadow or upland heath.
Around the square they paced, the great shaggy dog and the lovely young woman. They had almost reached the great house again when the dog stopped suddenly, sniffed the air, gave a sharp bark, and lunged forward. The weakened collar snapped and Fancy was left holding an empty leash.
Whatever words passed her lovely lips at that moment were uttered in a voice too low for any ears but her own. “Hercules!” she commanded. “Come here! Now!”
The great dog paid her no heed, but bounded joyfully off down the street and up the walk to the house to the right of Fancy’s, where he threw himself against the door with great enthusiasm.
Muttering under her breath, Fancy followed him. This, she thought with a wry chuckle, was hardly a proper way to meet one’s neighbors. She hoped whoever lived in this house would not be unduly perturbed by finding a great brute of a dog flinging himself against the front door.
As she hurried up the walk after the truant, she called out sharply, “Hercules, stop that this instant!”
The dog did stop, but this was not due to Fancy’s command but to the fact that the door opened suddenly. In dismay Fancy watched as her dog disappeared into the house.
Then, heaving a sigh, she marched up the steps to be met by a butler whose face appeared carved in granite. Even the generally undismayed Fancy was taken back by the frosty demeanor of this worthy retainer. “My dog,” she stammered.
“Will you step inside please, miss?” asked the butler in even tones, his face perfectly composed.
There seemed nothing else to do, so Fancy stepped inside. By this time she was used to living in a great house. But the owner of this house, whoever he was, had decorated it with taste and care - and considerable expense.
She saw that much before a deep voice came from a door to the left. “Phelps! What in the name of heaven is this creature doing in my establishment?”
Through the door, dragging Hercules by the scruff of his neck, came a man. He was tall and dark, with the broad shoulders and long legs of a sportsman - and when he released the dog and straightened to face her, Fancy’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise.
“The dog got in unawares, milord,” replied Phelps.
“I did not expect that you had
invited
him,” said his lordship dryly, cold gray eyes above a scar never leaving Fancy’s face. “So,” he said.
“We meet again.”
For a moment Fancy could only stare. Then with a defiant shake of her head she met those gray eyes with her own blazing green ones.
“So it seems, “ she replied icily. “But certainly through no wish of mine.”
William, Earl of Morgane, surveyed her coldly. “I collect
you
are the Bath actress who has taken up residence next door. I feared as much.”
Fancy smiled grimly. “I am indeed, “ she said. “I hope the thought of living next to an actress does not distress you.”
Two gray eyes, like pieces of ice, gazed into her own. “As I recall,” drawled the Earl with lazy insolence, “I once contemplated living in even closer proximity to an actress.”
Fancy flushed, but conscious of the butler, kept back a sharp retort to inquire with sugary sweetness, “I hope your feelings were not too badly hurt when she refused you.”
Morgane surveyed her arrogantly. “As I recall the incident, my
feelings
were not the only thing in danger of being hurt.”
Fancy knew she was coloring up. What an abominable creature this man was! She had known it at Bath and now she was doubly sure.
As he continued to stare at her sardonically, she felt herself losing her hold on her temper. She had slapped his face once and right now she would dearly love to slap it again.
But she restrained herself. “I have come for my dog. I am sorry if Hercules caused you any trouble.”
Morgane lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Oh, no,” said he sardonically. “Huge dogs are accustomed to throwing themselves at my door. I quite enjoy the diversion.”
Fancy’s anger rose still more. What a terribly arrogant, top-lofty man he was. Just because he was an Earl didn’t mean he needed to be so high in the instep. “If my dog has done any damage to your establishment,” she said stiffly, “I will pay for it. And now, if you will excuse me -”
As she bent to grab the scruff of Hercules’s neck she thought bitterly how chuckleheaded she would look, half bent over, dragging the dog through the street. But she would not ask the haughty Earl of Morgane for so much as the time of day.
“Phelps,” said the Earl quietly. “Send someone for some rope and put a temporary collar on this creature.”
