Love Plays a Part (20 page)

* * * *

By Thursday night she was all nerves. But, she thought as she moved toward the wings, at least in her bed tonight she would not have to speculate any longer; she would know whether or not his lordship had appeared.

She did not feel her usual excitement at the thought of seeing Kean do someone new. She shifted restlessly. She did not care to sit down just yet. Once she moved toward the curtain to take a peek at the audience, then stopped and drew back. Even if she saw him out there, it would mean very little. He was clearly not coming backstage. She might as well become used to the idea.

She moved toward the curtain again. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look out over the crowd, just to distract her mind. The house was filling up rapidly. When Kean was performing, even members of the
ton
arrived in time to see the start of the play.

She bit back a gasp. There he was - Roxbury! Down in the pit, talking to Byron. As she watched, he looked up and waved. Up in one of the expensive boxes sat a beautifully dressed woman, who smiled back at him. Samantha stared at the woman. Was she a lady or another Cyprian? Actually it was rather difficult for a newcomer to distinguish between the two. Many Cyprians were really well-kept and were as nicely gowned and jeweled as the actual ladies.

As she watched, Roxbury bade his friend good-bye and began to wend his way through the pit and back to the corridor. Samantha’s heart rose up in her throat. Would he come backstage, or would he join the woman in the box? There was something strangely familiar about her. Then it registered. This was the one she had seen with the elegant auburn-haired woman that first night at Drury Lane. Mr. Pomroy had told her their names. This was Harriette Wilson’s sister, Amy. Had his lordship taken up with a new woman? Or was she an old friend? Samantha’s face burned scarlet at the thoughts that were racing through her head. She let the curtain fall back in place. She would attend to her job. She would watch Kean play Luke. Most of all, she would forget his lordship. She would forget him entirely.

With a sigh she turned away and moved back into the wings. She spent entirely too much time thinking about the earl. That would have to stop. She had come to London to fulfill her dream of seeing real plays in performance, of being part of the magic of the theatre. She had that now, and it would be quite addlepated for her not to enjoy it just because a particular lord was not there to make comments.

Kean appeared in costume, and Samantha knew the curtain would soon go up. Almost against her will she turned once more to the crack between the curtains. This time she did not look toward the pit, but rather toward the box which she suspected was Roxbury’s. Her suspicions were proved true. There, beside the gloriously gowned Amy, sat a smiling, convivial earl. Samantha felt a strange emptiness rise up in her. He was not going to come backstage. He was going to spend the evening with this newest incognita. She turned back toward the stage just as the curtain rose.

As the play progressed, she knew that this would not be one of her favorites. The characters did not excite her sympathies as those of Shakespeare did. They seemed somehow less than human. At Kean’s suggestion she had read his copy of the original play by Massinger,
The City Madam.
Now she watched to see what changes Sir James Burges had made in it to transform it to
Riches.

By the time the curtain fell for intermission, Samantha was forced to conclude that the original was the better play. Lost in contemplation, she did not for some moments feel the steady gaze of eyes upon her. At first she was aware merely of a sort of uneasiness but, as that feeling grew, she raised her head and looked about her.

Some distance away, his face in the shadows, stood a tall, lean figure. He stood very quietly, and his face was quite indistinguishable, but the rapid beating of Samantha’s heart insisted that this was Roxbury. As she gazed at him, he disengaged himself from the shadows and moved toward her.

“Good evening, Miss Everett. I wish that I were a painter.”

Samantha, her heart pounding in her throat, rose unsteadily to her feet. “Why?” she managed to ask.

“Because you make a lovely sight in your brown study. I should like to be able to preserve it for posterity.”

For a moment Samantha was left speechless. It was almost as though the events of the last week had not occurred.

“You look perplexed,” said his lordship. “Have I not made myself clear?”

Samantha shook her head. “No, no. It is only - That is, after the other night -” She felt herself blush at the memory of the liberties he had taken with her person.

The earl allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “I am afraid that I behaved in a rather rude fashion.”

Samantha nodded.

“However,” he continued cheerfully, “I believe
your
actions were not particularly ladylike.”

