Dare to Love

by Jennifer Wilde

  “I must warn you, luv. I was a champion pugilist at Oxford, famous for my dynamic right. If you don’t stop this caterwauling immediately, I’m going to slam that dynamic right across your pretty jaw. You’ll be out cold for hours.”

  “You probably would!”

  “No doubt about it.”

  “I don’t believe you ever went to Oxford.”

  “Only stayed a couple of years. Got frightfully bored. All that Latin. Silly nonsense. I had other fish to fry.”

  “Beautifully put,” I snapped. “Did you make up that particular phrase?”

  “You are a shrew,” he grumbled. “We’ll play on that. All famous ‘artistes’ have lots of temperament. Fiery. That’s the word. Fiery. But The Fiery Mary Ellen Lawrence? That name’s impossible, luv. Much too refined. We’ll work on it.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “I’m going to make you a bloody star! Can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

  I was terribly upset and angry, but not nearly as upset and angry as I should have been. In some peculiar way I was actually enjoying myself, and I had rarely felt so alive. Anthony Duke was outrageous, completely outrageous, but I had the feeling some mystic fate had brought him into my life for a purpose I wasn’t aware of yet. He had ruined me with Madame Olga. I knew she would never forgive me. But deep in my heart I also knew that it would have been futile to continue my studies with her. I was in a strange mood, bold, uncaring, resigned.

  “You’re a lousy dancer,” he said chattily. “Oh, you’ve got everything down pat, all the steps, all the movements, but you’re mechanical. You’ve got no spirit, no elan. There’s no poetry in your dancing, no—”

  “Thanks so much! And you’re going to make me a star?”

  “Not in ballet. You’d fall flat on your shapely little behind. They’d laugh you off the stage. Oh, you might eventually do in the back row of the corps de ballet, but—”

  “Just what gives you the right to—”

  “I’m an authority, luv. Now shut up and let me finish. You’ve got no gift for ballet, but you’ve got something else, something much rarer. You’ve got presence. You’ve got incredible magnetism. I spotted it immediately. You might have been stumbling around like an awkward heifer, but—”

  “Stop this carriage!”

  “—but there wasn’t a man in the audience who didn’t want to take you to bed. You made the other girls disappear. There you were, vibrant, alive, seething with a sensuousness that poured across the footlights in waves. Despite the prissy steps. Despite the schmaltzy music and arty lighting effects. What you have, Mary Ellen, not to put too fine a point on it, is the ability to make every able-bodied man want to commit delicious sin with you. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “How dare you talk about me that way!”

  “You’re not aware of it. That’s the dandy thing. You’re not consciously seductive, not even coy. You’re elegant and refined, aloof, and that makes it twice as potent. It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. We’ll have to use that carefully, have to present it in just the right way. Ballet is out. Can you sing?”

  “I—”

  “Probably not, and besides, singers are a glut on the market. Have you ever tried to act?”

  “Never,” I retorted.

  “Not to worry, luv. We’ll think of something. You’re going to be the most sensational thing that’s ever hit this town. You’re going to take London by storm, then Europe, then—”

  “You are mad,” I said. “I knew it.”

  “The right act, the right costumes, the right presentation, and you’ll be a smash. We’ll have to start from scratch, create a whole new personality, give you an exotic background.”

  “Mr. Duke, I really feel this has gone far enough. Are you ready to stop the carriage now? I have no intention of sitting here and listening to your nonsense.”

  “You’ll do exactly what I say from now on,” he informed me, “and if you don’t, I’ll clout you. I’ve no compunction at all about striking a woman. You’ll discover that beneath this dashing, charming facade I’m quite hellbent on having my own way.”

  “I discovered that the first time I laid eyes on you!”

  “Good. Then we understand each other. You’re going to hate me during the next few weeks, for I shall be utterly merciless, but you’ll be grateful for the rest of your life.”

  “I doubt it!”

  “Take my word for it.”