“Yes, milord.”
Fancy, wanting to escape the gaze of those cold gray eyes, was tempted to leave immediately, whether she must drag the dog or no. But common sense asserted itself. If she wanted to stay in the house on St. James’s Square - and she did - it would be best not to be on the outs with her neighbors. Though she could never like the man who was still surveying her from lazy gray eyes, she could hope to behave politely toward him. For all her red hair and fiery temper, Fancy was a practical person and she saw no reason to make an implacable enemy out of one who might possibly otherwise remain neutral.
With Phelps gone the two were alone in the hall. “That is very kind of you,” Fancy forced herself to say. “Hercules is rather difficult to drag around.”
The Earl did not reply to this and Fancy found her resolution to be polite slipping again.
Morgane took a step closer. With difficulty Fancy stood her ground. She was not a small woman, but the Earl towered over her and there was something overpowering in his sheer physical presence.
“I have been known to be
very
kind,” he said sarcastically.
“As I would have proven to you if I had been given the chance.”
Fancy colored up, her eyes glittering. “As I told you then, I am not the kind of woman that you believe I am. I do not need or want a - a protector. I can take care of myself.”
The Earl laughed, but no merriment reached his eyes. “So I see. I collect the Marquis was willing to bestow his gifts just for the privilege of gazing on your beauty. The old man was stranger than I thought.”
Fancy gaped at this insult. “I did not know the Marquis personally,” she cried. “He was a distant cousin on my papa’s side. I did nothing whatever to persuade him to leave me his house.”
The cold gray eyes slid over Fancy’s body, coolly, insolently, lingering where he pleased, and then he spoke dryly. “Perhaps I should have offered you more. A grander establishment might have gained my goal. But that was - let me see - almost a year ago. And you were not so well known, though perhaps just as beautiful.”
The Earl came closer still, and Fancy, backing away, found a wall behind her. She set her back against it and glared up at him defiantly. “I told you the truth that day, as I am telling it to you now. No man will ever own me.”
That same cold smile curved the Earl’s thin lips. “Even, I presume, he who pays for the privilege.”
As he took another step nearer, something inside Fancy snapped and she raised her hand to lash out at him. How dare he say such terrible things about her! Untrue things!
Her hand was halfway to his cheek when he caught her wrist in a grip of iron. “No woman slaps my face twice,” said his lordship grimly. And he pulled her violently into his arms.
Fancy fought him, but he was quick and his lips had found hers and taken them in a savage bruising kiss before she could escape him.
When he released her, she stood quivering with rage. “You are no gentleman,” she cried. “Not in any sense of the word. I hate the very sight of you.”
The Earl nodded pleasantly. “And you are no lady, my little bit of muslin.”
“I have never set up to be a lady,” declared Fancy with scorn. “I am an actress and proud of it. I do my work and I love it. And I certainly do not force my person on those who find me obnoxious.”
That she had scored a hit she could tell from the way the scar on his cheek changed color, but his face remained calm and his tone even. “You are an actress,” he repeated. “A barque of frailty. Men expect you to be frail.”
Fancy drew herself up haughtily. “Their expectations are no concern of mine.”
Morgane’s dark brows drew together in a frown. “You are in the wrong neighborhood,” said he. “You say you do not set up to be a lady. This is a neighborhood for ladies. Why not sell your house and buy a small one in some other part of the city? Retire from the stage, marry some industrious man, and raise a family.”
Fancy stared at him. “You are way beyond the line, sir. I do not need any help in planning my life. And if I ever do, I shall take care
not
to consult the likes of you!”
For a moment she thought he might reach for her again and her heart pounded in her throat. But the Earl contented himself with staring at her body until she felt the color flooding her cheeks again.
Fortunately Phelps returned with a piece of rope which he fastened around Hercules’s neck in lieu of a collar. “That should serve, milord.”
“Very well, Phelps. You may go. I shall accompany our visitor to the door.”