Samantha, who had been about to unbend and admit the truth of his words, bristled up. “Really, milord. After the liberties you took with me, I think my actions were quite justified.”

The earl’s mouth tightened and then relaxed into a charming smile. “You are just such a temptation to me,” he said with a flourish. “Every time I see your sweet lips, I long to possess them.”

“Milord! Such talk!” Samantha felt her pulses throbbing.

His lordship shrugged. “I don’t know why you are making such a fuss about a perfectly normal thing. Men kiss women every day, every hour.” He smiled in that lazy way the rakes affected. “I myself have kissed no small number. And never have they rewarded me by dousing me with the contents of the fire bucket.”

“You were entirely beyond the bounds,” said Samantha crisply. “I did not wish to be kissed.”

The earl shook his head. “This is even more difficult to comprehend. No woman has ever complained of my kisses before. Indeed” - he preened himself rather complacently - “there are often more ladies willing than I, as one mortal man, can accommodate.”

For some reason unclear to her Samantha was once more swept with rage. “You are insufferably conceited,” she said icily. “So much so that I wonder that any woman should wish for your attention.”

The hard look that had so frightened her before flickered momentarily in his lordship’s face, but then he smiled urbanely. “Be careful, my dear. Do not carry the charade too far. A short pursuit may be exhilarating. A long one may cause exhaustion.”

“I only wish you
would
become exhausted,” cried Samantha crossly. “I am quite tired of being pursued.”

Again that hard expression appeared in his eyes, and involuntarily Samantha took a step backward. Her foot hit the pile of canvas and twisted beneath her. She would have fallen if is lordship had not caught her. She was brought up sharply against his white marcella waistcoat, and beneath her ear she heard the steady beating of his heart. Her own heart seemed to be fluttering rapidly, and she found it difficult to breathe. She struggled to disengage herself and, somewhat to her surprise, he released her promptly.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

Samantha shook her head. “No, I simply twisted my foot. I -” Common sense told her that good manners demanded a thank you, but still she hesitated.

“No need to thank me.” He said the words quietly, but his eyes seemed to be dancing with laughter. “Undoubtedly the fault was mine. I seem to have a singular capacity for forcing such mishaps upon you. I beg your pardon.”

Samantha simply stared at him.
He was laughing at her, and that outraged her; yet at the same time some insane part of her wanted to laugh with him. “I accept your apology,” she said crisply, expecting him to turn away.

But he did not. He merely smiled and said, “And how are you enjoying the play?”

“I do not find it as exciting as Shakespeare’s work,” Samantha replied, relieved that he had changed the subject. “Massinger’s characters lack depth. And Sir James’s corrections and additions make matters worse.”

The earl raised an eyebrow. “You have read
The City Madam?”

“Of course,” retorted Samantha. “How else should I know enough to discuss it?”

The earl smiled lazily. “Great numbers of people daily discuss things they know nothing about. It is not an unusual human phenomenon.”

“Perhaps other people behave so foolishly,” said Samantha crisply, “but I do not.”

The earl’s smile broadened. “I beg to differ with you, my pet. You often discuss a certain delicate subject close to my heart. You often discuss it when you know nothing about it.”

Samantha’s face grew warm. “Some things are better left unknown, milord.” She took a deep breath. “Please do not start in that line again. I do not like it.”

His lordship nodded. “Very well, but since it appears that tonight I cannot control the rake in me, I suppose I had best take myself off before I offend even further.” He smiled with an affected cheerfulness. “Unless, of course, you desire to have me stay.”

His eyes swept over her in a way that made her strangely excited and uncomfortable at the same time. “No,” she replied somewhat curtly. “I do not desire to have you stay.”

There was only a slight tightening of his lips to indicate that her reply annoyed him. Then he bowed gracefully.
“Au revoir,
Miss Everett.”

“Good-bye, milord,” she replied, trying very hard to keep her disappointment from appearing on her face. It was quite clear to her that she
did
desire to have him stay, though of course she could not tell him so.