  The carriage slowed as it passed through two stone portals and clattered over the rough cobblestones of an ancient inner courtyard. When it had come to a complete halt, Anthony Duke sighed and opened the door. He climbed out, turned, and reached for my hand, but I drew back. With a vicious jerk forward, he pulled me out of the carriage to land against him. He whirled me about and wrapped one arm around my throat. Holding me in front of him, he lifted his head to speak to the driver.

  “That’ll be all for tonight, Benson. I won’t need you tomorrow until two, when you’ll drive me to the theater.”

  “Righto, guv’nor,” Benson said.

  He turned the horses around and drove out of the courtyard. We were in a very old part of the city. Ancient brownstone buildings reared up on three sides. Facing the street was a tall brick wall with the portals on either side of the narrow entrance way. The carriage - barely scraped through as it rumbled out. Lights glowed in several of the brownstone windows, soft yellow squares against the stone, and there was the smell of age, mossy, mellow, not unpleasant. A cat yowled from the top of the wall.

  Duke had his arm still crooked around my throat, and I could feel his strength. He might have the jaunty, breezy manner of a vagabond, but his body was hard and trim, his responses as finely honed as a professional athlete’s. I found myself wondering what he would be like in bed, and I was appalled at myself.

  “All calmed down now?” he inquired.

  “Not at all,” I retorted. “If you don’t let go of me this instant, I’m going to let out a scream that will—”

  His arm tightened about my throat, cutting me short. “I shouldn’t,” he said. “I did some wrestling at Oxford too; famous for my death grip. Put a number of chaps out. Took hours to revive ’em properly. Be delighted to do the same to you.”

  I tugged at his arm, and he released me with a chuckle. Coughing, I turned around to give him an angry glare, but he just grinned that lovely, engaging grin. I wanted to slap him.

  “It seems you’ve quite a lot of accomplishments!” I snapped.

  “You’ve no idea, luv. I’m a man of many talents, as you’ll soon discover.” He clamped his fingers around my wrist. “Come along now, the champagne is waiting. Oh, by the way, there are quite a few stairs, but you’re young and able-bodied. I’m sure you can make it.”

  He opened the door and pulled me inside. We were in a narrow, dingy foyer with a battered table, a dimly flickering oil lamp, a closed door to the right and, directly in front of us, a flight of wooden steps. He started up the steps, still holding my wrist, dragging me along and chatting breezily as we climbed.

  “Chap who paints posters has the first two floors, woman who gives piano lessons has the third—noise drives me berserk. I’m constantly fighting with her. I have the top two floors, living quarters and studio. Nice digs. Cheap, too. Your room is on the top floor, right next to the studio. Has its own bathroom.”

  “My room?”

  “You’re going to be living here. It will be much handier that way, since we’ll be working night and day.”

  I saw no reason to comment. The idea was altogether too outrageous. I was still stunned by all that had happened, but I was no longer upset. This utterly ludicrous episode was not to be believed. It was some mad whimsy, completely divorced from reality. The other students were getting ready to go onstage at this very moment, and I should be with them. The fact that I wasn’t didn’t bother me at all. Following Duke up a second flight of stairs, I realized that I was ac
tually enjoying myself, and that startled me.

  “Don’t lag. You look a mess, incidentally. Your hair’s, all undone, and you’ve lost your ribbon. You’ve got grass stains on your skirt, too.”

  “That’s your fault!”

  “Shouldn’t have given me so much trouble. Anything I can’t stand, it’s an obstinate woman.”

  “I’m sure most of them leap at the chance to do your bidding.”

  “Matter of fact, they do. They just can’t seem to get enough of me. Don’t usually have to abduct ’em off the street, though. My fatal charm doesn’t seem to work with you. No idea why.”

  “I’m immune.”

  “You’ll come ’round,” he promised, dragging me up a third flight of stairs and stopping in front of a door. He fumbled in his pocket for a key, found it, and inserted it in the lock. His hair was all atumble, and his opera cape was askew on his shoulders. The lock resisted his efforts. As he stood there puzzling over the keys he looked delightfully comical, and extremely appealing. I wanted to smile, but I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  “Damnation! What the bloody hell is wrong? Oh, wrong key. Here we go.”

