He opened his mouth to reply when Jane Upton shouted, “Delilah! Please come fetch your bird. He’s repeating everything and impacting the performance.”
Delilah hurried over to the stage to get Miss Adeline from his perch nearby. She brought him back to where Thomas stood. Thomas and the parrot exchanged scornful looks before Miss Adeline leaned over and unceremoniously bit Thomas on the wrist.
“Ouch!” Thomas rubbed his wrist. “You’ll be looking for some new feathers if you bite me again, bird.”
“Bite me again, bird,” Miss Adeline squawked, flapping his bright blue wings.
Delilah sighed. “Must you fight with Miss Adeline?”
Thomas narrowed his eyes on the bird. “I fight with anything that bites me as many times as he has. And for the thousandth time, his name is not Miss Adeline.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “As he is my bird and I have named him Miss Adeline, I must tell you for the thousandth time that it is, in fact, his name. Now come over here. We’ll practice our lines before Branville gets here. I daresay I’ll be distracted afterward.”
Thomas followed her to the corner, keeping a watchful eye on the bird, who was balanced on Delilah’s forearm and had the temerity to look smug. “Very well, but tell that lump of feathers to pipe down.”
Delilah turned to face Thomas and glanced at her script. “This is the scene where Helena follows Demetrius into the forest.” She cleared her throat. “Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.”
Thomas cleared his throat too. “I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.”
“Oh, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so,” Delilah replied.
“Do not so!” shouted Miss Adeline.
Thomas gave the bird a dark look, but continued with his next line. “Stay, on thy peril. I alone will go.”
Delilah rolled her eyes and momentarily abandoned character. “I must say, I would find this difficult to play if I didn’t know that Demetrius ultimately sees the error of his ways and falls in love with Helena. He’s positively awful to her otherwise.”
“Awful to her!” Miss Adeline squawked.
“Miss Adeline, shush,” Delilah commanded.
“I’ll come and get him, Delilah,” Danielle Cavendish said from her seat in the opposite corner of the room.
“Demetrius doesn’t see the error of his ways,” Thomas pointed out. “He’s charmed by the juice from the flower.”
“Yes, it’s all quite ridiculous, isn’t it? J’adore such silliness,” Delilah said with a laugh.
“J’adore!” Miss Adeline squawked.
“He speaks French now?” Thomas said, glaring at Miss Adeline.
“Regrettably, he speaks better French than I do,” Delilah pointed out dryly.
Thomas laughed.
Danielle crossed to them and generously took the parrot from Delilah. “It’s not so ridiculous, you know?”
“What do you mean?” Delilah asked.
“Being charmed by the juice of a flower. There are many inexplicable things in this world.” Danielle winked at Delilah and walked away, taking Miss Adeline with her.
Delilah watched her go. What the devil did that mean? She shook her head. Danielle was slightly mysterious. Perhaps it was her Frenchness. Or the fact that she was a spy. Delilah had always admired the woman, but every once in a while she’d say something that Delilah didn’t understand. Usually, it was in French, however.
Regardless, Delilah wanted to finish the scene before Branville arrived. She glanced at her script again. “I do wish Demetrius didn’t compare Helena to food.”
Thomas suppressed his smile. “I don’t believe that is your next line. We cannot rewrite Shakespeare’s words. I highly doubt Jane would take kindly to that.”
Delilah exhaled. “Very well, first Theseus agrees to their marriages, and then Helena says, ‘So methinks. And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, mine own, and not mine own.’”
Thomas barked a laugh. “You don’t sound convinced I am your own jewel.”
Delilah arched a brow. “I suppose I must work on sounding more convincing. What’s next?”
Lucy, having left Lavinia in Lord Stanley’s company, strolled over to join them. “Helena and Demetrius should kiss.”
Delilah blinked. “Pardon?”
Thomas’s brows shot up.
“A kiss,” Lucy replied, as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “I was speaking with Jane about it earlier. She agreed that Demetrius and Helena and Lysander and Hermia should each kiss after declaring themselves.”