“Yes, milord.”
Fancy fastened the leash and prodded Hercules to his feet. With a sardonic grin the Earl opened the door. She was halfway down the steps when she heard the words. Spoken in an even tone as they were they still carried a heavy threat. “Get out of St. James’s Square. You are not wanted here.”
Chapter Two
It took Fancy only a few moments to reach the sanctuary of her house, but it seemed like forever. She would not hurry, not when she could feel the eyes of that terrible man boring into her back.
No, she moved sedately, as though she had not a care in the world. But she was seething and when she reached her own door, she thrust the leash at Henry and said grimly, “I am in a vile temper. Do not speak to me. I’ll be in my sitting room. And lock up that monstrous dog. Out of my sight.”
Then she marched up the great stairs to the sitting room that she had taken for her own. In front of the cheval glass she yanked off her bonnet and threw it angrily into a chair. “He’s a beast,” she said aloud. “An absolute beast.”
She stomped over to the pitcher and basin, poured in some water, soaped up a rag and scrubbed at her lips till they were numb. The beast, the arrogant top-lofty creature, thought he could run everyone’s life.
She stomped through the door and threw herself down on the great mahogany bed, nearly ripping one of the deep green curtains from its hanging. Her hands curled into fists and she pounded the pillow angrily until she was exhausted. Only then did she let the tears come.
Flat on her back she lay, looking up at the canopy of her bed, not really seeing the material there.
Her mind was traveling back in time. To Bath - just about a year ago. That had been her first really good season, the year she was twenty. She had developed well and she knew many parts. How could she avoid it, the daughter of Fanny Harper, born in a dressing room during a performance. The theater was in her blood as it had been in her mama’s.
Fancy sighed. She could remember her mama - a dainty little woman with hair the color of Fancy’s and great green eyes. Fancy remembered her most often singing as she moved around the rooms that were home.
Even then the young Fancy had badgered and pestered, consumed by her longing for the stage. But Mama had been reluctant to let her act. “You are the daughter of an aristocrat,” she told Fancy. “If your papa had not been a younger son, you might have been a lady.”
Such might-have-beens held no importance for the youthful Fancy. She could be a lady any time she pleased just by pretending. And Papa didn’t seem any different to her than any other man who came to the theater.
But Mama had remained adamant until that terrible day that she took sick and told the eight-year-old Fancy that she should be a good girl and mind her papa because her mama had to go away.
Certainly Fancy had done all she could to be good, but nothing had helped. Before her very eyes Papa had withered away and died, too. Without the woman for whom he had left his high-class life he did not care to live. And so, within six months, Fancy had lost both her parents.
Two great tears stood in her eyes and rolled unheeded down her cheeks. For a while everything in the world had been wrong. Without Henry and Ethel the lost little girl might very well have died, too.
But Henry and Ethel, who had been with Mama and Papa since their marriage, had taken care of her. And the theater had filled the empty place in her life.
So she had grown, and Henry, who was himself an actor, had coached her in her lines, and Fancy Harper had realized her ambition. She had become an actress. Since she was a hard worker and the theater was her life, her parts had grown more and more important, until, at the end of her last season at Bath, an offer had come from the proprietors of Covent Garden. Success was now within her grasp.
From a distant corner of the house came a howl from the disconsolate Hercules. Fancy smiled grimly. That dog deserved to lose his freedom, behaving like that. It was bad enough that he had broken his collar and rushed off to the Earl’s house. But then to lie there sleeping contentedly while that haughty lord kissed her!
Fancy had never been so naive as to be unaware of the fringe benefits that lovely young actresses often received from certain lords. But she had not desired such things. And because Henry could not be with her in the dressing room they had trained Hercules to protect her. The moment a man embraced Fancy the great dog was there. Hercules was not unfriendly; he did not even growl. But somehow a big dog putting his paws on a man’s shoulders was enough to discourage any amorous thoughts he might be having.