  When the door opened at last, he pulled me inside, closed the door, and locked it again. He slipped off his cape and tossed it over a chair. It fell to the floor in a heap. His evening clothes were elegantly cut, tails just the proper length, waistcoat of white satin embroidered with darker white silk floral designs, but he wore them casually, as he might wear an old suit. His white silk tie was even crooked.

  “Here we are. All snug and comfy.”

  “I may still scream.”

  “Scream your bloody head off. No one’s likely to hear. You’re at my mercy. Might as well relax and enjoy yourself.”

  “Do you plan to rape me?”

  “Not really, luv. My interest in you is purely professional.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. Personally, I lean toward bosomy blondes or occasionally, a redhead.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t look so crestfallen. I could make an exception in your case.”

  “Please don’t bother.”

  The large room was filled with an attractive clutter of old furniture, awash with books and magazines on the theater. Lamps glowed brightly. Colorful entertainment posters in narrow black frames hung on the walls, and cheerful yellow brocade adorned the wide windows. The windows were open, and I could hear and smell the river. Looking out, I saw that the building backed onto the Embankment. A table in the center of the room, which was laid for dinner, held a silver bucket of champagne. Duke sauntered over to the table to examine things, lifting covers off of food, humming to himself as he did so.

  “Cleeve did a dandy job,” he announced. “Shouldn’t have worried. He always does. Cleeve’s my valet, fine chap, absolutely devoted to me. Has his own rooms down in the basement. Must remember to pay him his salary one of these days.”

  I stepped over to the large mirror that hung in an ornate and slightly tarnished gold frame. My hair was indeed all undone; with the ribbon missing it fell in thick waves that gleamed blue-black in the lamplight. My eyes were cool, my expression composed, but there was a faint pink flush tinting my cheeks. During the struggle with Duke, the bodice of my gown had slipped precariously low, revealing even more bosom. I adjusted it, and as I smoothed the skirt down I noticed that one of the pink lace ruffles was torn. Millie would have to do some repair work. I wondered what could be used to remove the grass stains.

  “You’ve wrecked my gown,” I announced.

  “Lovely gown,” he replied. “Not to worry. A few months from now, you’ll have dozens of gowns, much more elegant. Come sit down. Take off your gloves.”

  “I will,” I said, moving over to the table, “but that’s all I’m taking off.”

  Anthony Duke lifted the bottle of champagne out of the bucket and began to inch out the cork. “You keep dropping these hints. I’m beginning to think you’ve a yen for me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself!” I snapped.

  I removed the gloves and sat down at the table. He grimaced, still struggling with the cork, his brow furrowed. “Bloody hell!” he cried, and the cork popped out with a loud explosion and hit the ceiling as champagne bubbled all over his hands and onto the floor. He muttered something under his breath and poured champagne into two elegant crystal glasses. He handed me a glass, sat down, brushed the hair from his brow, and grinned.

  “Not usually so clumsy,” he informed me. “Hope I didn’t get you all wet.”

  “At this point it would hardly matter.”

  “Oh, come now, you’re enjoying yourself. You know you are.”

  “I should be onstage this very minute. I should be dancing. Madame will never forgive me.”

  “You don’t need her any more, luv, now that you’ve got me to look after you. I told you, I’m going to make you a star. We’ve got three months before your debut.”

  “Three months?” I decided to play along.

  “Dorrance is presenting The Barber of Seville. New production. It’s going to be a disaster. I’ve got to come up with an absolutely sensational attraction to entertain the paying customers between the acts. You’re it!”

  “I’m going to wow them?”

  “Believe me. Forget the opera. They’re going to come pouring into the theater to see you. Tons of advance publicity—my chums on Fleet Street will help out there. You’re going to be colorful, and exotic—a personality.”

  “I can’t sing. You assure me I can’t dance. I certainly can’t act. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure something out. Drink your champagne.”

  “You’re utterly preposterous, you know.”