Heat instantly suffused Delilah’s cheeks. She steadfastly refused to glance at Thomas. “That wasn’t in the original play.”
Lucy pushed a curl behind her ear. “Perhaps not, but they’ve all been granted their wish to marry and declared their love. A kiss is in order, is it not? Besides, Jane says it may help increase the value of the tickets, and I quite agree.”
Delilah scratched her chin. She was nothing if not practical. “I suppose you and Jane have a point, though Mother will not be pleased if she finds out.” She finally stole a glance at Thomas. He was watching her with an unreadable expression. “What do you think?”
He shrugged. “I suppose we must do what we must for charity.”
Lucy serenely glided off, while Delilah resisted the urge to squirm. She continued to stare at her script for wont of something to look at while she wrapped her mind around the thought of kissing Thomas. Her friend. Her best friend. Wait—no, not Thomas. He was Demetrius! How silly she was to forget this was all merely a play. Her spine straightened, and she regained her perspective. “Very well, but get it over with quickly.”
The corner of Thomas’s mouth curled up. “I don’t kiss quickly.”
“Oh, really,” Delilah shot back, one hand on her hip. “How do you kiss then?”
“You’re going to have to wait and find out, aren’t you?”
The heat that had suffused her cheeks began to spread to other more intimate parts of her body. “Very well. Do what you must, then.” She squeezed her eyes closed, puckered her lips, and waited.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Thomas took a deep breath. His gaze slid over Delilah’s familiar face, her creamy skin, her dark brows, her slightly crooked nose. He wanted their first kiss to be special, even if it was a pretend kiss.
He quelled the pounding of his pulse, carefully wrapped his fingers over her slender shoulders, and breathed in her familiar, delicious scent. Then he pulled her toward him and leaned down, closer, closer, his eyelids sliding shut.
His lips skimmed hers, the brush light, ephemeral. She was about to pull away—he could sense it—and everything in him railed at the realization. Before he knew it, he had drawn her closer, heart to heart, and claimed her lips completely. This time, she didn’t try to pull away. With a jolt of delight, he felt her little intake of air, a partial gasp, and when her lips parted, he boldly coaxed them farther apart with his tongue.
Her hands fluttered and came to grip his forearms as though to hold her upright. Her head tipped back, an offering for him to take more. And so he did. Mindless of their fellow cast members, he deepened the kiss, and shuddered at the sound of the tiny moan that came from the back of her throat. It was so soft, but there it was. For his ears only. And for a moment, he knew with utter certainty that he had claimed her as completely as she had claimed him all these years.
Then came the realization that the room had fallen quiet, too quiet, and Thomas forced himself to release her and step back. He folded his hands behind his back—they were shaking—and searched her face for its reaction. Only, Delilah’s eyes were still closed, and the dreamlike expression on her features made him want to laugh with joy and grab her in his embrace once again, onlookers be damned.
Lucy had returned. She cleared her throat, and the spell was shattered. Delilah’s eyes flew open. “Delilah, dear,” the duchess murmured, averting her gaze.
“What is it, Lucy?” Delilah’s voic
e was dreamlike too. Good.
“Ahem, the Duke of Branville has just arrived,” Lucy continued.
To Thomas’s dismay, Delilah jolted to life, turned, and hurried toward the door, sparing him not a single backward glance. Then she must have thought better of it and paused. She walked carefully back to the spot she’d recently left. “I’m going to count ten,” she announced.
“Probably best, dear,” Lucy replied.
“Why?” Thomas asked, chagrined by the speed at which she’d run away from him at the mention of Branville’s name.
“Because I just remembered that galloping about like a pony is hardly the way to endear oneself to a duke.” Delilah pressed her palm against her belly and took three deep breaths. She always took three deep breaths when she wanted to calm herself.
Thomas scowled. Obviously, the need for oxygen had nothing to do with his kiss, as he would have liked. This was all about Branville.
“I’ll escort you over to him,” Lucy said.
“Don’t wait too long,” Thomas added. “Mustn’t keep the duke waiting.”
Delilah nodded to Lucy. “I’m ready.”