She stood quietly fighting back tears while he walked away. She had absolutely no inclination toward his lordship’s proposition. It was merely, she told herself, that she enjoyed his company and would miss it.

The play continued, but Samantha did not find it enjoyable. She was aware that Kean was giving a great performance of a smooth-talking hypocrite whose most abject humility hid something vicious. But somehow this did not raise her spirits. She felt curiously listless and dejected. Perhaps, she told herself, she had taken a chill. Certainly this feeling had nothing to do with the earl’s decision to leave.

Finally the afterpiece was finished, and Samantha moved slowly down the corridors with the others. When she opened the door to the work room, she was conscious of a moment of vague apprehension mixed with excitement, but a quick look around showed her that the room was empty. Of course his lordship was not there. She did not want him to be. She slung her cloak around her shoulders and went to meet Jake.

They moved off in silence. Samantha was deep in her own thoughts and so did not notice that Jake had lost his usual talkativeness. She was not even aware of the rather worried looks that he cast behind them. But when he said, “Best move a little faster, miss,” the note of fear in his voice could hardly be ignored.

“What is it, Jake?” She was shaken out of her lethargy by his obvious concern.

“It’s that there carriage,” he said. “It’s nearer tonight. And I’ve got a queer feeling. Like someone’s a-watching us.”

Samantha shivered and drew the cloak closer. “What shall we do?”

“Can’t do much but keep walking,” Jake answered. “I just don’t like the feel of it.”

He had hardly finished speaking when there was a sound from the shadows and three dark shapes rushed out at them. A scream ripped its way from Samantha’s throat and pierced the night air as rough hands closed on her. She heard Jake’s curses and the sound of blows, but she knew that he could not fight off three men. She fought herself, biting and kicking, but the hands that held her were strong and soon she was reduced to helplessness.

As the men began to drag her away, she looked back and saw Jake prone on the pavement. She opened her mouth to scream again, but the sound was cut off by a rough, dirty hand. Great waves of nausea washed over her as she struggled to hold on to consciousness. Pray God they had not
killed
Jake.

Then the clatter of horses’ hooves forced its way into her mind. She heard shouts and knew the men around her were being attacked. It was unclear to her where these rescuers had come from, but that they were rescuers she could have no doubt. When this fact penetrated her dazed mind and the hands that held her fell away, she lost her last hold on consciousness and slipped to the ground.

She came to very slowly, awareness returning gradually and with it the sudden knowledge that she was being held in someone’s arms. She opened her eyes with a start. In the light of the carriage lamps his lordship was peering down at her. “Samantha, are you injured?”

“No. No.” The words came slowly as memory returned. “I am only frightened. But Jake!” She struggled to rise.

“Easy, Samantha. The coachman is attending to him. He’s not hurt badly. Relax now, just relax.”

She sank back weakly. “I - I do not understand.”

The earl shook his head. “Those were hired bully boys. This was no accident.”

“But why?” As she grew stronger, Samantha was growing increasingly aware of his lordship’s arms around her.

The earl frowned darkly. “Have you no enemies?”

Samantha shook her head. “No. Only -” She stopped. Surely Lily Porter would not have done such a thing to her!

“Only Lily Porter,” his lordship continued. “I suspected as much. That girl will have to go,” he added darkly.

“Oh, no!” Samantha struggled to extricate herself from his arms. “That will only make her hate me more.”

“Lie still,” commanded his lordship. “Perhaps you are right. But do you realize what those men had in mind for you?”

Samantha shuddered and buried her face in his waistcoat. “Please, milord. Do not talk about such things.”

The earl made a sound of disgust. “Samantha, look at me. You cannot go about the streets at night like this without inviting disaster. Your so-highly-touted innocence will soon be painfully destroyed.” His dark eyes held something very like concern as he gazed down at her. “You have refused my open protection. Therefore the only thing I could do was to protect you covertly.”

“The carriage!” cried Samantha. “The mysterious carriage was yours.”

Roxbury nodded. “I have followed you home every night, and when I did not attend the play, I sent my men. I cannot have such an innocent wandering about the streets alone.”