  “Am I? I think fascinating might be a better word.”

  “An absolute scoundrel.”

  “I don’t deny that. Everyone loves a scoundrel.”

  “You’re conceited and arrogant and—”

  “Mean as hell,” he interrupted. “I’d as soon slap you as look at you. Keep on in that vein and I’ll smack you good and proper and enjoy doing it. Hate a lippy woman. Drives me berserk.”

  I took another sip of champagne, forcing back a smile. “You’re not nearly as fierce as you pretend to be.”

  “You think it’s just jaunty banter?”

  “Most of it.”

  He grinned. “Maybe so, but don’t push me too far. Here, let me pour you some more champagne, and then I’ll tell you all about myself, hold you spellbound.”

  He poured the champagne. I sipped it. We ate the oysters and the pheasant and the asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and as we ate Anthony told me about himself, exuding that boyish charm that so nicely complemented his robust virility. If not exactly spellbound, I was at least relaxed, studying this overwhelming male creature with cool objectivity.

  “We were gentry,” he said. “You know—big house, servants, private pew in church, all that rot. My father was a gambler—stocks and bonds and investments, not cards—who lost almost everything. We barely managed to hold onto the big house, the servants, the private pew. I was an only child and deplorably spoiled. All the womenfolk fussed over me. I had a grand childhood, roamed all over the countryside, playing pirates, imagining myself a red Indian, launching surprise attacks on any unfortunate neighborhood child who happened to pass my way. I was a bit of a bully, I’m afraid.”

  I arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Oh?”

  “The despair of my parents. Always getting into scrapes. Both of them sighed with relief when it came time to send me off to school. Eton, mind you—my father had connections. Got into even more scrapes there, bloodied many a nose, twisted many an arm, pulled many a prank. Fascinated?”

  “Fascinated,” I said dryly.

  “Thought you would be. Finally made it to Oxford, a handsome scamp, the answer to every maiden’s prayer. Got my nose busted in a boxing match. No longer so handsome, but even more in
teresting. Added character, that broken nose. At Oxford I boxed and I wrestled and I rowed and I spent as little time as possible with my masters. Hated Latin. Hated history. I joined the dramatic society and began to act in plays. You should have seen me as Iago.”

  Flashing that charming grin, he poured more champagne into my glass and then bounded off to fetch another bottle. He moved with supple male grace, his gait long and loose and bouncy. The fresh bottle of champagne was placed in the silver ice bucket and swirled around. An inexperienced drinker, I had had far too much champagne already, and I was beginning to feel it. I felt gloriously free and relaxed; my cares had vanished. I couldn’t remember when I had enjoyed myself so much.

  Anthony Duke slipped back into his chair, a thoughtful look in his eyes now, a certain tautness in his facial muscles.

  “My parents died of influenza within days of each other. The big house was mortgaged to the hilt. The servants hadn’t been paid in months. In short, I hadn’t a penny and I had to leave Oxford. Just as well, I suppose. The place didn’t suit me at all. I came to London to become an actor. With my looks, charm, personality, I figured I’d take the West End by storm.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “Flopped dismally, luv. I’ll be the first to admit it. There were a couple of very lean years, with only one or two small roles. I played an assassin in the court of Cesare Borgia, looked smashing in maroon tights and purple velvet tunic embroidered with black and silver. The part had two lines, ‘Aha, I’ve caught you,’ and ‘Die, you Venetian dog!’ I was to let out a diabolical laugh as I plunged the dagger into his throat. The laugh was a great success, very diabolical. I also got to play a dandy in a Regency drama. Didn’t say anything, just sat at a gambling table shuffling cards.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Afraid that’s the sum total of my thespian career. I learned a lot, though. Learned that it took technique and training to become a good actor, and that most actors starve, good or bad. Not my style at all. I discovered that if you want to make money in the theater, it’s better to work behind the scenes. I became a promoter, did a stint on Fleet Street, learned all about advertising. That eventually led to my position with Dorrance. I promote, help out with the production end of things, get together the entr’acte specialties.”