Thomas casually followed the two women as they made their way out into the corridor in front of the library, where the Duke of Branville was holding court. Thomas’s heart was still pounding in his chest, his throat, and other traitorous parts as well. When Lucy had first suggested it, Thomas had been concerned that kissing Delilah so soon (even under such pretenses) might be a mistake. Surely she would recognize the pent-up longing in his kiss. But in the end, he’d been hard pressed to resist the temptation. The kiss he’d given her was far more than what Jane Upton’s script had called for, but once he’d started, he could barely control himself.
He was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it. Last night when Delilah had mentioned Lady Rebecca had asked about him, he’d intended to do nothing more than gloat a little. He’d obviously made his point that he was eligible, and he’d been pleased with his quick success.
Then Lucy had gone and given him the best idea when she’d told him the tricks of the matchmaking trade. The most important one: employing a bit of competition. He’d used Delilah’s own trick against her. He’d taken off in search of Lady Rebecca, and Delilah had followed him and introduced the two of them. Lady Rebecca was a gorgeous young woman who had obviously been interested in him. He had no intention of falsely encouraging her, but flirting never hurt anyone. Hell, before Monroe had married his sister, the earl had practically been a professional flirt. Besides, wasn’t that what young, healthy eligible people were supposed to do at ton balls? Thomas had proceeded to do just that.
The corridor outside Lucy’s library was filled with the majority of the company. After watching Thomas and Delilah’s kiss, they had exited the room en masse to greet Branville. They were all good-naturedly welcoming him to the group.
“Ah, Your Grace,” Branville said as soon as he caught sight of Lucy. “You didn’t tell me, when is the performance to be?”
“The twenty-first of July, Your Grace,” Lucy replied. “Lady Delilah’s birthday.” Lucy pushed Delilah slightly ahead of her.
“Mon anniversaire,” Delilah repeated in a high, anxious tone.
Thomas hid an involuntary smile behind his hand. Delilah always blurted things in French when she was nervous. Not to mention her skin was turning an unfortunate shade of red, with blotches, another unlucky side effect of her nerves. Thomas shook his head. Despite his growing resentment of her interest in Branville, he wished he could somehow take the embarrassment away from her. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, of course, but he’d gladly feel the emotion in her stead if he could.
Branville smiled at Delilah, and a damned dimple—of all bloody things—appeared in the man’s cheek. Thomas cursed under his breath. In addition to blond hair, he also had to compete with a dimple.
“Ah, Lady Delilah,” Branville said, bowing to her, “good to see you again. You’re performing a play for charity on your birthday?”
“My birthday is on a midsummer’s night,” Delilah replied. “What better way to celebrate?”
Branville inclined his head toward her. “A lovely sentiment, my lady.”
Delilah blushed on top of her red splotches, and Thomas couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Who went around bowing and saying things like, A lovely sentiment, my lady? Though from Delilah’s reaction, apparently ladies liked that sort of talk.
Lucy sidled up to Branville and wrapped her arm through his. “Come into the library with us, Your Grace. You can see for yourself all the trouble we’ve gone to in order to create the lifelike scenes.”
“Lead the way,” Branville replied, nodding.
Delilah fell into step on the other side of Branville, and they all marched back into the library. The large room had nearly emptied, save for Jane, who was directing a scene with Derek and Cade; Lavinia, who was staring at herself in a looking glass; Danielle Cavendish, who continued to sew; and Cass, who remained quietly painting in the corner.
“Come this way, Your Grace. We’ll show you the fairy wings.” Lucy led Branville to the desk on the far left side of the room where the costumes were piled.
Thomas stuck his hands in his pockets and reluctantly followed their little entourage. Had Branville actually agreed to be in the play yet? Or was Lucy still trying to convince him? Nauseating.
“Ah, yes, fairy wings,” Branville said with a laugh, picking up one of the wings and examining it. “I suppose a performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream must include fairy wings.”
“And a lion,” Delilah blurted. “A fake one, of course.” Thomas watched as she pinched herself on the inside of her arm and turned bright red again. “I mean, of course the lion would be fake. What else would it be?” she added, turning redder. “Er, um, que pensez-vous des perroquets, Your Grace?”
Thomas winced. She’d just asked Branville how he felt about parrots. Bringing up the parrot was probably not her best choice. Thomas situated himself with his back leaning against the nearest wall and continued to watch the awkward interaction.
“Parrots?” Branville’s brow furrowed. He obviously wanted to ensure he’d heard her correctly.
“Yes, you know, brightly colored birds. Tend to speak. Friendly with pirates,” Delilah continued.
Thomas pressed his lips together to keep from chuckling, while Branville narrowed his eyes. “Pirates?”
“Yes. My cousin Cade is a pirate,” Delilah declared.
“I am no such thing, Delilah,” Cade chimed in from atop the stage. “Besides, at the moment, I am attempting to be a woodland sprite.” He grinned at Branville. “I’m playing Puck.”
Cade turned his attention back to his scene while Delilah pressed her hand to the side of her mouth and whispered to Branville, “He used to be a pirate. And that inspired me to procure a parrot. He’s just over there. Miss Adeline.”
Branville turned to look in the direction Delilah pointed. Miss Adeline sat on his perch only a few paces away. Thomas was convinced the bird wore a self-satisfied look on his face.
“You do actually have a parrot.” Surprise registered in Branville’s voice when his gaze landed on the fowl in question.
“This particular version of the play includes a parrot,” Lucy hastened to add.
“I don’t seem to recall a parrot from my study of the play at Cambridge,” Branville said narrowing his eyes again.
Of course, he would mention his time at Cambridge. Bloody braggart. Branville moved toward Miss Adeline’s perch. He stopped in front of it and contemplated the bird.
“Watch out, Branville,” Thomas drawled from his spot against the wall. “The parrot bites.”
“Not always,” Delilah shot back, her eyes glaring daggers at Thomas.
Branville offered his arm, and Miss Adeline immediately hopped over to it.
“I quite like birds,” Branville said.
“Quite like birds,” Miss Adeline echoed. There was no question about it
. The bird was smug.
“He looks like a fine bird to me,” Branville continued. “What did you say his name is?”
Delilah shot a guilty look toward Thomas before lifting her chin. “Ah, Miss … Adeline.”
“She’s lovely,” Branville replied. “I think we shall be fast friends, Miss Adeline and I.”
Thomas opened his mouth to correct His Grace on the matter of the bird’s sex, but Delilah stopped him with a hasty “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Still holding Miss Adeline on his forearm, Branville turned back to Lucy. “What part did you mean for me to play?”
Lucy clapped her hands. A smile lit her features. “We were hoping you would be Hermia’s father.”
Branville raised his brows. “Hermia’s father? The awful man who stands in the way of true love?”
“One and the same,” Lucy replied, smiling.
Thomas fought the urge to roll his eyes again. Who said things like, stands in the way of true love? Who really stood in the way of true love? Blond dukes with dimples who didn’t appreciate the most wonderful young lady in the room. That’s who.
“Would you like to see what you’ll be wearing?” Delilah asked. Her cheeks were less red than they’d been a few moments ago, perhaps because that bag of feathers she called Miss Adeline had yet to bite Branville. Thomas remained hopeful, however, that an assault was imminent.
“Yes, please,” Branville replied.
“I’ll take Miss Adeline and go fetch the costume.” Delilah held out her arm for the parrot. Apparently, she didn’t want to take her chances leaving the bird alone with Branville. Probably clever on her part. “I’ll be right back.”
Miss Adeline on her arm, Delilah hurried away to consult with Danielle, and was back moments later with a robe hanging over one arm. She was about to open her mouth to speak when Miss Adeline squawked, “J’adore le duc.”
Thomas choked down a bark of sheer, shocked laughter. Silence fell over the rest of the party, and Delilah’s face went up in flames. It was obviously something she’d said just before, and Miss Adeline had repeated.
No Other Duke But You--A Playful Brides Novel Page 9